As a matter of fact, I do watch too many movies

Can't write long because it's the middle of the afternoon and I'm on a rat-bastard dial-up. I just remembered this and wanted to share:

Last night I was watching The Lost Boys -- you know, Kiefer Sutherland and his L.A. rock trash cronies turn Dweezil Zappa-wannabe Jason Patric into a vampire, and Corey Haim and Corey Feldman have to stop them. It's a lousy movie, but what struck me wasn't the poor acting, illogical plot contrivances, or the giant photo of Jim Morrison in the vampire cave. No, what struck me was the fact that Corey and Corey really should have made out. I wonder if they ever did (I know that Haimster was a coke fiend, and who knows what the hell Michael Jackson did to Feldman's brain; put the two together and you're in Dude Country), or if the closest they ever came was when their dicks touched while they were double-teaming some starstruck high schooler from the Valley.

Now I feel I should watch more Corey 'n' Corey movies, to see if they were the Sam-and-Frodo-style closeted It Boys of the 80's.

I don't know about you, but I'm completely nauseated now.

Hey, I suck ... but cakes make everyone happy ... except when they're expensive

My big stupid mouth got me in trouble twice today. I more or less apologized to the parties involved but damn, I'm such an inarticulate clod. I'm sorry.

I burned my mouth really badly on too-hot pizza this afternoon, and I can still feel it now, twelve hours later. So that's sort of a third way my mouth has caused me grief today. It's been ages since I've burned my mouth on pizza. When I was kid it was a common enough occurrence, but I haven't had piping hot NY-style pizza in a while. Domino's, Pizza Hut, whatever else I've had in Saskatoon -- it just ain't the same. It would be a better kind of pain if it had been a better kind of pizza, but pizza-burn is like an emotional memory. It reminds you of more than what caused it initially ... it reminds you of all the times it's happened, even if all you can remember is vague snapshots of smelly streets and melty cheese and orange grease pooling in a paper plate.

I was going to write about pleasurable foods in which we indulge even with the foreknowledge of their unpleasant physical effects, but man, what a boring topic. And unappetizing, too! Instead, here's a picture of a cake from Dean and Deluca:



It's $80.

I watched Spartan this evening. It was written and directed by David Mamet and starred Val Kilmer. It was really good, until it wasn't. I guess today's been kinda like that.

Roll the stone, Lassiter

I just spent the better part of an hour feeling superior to Sisyphus.

My mom wants to have the rose bushes growing in a larger area, so part of the rock wall has to move. So there I was, filling up the wheelbarrow with rocks, dragging it over, dumping it out, doing it again. There was one very large stone that I couldn't lift (and you think you could, eh? Psh.) so I had to roll it over. Thankfully it stayed where I left it; suck it, Sissy-phus, ya Greek pansy.

It was reasonably hot and ridiculously humid, so I was perspiring like a madman. My undahpants and shorts were soaked ... with pee! Just kiddin' -- it was actually sweat, but if you think about it, sweat is like the skin's pee.

That sounds like an Elameno Tee. Oh, Elameno Tees ...

Calibos from Clash of the Titans reminds me of Crazy Billy from Six Feet Under. And all the babes in Clash of the Titans remind me that they're supposed to be Mediterranean women, and thus could probably use their leg hair to thatch roofs. Sadly, that does little to temper their babeliciousness. And no, I'm not including Harry Hamlin in that. I know he's got long hair and a skirt, but that doesn't make him a woman.

On a completely unrelated note (though Freud might argue otherwise), I've been hot dog crazy these last few days. Can't get enough of 'em. I think it's because I'll be going into the city a couple of times next week and I'm looking forward to Gray's Papaya and their delicious hot dogs 'n' juice. Oh, AND ... Mom and I are going to Dia-Beacon this Friday. (This'll come back to hot dogs eventually; don't worry.) I always thought my mom hated modern art, but maybe she wants to go because she hasn't been sufficiently irked by the lousy editing in the NY Times, the choice of Master's theses by girls I knew in 8th grade, or the amount of paperwork required for her insurance. I think they're having a Warhol show -- maybe she's always been a secret fan of the Velvet Underground? Sweet! Anyway, I checked the Dia-Beacon website to get info and directions. They're open 6 days a week, but we have to go between Friday and Sunday because they sell gourmet hot dogs on those days. That's right, gentle reader: gourmet hot dogs.

The hot dogs, from Koglins Royal Hams in Grand Central Market, feature homemade relishes, cole slaw, chili, and gourmet ketchup, and mustard. All hot dogs are prepared in an herbed broth with garlic, onion, celery salt, coriander, pepper corns and bay leaves.

I wonder whether they intentionally put in the comma after "gourmet ketchup" -- including it makes it sound like "gourmet ketchup ... and there's mustard, too, I guess"; without the comma it would be read as "gourmet ketchup and [gourmet] mustard", which makes more sense, especially since mustard is traditionally preferred over ketchup by hot dog purists.

Hot dog craziness ain't pretty, I tell ya. Get the facts. Learn the warning signs. It's never too late to save a loved one.

When you were young you were the king of carrot-flowers

It's so hot that I feel like I'm wearing a surgical mask. I'm listening to the saddest album I know, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel. Sure, there are sadder individual songs off other albums -- like "No One Will Ever Love You" by The Magnetic Fields off of 69 Love Songs -- but for start to finish melancholy, you want to be in the aeroplane.

I went to Albany today, for no reason other than I could. I was in the mall, where I found myself constantly looking up slightly. I once read that Princess Diana would always look up over the horizon when being photographed so that she would appear somehow superior or more ethereal or something. I'm already superior to the Albany mall-goers, so I think the reason I was looking up was so that I wouldn't have to look at the other people. They were ugly and overweight, with sports jerseys draped over their bad skin. Or they were girls with lovely legs, but that's ogling, and I don't want to ogle. With all this looking-up business, it occurs to me that if called to testify I couldn't identify another person at the mall.

I ate Buffalo wings at the Hooters there. (Yeah, "Hooters". Deal.) Even the waitresses there I would not be able to recall. Their make-up was caked on but couldn't conceal the acne beneath. I had to maintain eye contact with my waitress because to veer from her eyes -- the only natural part left on her face -- was to risk losing my appetite entirely. The wings were pretty good.

When I got back to my car some time later, the car's thermometer indicated that the outside temperature was 107 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm not sure what that is in outer-space Canadian degrees, but it must be over a million.

Add N to X is not nearly as depressing as Neutral Milk Hotel. That's all well and good, but now I want to dance, and such exertion is unwise in this heat.

Booze will make me less energetic!

I just spent way too much money at deepdiscountdvd.com. Some guy on the Something Awful forums posted a 20%-off discount code that expires in an hour, and suddenly the already-discounted items in my wishlist got that much more enticing. Man, I suck.

I went to see Land of the Dead this evening. It was pretty good, but could have been better. It seemed much too short. Also, I didn't spot the guys from Shaun of the Dead, who were credited as "Photo booth zombies". Also, the ending was a little too upbeat. Usually George Romero zombie movies are the only movies that give me the chills and leave me bummed out afterwards, but this one ... not so chilling and bumming [out][ing](?). It's ok, though; on the drive home my cd ended and it switched to one of mom's cd's, the first track of which was a heartbreaking "Ave Maria", so I was nice and depressed after that. And then I picked up a drifter and killed him and could still hear his heart beating in the back seat, so that was sufficiently chilling.

I hope my mom's happy. I imagine she is. One of her girlfriends just bought a house here and is presumably selling her house in New Jersey and moving here permanently. She and my mom go to the opera in Cooperstown a couple of times per summer, and that's nice. For a while there my mom didn't have many girlfriends, but now that she's given wage-slavery the finger, she's "found herself" and is renewing old friendships (like women she was friends with 40 years ago but hasn't spoken to in 20), road-tripping and continent-hopping ... so it's very likely that she's happy.

Me, on the other hand -- who knows? I want to get back to school. I want to get on with this "Comput0r Science". I'm all jumpy this evening. Jumpy! Excited and excitable! Jazz hands! Ordering low-priced dvd's will do that. And then ordering low-ish priced books from Amazon will do that, too. And the animated Tick is on. And the Saturday Night Live with Will Ferrell hosting is on soon, and then the late re-run of SNL is from 1979 and has Talking Heads as musical guests.

Note: If you're in a band whose name sounds like it should have a "the" but doesn't, for the love of God -- add a "the". You can always drop the "the" if you're speaking casually, but if a kid is blogging and he's a stickler, he has to be extra careful about constructing his sentences. You're art students, you're different, we get it. Add a "the".

I've also got a Tivo'ed Humphrey Bogart movie. That guy could give lessons in not being hyper.

Jokes from the Interweb? Sign me up!

Q: How many Bush Administration officials does it take to change a light bulb?

A: None. There is nothing wrong with the light bulb; its conditions are improving every day. Any reports of its lack of incandescence are delusional spin from the liberal media. That light bulb has served honorably, and anything you say undermines the lighting effect. Why do you hate illumination?

Sometimes I feel like the biggest hypocrite. I mean, I really dislike George W. Bush and his policies, but I don't do anything about it. I voted against the guy, but since then I've done zip. I've never written a letter to my congressman -- I don't even know who my congressman is. I know he (or she) is up for re-electionevery two years, so he (oe she) is probably a big suck-up. I know who my senators are, but something tells me they don't give a rat's ass what I think.

Back in University I, I used to go to protest marches because that's where everybody was hanging out that day. I'm passionate about issues, but not passionate enough to do anything about it. So maybe I'm not passionate at all. I guess I'm just opinionated.

I still think that's a pretty good, joke, though.

Man in motion

St. Elmo's Fire is on tv now. Demi Moore just locked herself in her bedroom with the window open so that she could freeze to death, I think. (I've seen this part of the movie a dozen times and I still don't know for sure.) Rob Lowe is summoned from his gas station job to rescue her.

*SPOILERS*

He rescues her!

*END SPOILERS*

And while Demi is pouting away, Rob Lowe is telling some story about "St. Elmo's Fire ... electric flashes of light that appear in dark skies out of nowhere. Sailors would guide entire journeys by it, but the joke was on them ... there was no fire. There wasn't even a St. Elmo." [quote cribbed from imdb] As he tells this story, he flicks on his lighter and sprays hairspray into it to make a big fiery WHOOSH ... and I'm thinking, He works at a gas station. He's still in his oily coveralls, which no doubt are bathed in gasoline fumes; is playing with fire and aerosols really such a good idea? I started laughing out loud at the idea of Rob Lowe setting himself on fire and running around the room, screaming.

I bet it'd have cheered up Demi Moore, though.

Ooo, or even better -- through a freak accident, Rob Lowe sets himself on fire and the flames never subside, but he doesn't die, either. So for the rest of his life Rob Lowe is on fire and screaming in agony, but he's still a semi-successful actor. I totally would have watched West Wing regularly if that happened.

Chewbacca suit / three-quarter nap

So mom and I drove to Kingston today to do some shopping. I am now largely convinced that Neutrogena has stopped making the aftershave that I like, and I don't blame them; I'm the only person I know who has ever smelled like that aftershave. I bought a couple of different travel-sized aftershaves to see which will earn a full-sized place in the shaving kit of my heart, but I'm not holding out hope. I think electrolysis may be the way to go, though I suspect that electrolysis may be like tattoos/piercings -- once you get it done the first time, you get addicted to it. I mean, why would I stop at electrolysizing my face? A story:

One time I eavesdropped on a conversation between two college-aged girls. One was describing her boyfriend: "He got out of the shower and all I could think was 'Lose the Chewbacca suit!'"

My sad, immediate thought was "But ... I have Chewbacca suit!"

Anyway, at Kingston I also picked up some supplies to stain the house. I asked the paint dude at the hardware store for the paint rollers recommended for exterior staining. "Three-quarter nap," he told me. Just yesterday I was thinking about nap, about the time I learned about nap when I was upholstering a four-poster bed in velvet (or velour? I always get those confused) for my costuming class. I did a pretty rad job of that bed. I remember admiring it on stage one day, and then the assistant director/my ex-housemate Vanya spooned me on the bed while we were surrounded by actors. That was nice. I was pretty miserable at that time, and spooning in public made me feel better.

An hour after paint-roller shopping mom and I got home and I had a three-quarter nap on my own bed. I woke up with a splitting headache. But then Philip Seymour Hoffman was on Celebrity Charades, so that was alright. His facial hair was so unkempt, it was like he had Chewbacca suit on his face!

It still makes more sense than You Got Served

OK, I'll admit it: I have no idea what the hell's going on in the last part of 2001: A Space Odyssey. (It's on Turner Classic Movies right now, and it's right at the beginning of the end.)

Oh, sure, I know that Dave goes into the monolith, and out of the monolith comes a giant space baby, presumably indicating the next step in human evolution. But the in-between part: what's up with that? There are colors, and then there's a fly-over over a desert, and then Dave's an old man eating dinner, and then he's an even older man, and then it's not Dave in the bed, it's the giant space baby.

I don't know. It's late and I'm very tired and I've got unresolved father issues with the movie. I was a young boy, 9 or 10 years old, when my dad suggested we stay up late together and watch 2001. It was on at 10 pm on a Saturday, on channel 5 in NY.

I'm pretty sure it was channel 5. Maybe it was channel 9. Back then channels 5, 9, and 11 were still indie channels, trying to slap together a schedule with syndicated network shows and old movies. So yeah, it could have been any of the three, but I'm going with 5.

Anyway, I'm watching with my dad, and I'm 9 or 10, and I'm hating it. The pre-humans look really fake and I have to comment on it like the brat I am. Then Heywood Floyd is getting on the ship to take him to the moon and he has to go through processing. He presses the button for English speakers, and my dad says, "And you know what happens if you choose 'Russian' -- ZAP!" Yeah whatever, dad. I think my dad may have had his sense of humor damaged in a boyhood accident.

The movie progresses, yadda yadda, HAL goes nuts, Dave takes out HAL's 9-volt batteries, and Floyd's secret message comes up. And then BAM! Channel 5 goes into whatever's next in the evening's programming. "Evening" isn't even accurate; it's past midnight, so obviously channel 5 couldn't give a rat's ass -- just go on to whatever's queued up, right?

I'm confused: Dave disconnects HAL, the old guy tells them there's a secret mission, and the movie ends? Dad explains that they cut off the end, and that's that, it's time for bed. He doesn;t even say what happens in the end. I was pretty pissed -- not at my dad for once, but at the movie for being so pointless, and at channel 5 for taking off the end of the movie because the end could have provided some resolution or clarity or something, anything. Goddamn!

Fast forward 7 or 8 years. I finally see 2001 a few times in its entirety (fast forwarding through the overture and intermezzo, or course) and I really like the movie. Seeing the end didn't give me the fulfillment I'd been seeking, but once I'd accepted that, I learned to love the movie for its style, attention to detail, half-baked questions of what constitutes "humanity", and wicked cool computers that talk to you.

So then a few years later it comes to pass that my dad and I are watching tv or something, and 2001 comes on. I remember from years ago that my dad liked the movie, so I figure, "Hey, we can bond over this, sort of."

First scene: Dad's complaining that the pre-humans look fake. And then he's complaining that the movie's boring, so he leaves to do something else. What the hell? That pissed me off.

I'm not sure what that tangent has to do with figuring out the end of the movie. Like I said, I've got issues with 2001 and I guess they're hard to compartmentalize.

I've got similar issues with Logan's Run (it just started on Turner Classic Movies after 2001 ended), but it's because Jenny Agutter doesn't spend enough time in that revealing green poncho she wears in her first scene. Goddamn.

Hurray for me -- now what?

Ulyana told me that as Groomsman #3, I'm entitled to some sort of gift.

"Do you want an iPod or something?"
"Gah! Those are expensive. How about an iPod Shuffle? Wait, I already have an iPod; I don't need another one." (It's easy to get carried away when you hear, "Do you want an iPod?")

So yeah, I have no idea what the hell to ask for. In general I'm uncomfortable asking for presents, but asking for something is better than being surprised. For my birthday a couple of years ago, Ulyana got me the first season of Oz on dvd. It's a great show, but it's a little creepy to give prison rape as a birthday present.

I want something nice (I think this is true of anyone about to receive a gift) and I want something that will remind me of the occasion. The first season of 21 Jump Street fits the first criterion but not the second. A picture frame fits the second but not the first. The only thing that comes to mind that fits both is a tattoo with the name and/or likeness of the prostitute I will have had sex with after the reception. I'd pay for the hooker out of my own pocket, of course; Ulyana and Victor have enough planning to do as it is without also supplying the dames.

Which is to say, yes, I did watch the first episode of the new HBO series Cathouse. There were a couple of girls who were kinda cute (though one gal's boobs looked good only when she stayed upright -- an uncommon position in her line of work), but I can't see paying $1500 for an hour of sex. For $1500, I could get a big tv and enough booze to make myself forget that I'm not having sex. And then after hour 1 is over, I'd still have the tv!

Of course, as soon as brothels start offering free tv's with every hour of sex, I'll be in real trouble.

The theater seats were old-style and comfy, though

So I'm apparently the only person in America who didn't like Batman Begins. It's pretty mindboggling to look at the reviews and see rave after rave for this basically mediocre blockbuster.

In no particular order:

• The cast includes Christian Bale, Morgan Freeman, Gary Oldman, Michael Caine, Liam Neeson, Rutger Hauer ... and that's too many. There are so many good ingredients that none of them is given a chance to stand out. None of them really has a good scenery-chewing monologue, or even a single defining scene, and that's kind of a pity. (I guess Rutger Hauer's been running on fumes for a while now, but I still think he's cool.)
  
• What's with all the fear stuff? "What do you fear?" "I fear bats." "You must create fear in others. You must become fear. You must become fear by becoming what you fear...." et cetera ... Driving home, I felt like if I heard the word "fear" one more time I'd freakin' snap. I felt the same way after Revenge of the Sith, only with the word "Darth". There's a drinking game in there somewhere, and the very idea of drinking games is so banal that it would fit right in with these two movies.
  
• Batman, as he's shown here, is largely free of charisma. I guess he's not supposed to be charismatic or sympathetic, what with the "embodiment of fear" thing he had going on, but when you have a superhero who's unsympathetic, uncharismatic, and basically unlikable, then you have this big gaping hole in the center of the movie: with whom are we supposed to identify: this emo rich guy in bondage gear? He's no hero; he's a guy with no place he has to be during the day. If you were being lazy, you could say that Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver is an example of an unlikable nocturnal protagonist, "and that's a good movie, Mr. Grumpy Pants." That's true, but with that movie the audience had to think, had to fill in the blanks: why was Travis the way he was? How many people are like that and we don't know it? In Batman Begins, the audience is pummelled over the head with flashbacks. What are we, idiots?
  
• The little DC Comics company montage at the beginning was kind of a rip-off of the Marvel one. That didn't really have anything to do with the movie as a whole, but it was a sign of the half-assedness that was to follow.
• The movie was too rushed. Bruce Wayne is dropped off in the middle of nowhere. Then he's picking up the flower. Then he's knocking on the door to Ninja School. There was no sense of time passing, of the length of his journey, of geography or anything. Jeez, I could go to Ninja School if it were that easy. Spies Like Us had a better grasp of this sort of thing, and that was directed by the guy who does the voice of Miss Piggy.
• What's the deal with the flashbacks to Bruce using the stethoscope on his dad? Was it intended as a veiled reference to Batman's boyhood molestation? It was just a little on the creepy side.
• OK, again with the "rushed" criticism ... At one point Batman is jumping around fire escapes or something, and this little boy sees him and the boy goes, "It's OK, Batman; you're a hero," or some unlikely crap like that. The question is, how does the boy know? We're never given an idea of where the public stands on this "masked vigilante" issue.
• I don't like the rubber Batsuits, I never did, and I never will. Batman looks like a giant vibrator.
• OK, so he's got the fancy-ass suit, assembled at home from parts ordered from all over the world so nobody could catch on ... and at no point do they give away Batman's beauty tips. He's clearly wearing greasepaint around his eyes, but they don't tell us if he picked it up from a theatrical supply shop or from the MAC counter at Macy's or anything. And what kind of cold cream does he use to get rid of it? Is it off-the-shelf or some sort of military grade cold cream that Morgan Freeman was working on?

Bah.

me versus the NY Times versus the RIAA versus everybody else

Is it a "mixtape" or a "mixed tape"?
Is it a "mix CD" or a "mixed CD"?

For years I've been living, loving, working, and dreaming with the belief that I've been making mixtapes and mix CD's. This summer, though, I've had no less than three correspondents refer to "mixed tapes" or "mixed CD's". I can see where I might have been led astray: said quickly enough, "mixed tape" can sound like "mix tape" and "mix CD" and sound like "mixed CD". Try it; it's fun!

But then in the NY Times today, there's an article about the RIAA-orchestrated raid on Mondo Kim's in NYC. The Times gives a pretty good background on hip-hop "mixtapes" ... and then quotes an RIAA press release which refers to the evil of these "mixed tapes". I think the press release is kinda funny if you imagine Mr. Burns reading it and saying "mixed tapes" in the same over-pronounced way he says, "I'm really enjoying this 'iced cream'."

The press release brings up an important issue, though: what the hell is it, a "mixtape" or a "mixed tape"? And that prompts the follow-up: "mix CD" or "mixed CD"? And that prompts the question: was this a bigger waste of time to write, or a bigger waste of time to read?

Friday the 13th Part 11: Jason Goes to Wallyworld

Right now on the Lifetime Movie Network:

TripFall (2000) -- A serial killer kidnaps a family vacationing at an amusement park in Southern California. Eric Roberts, John Ritter, Rachel Hunter.

It started 30 minutes ago, so it's too late to find out how one guy kidnaps an entire family from an amusement park. One at a time, I'm guessing, but who can say? Maybe they all got kidnapped when they were on the log ride together, and the killer got on and redirected the log to go straight to his van in the parking lot.

If my dad is reading this: your high school may be under the impression that you're a fugitive from justice. After one too many alumni magazines from the Cate School (cate.org), I suggested to mom that I email the Alumni Director and tell her to cut it out with the mail already. So email her I did, saying, "David A. Bushnell has been living outside the country for several years. I do not have his current address. Mail sent to this address is exceedingly unlikely to find him.... " In hindsight, I could have included your email address, but then they'd just track you down and send you the alumni magazine. The postage to Thailand would be so excessive that they might have to raise tuition, which is already over $33,000 USD, and I don't want a bunch of yuppie parents mad at us. 33 grand is a lot, but considering it's a co-ed boarding school, it's probably worth it.

You know. For the teenaged sexual hijinks.

I also imagine it'd be like an all-you-can-eat buffet for serial killers, but I suppose the parking's better at amusement parks.

Nuh-uh

Harry Potter messing with space-time? That's a cheat. Also, if he really had an invisibility cloak, he'd be using it to spy on naked chicks. That's all I'm sayin' about that.

sugar high ... getting lower

Tonight I had to have a candy bar. Or a chocolate bar. At 3:12 am I can't remember which term I prefer. So well past my bedtime I drove the 13 miles to Hunter, which is the closest town with a 24-hour anything. I picked up a handful of candy bars. (Or chocolate bars.) The girl behind the counter had a huge [something] on the side of her neck. It was either an untended burn or an untended birthmark or an untended tumor ... or gah, I don't want to think about what it could have been. All I could think was "That was Natalie Larios from Ghost World," and how no one will know what I'm talking about when I talk about it. And now all I can think about is how her neck belongs on an eating challenge on Fear Factor, because only Fear Factor would be that disgusting. Now I'm making myself sick. It could be all the candy bars I ate. (Or the chocolate bars. Those are the ones you should watch out for.)

Harry Potter and the Guy with Nothing Else to Watch

Is there a point to watching a Harry Potter movie 90 minutes after it's started and not knowing where it goes in the great chronology of Harry Potter? There's little else on and it's fun to play games like "Spot the distinguished British actor" and "What the hell is going on?" and "Please God let there be something else on".

I didn't do a whole lot today for the first 6 hours I was awake. Gmail was down for a while, so my morning went like this: connect to dial-up isp, check Gmail, see it's down, disconnect from dial-up isp. It got to be a weird obsession, this need to check my Gmail, so I couldn't do anything else. I turned on the tv and there was a Mythbusters marathon on. I'd never seen the show before, and now I want to watch nothing but. Apparently, if there's not a lot of cement inside, you can clean out a cement truck by tossing in a stick of dynamite. Also, if there's no longer a need for your cement truck, you can totally obliterate it by tossing in 850 pounds of explosives.

Around 4 o'clock I finally did something productive by cutting the dead limbs off a tree and propping up some low-lying branches. The work took less than an hour but it was so hot and humid that I was bathed in sweat, which gave me a tidy rationalization-after-the-fact for not doing more work outside today.

Venture Bros. creator Jackson Publick likes the soundtrack to "The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3", and I like it, too, so we're like buddies now. Secret internet 70's soundtrack buddies.

On Ebay I won a pair of Bushnell sunglasses. They must be from 1960's or very early 1970's. They look absolutely terrible and I love them. They've got just about no tinting on them whatsoever. I feel like Kevin McDonald from the Kids in the Hall when I put them on, or maybe Robert Deniro from the very last scene of Casino.

I got the" Newsradio" dvd's today. They are totally and completely awesome. I watched with the commentary on for an episode titled "This is not completely based on Julie's life" because it was one of the few episodes from the second season not titled after a Led Zeppelin album. It was great -- they reminisced about getting drunk at network functions and getting banned from the SAG awards. And then they started slagging "The John Laroquette Show" for no discernible reason.

Oh and hey -- my sister and her fiancee are going to be featured in an article about Ukrainian weddings in the NY Times next week. So that's pretty cool.

#1 Lurn html

#2 rewrite page code
#3 practice writing erotica
#4 find prison penpal, preferably female, preferably lifer
#5 send erotica to prison penpal
#6 bask in glow of being a good person, reward self with cherry Nutrigrain bar

I think I'll start with #6

Tell me where the hurt comes from

[Dr. Phil just said that. It was too good not to save for posterity in convenient blog-form]

Last night was pretty cool. We spotted the smallest little doe ever. It could barely walk on its spindly little legs!







Mom was concerned that the baby would get smooshed as it tried crossing the street to get to the creek, so later I went down to check. It was smooshed indeed. So I brought the body back and we ate it!





I'm joking. There was no baby doe carcass on the street, suggesting that the little guy (or gal) survived the crossing.

That steak actually came from a cow that got smooshed crossing the street. You better believe it was hard dragging that carcass up the hill!