grrgoyl: (Bad Jesus!  Very Bad!)
My, my, my I've been quiet. TOO quiet. Which is good news for everyone, because instead of writing a hugely epically long post, I'm forced to reduce it to key highlights from sheer lack of memory. So I have those, plus a large number of mini-movie reviews.

First, to wrap up the Parade of Homes 2011! I've been back to MyFriendDeb's to go on an unrelated outing. She wasn't exactly ready when I arrived, however, her pace of preparing to leave could be described as "hustling" if not "frantic," and we walked out the door five minutes later rather than twenty. If you knew Deb like I know Deb, that right there is as good as an apology, my friends.

In fact, Ryan was supposed to join us that day, but bailed at the last minute because he was spending the previous night with John (translation: drinking). While I'm not thrilled he's regressed back to him after more than a year's break, hey, whatev, I'm not his mother. But as I told Deb, I just knew it would be followed by a Facebook pity party about how much his life sucks and bemoaning being surrounded by losers all the time.

Sure enough, that night Tery was checking her page when she read it to me: "Last day off for 8 weeks and I didn't even do anything fun -- laundry and Facebook. Yippee." My first impulse was to comment "Awww, too bad you don't have cool friends that invite you out to an awesome day in the mountains." But I knew he was probably hoping for/expecting something from me, so I gave him stony silence instead. Because I'm done. And if you know me, it takes a lot for me to be done, but I'm there.


Tery FINALLY gets mountain biking. She lowered her saddle by two inches, and that has made all the difference between feeling like she was in control and feeling like she was going to pitch over the handlebars any minute. It also helped her feet reach the ground for dabbing, something she couldn't do before and something I was unaware she couldn't do. I wish I could take credit as her mentor, but the suggestion was made by an older woman hiker on the trail who noticed Tery sitting too high. Consequently we returned to Little Scraggy and, as predicted, she loved it--though probably wouldn't have without the adjustment. She is putting together a little video of our adventures that might be published here. Turns out she's quite the Steven Spielberg, because there wasn't much to work with.


Oh right, so I'm on the pill! Which still sounds weird to say a week later. I'm happy to say it was simply a matter of going to the clinic and asking for it: No intrusive questions about why I wanted it or lectures on the moral implications, etc. (Of course I did go to Planned Parenthood which might have had something to do with it). Didn't even have to lie about only wanting it until November and that was all, just "how many packs would you like?"

Tery's first reaction to the news was "Great. You're free to sleep with guys now," as if her only objection was with unwanted pregnancy (it certainly is not).

I spent the second day researching possible side effects, which include headaches, nausea, breast enlargement (PLEASE GOD NO), weight gain and mood swings. This last one worried me the most (not helped by [ profile] kavieshana's reassuring "You're about to turn into Queen Megabitch") -- I'm unsettled by the thought my mood can be artificially affected (control issues), and I spent the day imagining that a mood swing was gestating inside me like a chestburster alien. Tery isn't concerned about it; she thinks it's not something I would consciously notice, and anyway she's holding out hope that I'll be nicer, as if I'm so mean now there's nowhere to go but up (I really don't think I am).

There was one incident when we realized twenty minutes too late that the new "Office" wasn't recording, but I'd like to think that would have happened with or without chemicals. Other than that I've experienced a few episodes of random and extremely intense horniness, which I might blame on the medication. But if that's the worst that happens, I can certainly live with it.


In biking news, I think I've seen the guy whose picture you find when you look up the word "dickhead."

On my route I have to cross traffic three times, which is only a big deal during rush hour, as I've stated before when people don't care about anything but getting to work (or home) and God help anyone that gets in their way. One of these intersections is by far the worst, and that is where our story is set.

In fact this was afternoon, so the traffic was (mostly) returning home. I waited on the curb with a fellow lady biker and a male pedestrian. At one point the traffic cleared, no cars coming, so we all started across (it wasn't just me taking liberties here). We had almost made it to the opposite curb when traffic started coming over the hill. Let me explain that from the top of this hill drivers have clear visibility all the way to the intersection, a good 100 yards or so. Plus there were three of us in a big cluster, not one lone hard-to-see person. In theory, should be plenty safe for everyone, right?

As we were all just about to reach the opposite curb, the guy whose lane we were crossing (an SUV. Act surprised) suddenly slammed on his brakes so they would let out a dramatic ear-splitting squeal, as if it was a blind turn and he had just noticed us and came within inches of hitting us. You know damn well he saw us from the top of the hill, and you know damn well he deliberately avoided braking until getting right on top of us (in fact might have even accelerated a little) just so he could do that. Really? You want to be That Guy? Because no one likes That Guy.

Dick. Head.

I've found forums about traffic laws featuring bitter arguments in the comments over who the bigger idiots are, cyclists or motorists. Obviously it's a case-by-case basis, but I think motorists are by far more careless and dangerous -- most of the time they barely notice each other, let alone someone not driving two tons of death-dealing steel. And I include myself in this category: I'll admit I've almost hit people in the crosswalk because I wasn't paying attention. And conversely I'll admit I've done some stupid things on a bike because I made an incorrect split-second decision. But a cyclist's bad judgment will get themselves hurt more often than a motorist, whereas the converse isn't true.

I think one solution would be a mandatory day on a bike for everyone (I'd actually love a week, but let's be realistic), so they can get a tiny taste of how scary it is trying to negotiate traffic with people who either don't see you or who don't think you deserve to be on the road. And I nominate That Guy to take the first shift.


Now, movies! Oodles and oodles of movies! So many that these are mostly mini reviews. No spoilers really, except maybe for one or two you've never heard of/couldn't care less about. I've bolded all the titles so you can skim easily. Behind the cut: 127 Hours, Wrecked, The Reef, Trollhunter, Shiver, Piranha (1978 and 2010), Insidious, The Last Airbender, and Paul.

::I have too much free time:: )
grrgoyl: (Buffy Tabula Rasa)
Some unpleasantness to report. First watch this YouTube video our friend sent us:

Funny stuff. In fact everything done by this guy is pretty freakin' hilarious, with a few minor exceptions. Just search for "original narration by Randall." But the honey badger is our favorite and has inspired quite a few catch phrases in our house.

And a couple of videos of our own (extremely short):

Well, it didn't take long for the trolls to come calling. We got a comment on the first video from "warmaster5128," and I quote verbatim:

He is eating your food thats grose that u eat the food his mouth has been thouching how do u know he hasent eaten shit and he is getting it all over your food u sicko u should eat out of a seprit boul

*Sigh* So many comebacks, so little time.

1) I can't have a conversation with someone who thinks punctuation is optional (to say nothing of proper spelling). Stay in school, sweetheart, you aren't done learning yet.

2) Even if you were right, I'd still rather share a bowl with my ferret than you any day.

3) Ferrets don't eat shit, actually. You know who does? Dogs. As well as lick their junk and sniff each others' asses. Yet people let them lick their faces all the time. Why don't you go preach to 10 million dog owners and get the fuck out of my face?

But I said none of these things, I just deleted him (and turned comment screening on for all my videos). Because I've learned the fastest, easiest way to kill a troll is to not feed it.

EDIT: After 30 seconds of research, it seems "warmaster5128" is a 10-year-old little punk whose YouTube channel consists of his reviews of skateboards and videos of him playing PS3 games. Not funny, entertaining videos with commentary like Toby Turner makes, just recordings of him silently playing "Cod Black Ops." (thought he meant "code" but I guess it's short for "call of duty," because he doesn't want to take precious time away from playing the game to spell it all out.)

I ask you, when you were 10 years old, would you EVER talk to a 40-year-old woman like he did to me? You all have my permission to go harass him mercilessly.


Some movies, thoughtfully cut for spoilers and for ease of scrolling past on your way to more exciting posts.

::Splice:: )

::The Haunting of Molly Hartley:: )

::Lost Boys: The Thirst:: )
grrgoyl: (ewan clone)
But first...I give you Ross inventory Friday night.

It all started when I counted this item in the food aisle:

and I couldn't resist showing Gerry, adding the statement "I like my oatmeal like I like my men....thick and rough." Or, more accurately, "thin and unable to hold a spoon."

Over the course of the night the joke was repeated ad nauseum, until it degenerated into, "I like my oatmeal like I like my arms...ropey and hairy" (Gerry's arms are just so) and finally, in Intimate Apparel, "I like my oatmeal like I like my panties...polka dotted and crotchless."

In the cold light of day the following morning, and judging from Tery's tepid reaction, I realized it isn't THAT funny. But on the flip side of a 6-hour inventory, at the end of a long day, at the end of a long week, we had tears in our eyes and difficulty breathing. Good times.

I'm sure our co-workers thought us quite, quite mad.

And now, because you can't sit and fume about our inept government all the time, I rented The Jacket.

People may remember way back when I first realized my love for Adrien Brody. All this time my love has been simmering on a back burner, though certainly not forgotten. So for his starring role, I was drawn to this movie.

It was compared to The Butterfly Effect (a fair comparison, if unfortunate, as I wasn't too crazy about that movie) as well as Donnie Darko (also a fair comparison, if a teasing one, as the similarities are not really worth mentioning). Don't you miss the days when movies were able to stand on their own and not examined as a sum of their inspirations? The movie was also marketed inexplicably as a horror flick, but since Adrien was really my main attraction, ask me if I cared about the gross mislabeling.

It had a pretty all-star cast even apart from my boy, with Jennifer Jason-Leigh, Kris Kristofferson, Kelly Lynch and Keira Knightley (and I just realized after typing that out that the entire supporting cast's names begin exclusively with J's, K's and L's. Funny).

Adrien plays Jack Starks, a Gulf War veteran who is shot in the head but somehow lives. He returns to society despite suffering retrograde amnesia and is wrongly accused of a murder. He's sentenced to an asylum, where he is subjected to a radical, controversial treatment at the hands of Kris Kristofferson involving a body-length straitjacket and being isolated in the drawer of a morgue cabinet. While in the jacket, he discovers he can travel forward in time, where he hooks up with Keira Knightley (who he meets earlier in the movie when she's a little girl). He also finds out that he dies in the past (or actually, present) and the rest of the movie is devoted to him trying to figure out how so he can prevent it (which is the only Donnie Darko connection I can see).

Got all that? Well too bad, cuz now I'm going to pick it to pieces. And I can't do that without the use of some ::spoilers:: )

Despite the faulty ending, and the arguably faulty messing around with the time/space continuum with no apparent consequences, I actually really liked this movie. It sucks that there's no commentary on the disc and I've already watched most of the bonus features, but the story (and of course my Adrien) was interesting enough that I think I'd like to watch it a few more times. Actually 4 out of 5.
grrgoyl: (Default)
So Tery seems determined to fan my "thing" for Adrien Brody, quietly simmering on the backburner, into a full-fledged flame. One-third of the way through Dummy, she insisted on going to Blockbuster on the spot (i.e. 15 minutes before closing time) to rent Spike Lee's Summer of Sam, one of his best roles in her opinion.

I dimly remembered trying to watch this movie once before. I suspect I might have fallen asleep, and I certainly have no memory whatsoever of Adrien being in it. Not so this time, thanks to his performance I was riveted through the entire 2 hours and 20 minutes. It didn't hurt that in his first scene he is most scantily clad indeed , and only got better from that point on. First he appears in adorable shock spikes , then later in a not-so-cute-but-I-could-live-with-it yellow mohawk . At some point in between, in a scene Tery rightly assumed I would enjoy, he writhes his lithe body around on stage a la Emcee for some dirty old men Grrrr, baby, very grrrr (but the dirty old men part I could have done without). Oh, how I love my lean, muscular men.

Interspersed with the Adrien hotness was actually a very excellent and gripping movie, not so much about the Son of Sam himself but more about the effect his killing spree had on a close-knit community in the Bronx. Not unlike The Village, it was an interesting study in the power of fear in manipulating people, but also a very authentic peek into the decade (1977) with outstanding performances by John Leguizamo and Mira Sorvino. Of course, all I remember from my first viewing was the scene when the dog comes into the room and orders Berkowitz to kill. I expected to be disappointed by the effect in light of all the CGI improvements made since its original release, but no, apparently they could make dog mouths move convincingly even way back in 1999. Freaky. All in all the film gets 4.5 out of 5 from me, except for the complete lack of extras, and the fact that it seemed everyone else in the film got to get their freak on except Adrien. What's up wit dat?

The movie inspired a different sort of conversation than probably intended by Spike, though. Tery is perplexed by my extremely faulty, sometimes downright nonexistent, memory. She finds it inconceivable that I can't remember things that happened last month, let alone what I was doing back in 1977. She pointed out that I am a very intelligent person, yet the extent of my hard drive storage seems to end with knowing not to touch a hot oven. She, on the other hand, can recall her entire wardrobe from any given year, every lunchbox she ever carried, what day and time "Cagney and Lacey" was on, her haircut, everything. She figures I have some synapses gaps in my brain or something. My theory is that I only remember important things (and not touching a hot oven certainly ranks high in that category) and don't clutter up my brain with every trivial bit of minutiae I experience. Perhaps this isn't the best way to be - she is easily hurt when I don't remember what to her are important details of our first months together, for instance - but I am at a complete loss how to remedy the situation. Maybe this is why I started keeping a journal.

On a completely different note, a quick word on the state of rental DVDs today, what is becoming my fastest growing pet peeve. My player of late has become very twitchy and very much a prima donna; the smallest fingerprint on the playing surface of the disc is enough to pixelate the screen and even freeze up the movie completely. The occasional fingerprint I can maybe understand. However, when this happened during SOS I pulled out the disc, and it looked like Jesus' lacerated back in Passion of the Christ. What is going on?? Are people using these things for dinner plates? Or maybe frisbees? A DVD is not a dog toy, people. I don't understand how discs can get this scratched when it is quite simple to handle them correctly, by the edges. Fortunately I have a second player that doesn't care what I put into it, it plays without a hitch (but it's not hooked up to our DTS Surround). This baby could probably find a way to play a hubcap if I asked it nicely enough. But today's civic message is: Please be a bit more respectful of rental DVDs. Today's rental disc could be tomorrow's previously-viewed purchase.

Here endeth the entry.

grrgoyl: (kill bill)
My younger sister Amy visited me this week from Boston. Thankfully her idea of a good time more or less matches mine. She also likes watching movies and spending as little money as possible. So $20 at Hollywood Video buys a week full of good times. Here are my reviews on most of what we watched:


::Dummy:: )

::The Station Agent:: )

::Hellboy:: )

::Kill Bill Vol. 2:: )


::The Village:: )

::Fahrenheit 9/11:: )

On a TOTALLY unrelated note, did anyone else think the Olympic cauldron looked like a gigantic doobie?

grrgoyl: (Default)
Courtesy of Drew's Blog-a-Rama, recommended by [ profile] swankyfunk with good reason:

I could so easily develop a thing for Adrien Brody, all 71-1/2 scrawny inches of him, even as a disembodied head atop a veiny arm in Tori Amos' new video, A Sorta Fairytale, which you all should go see now. I mean, just look at him:


and when he nuzzles Tori's ear:

Oh my, oh my.

I wonder if celebrities and musicians deliberately request other celebrities just for the chance to snog them? I know I sure would. And Adrien Brody would definitely make the short list.


grrgoyl: (Default)

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