grrgoyl

I'm experiencing a bit of a Rickman Renaissance, a Ricknaissance if you will. I realized that a lot of old titles that I watched casually back before my love was in full bloom are now available quite affordably on most sites. Specifically, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.

I know, I know, I couldn't stand that movie. However. That was before I realized that the two-disc extended edition contained an extra 15 minutes, most of which evidently focus on Rickman's Sheriff of Nottingham. "Interesting if you like that Richman guy, but doesn't add much to the movie" reviewers say on Amazon. Reviewers who no doubt resent any focus being dragged away from Kevin "no British accent for me" Costner. Add to that screencaps of Alan smiling and messing around from the bonus features on rickmanistareview.com (my new favorite site) and ownership of this is a no-brainer.

There's also a special edition of my second (or third) favorite Rickman flick (Rickflick? I'll stop), Galaxy Quest, on the horizon. It's all coming together nicely.

~*~

Of course I planned to see X-Men Origins: Wolverine, just not under such unpleasant circumstances.

Saturday night Ryan, after more than a week of blowing off our workout routine, swore to me up and down that Monday was the day. He was going to start up again, yesiree. A bike ride, the gym, he didn't care, he was there.

Then Monday came and it was a very different story. After giving Ryan ample opportunity to call me, I finally texted him, only to be told he had "overbooked" his day and was now too busy for me. When was he planning to let me know? Hard on the heels of this rather rude slight came his invitation to see the movie with "us." As Tery put it, the afterthought invite: my very favorite kind.

The problem is the "us." Ryan has a shiny new roommate, Lucy, a friend of John's. This was my first time meeting Lucy. My impression of her is she looks the way John would look if he were shorter, female and more butch -- if she isn't a lesbian, she'd certainly be on the short list to play one on TV. But Ryan insisted she wasn't much of a drinker, and she agreed that John was "disappointing," so I guess she was alright.

I was irked by Ryan putting me off, but was doing my best to keep a happy face on. Ryan sensed the turmoil beneath and repeatedly asked if everything was alright. Either he's super-intuitive or I wasn't hiding it as well as I thought I was.

I mentioned our neighbors going to Mexico in the middle of the flu scare (they've returned home with only a garden variety viral illness, fortunately). Lucy eagerly chimed in, "We had the swine flu last night!" Apparently some bar somewhere in Denver (I'm sure we aren't alone) is tasteless enough to have named an alcoholic beverage after a pandemic that has the country in an iron grip of terror. Whatever. I was reminded of Ryan's insistence that she wasn't a very big drinker.

We took our seats, the movie started, and Ryan and I had more or less returned to normal.

After the movie I tried one last time to get Ryan to join me at the gym, but he put me off until Tuesday. He did ask for some free passes for Lucy. Apparently our duo is about to become a trio. Meh.

Tuesday. Ryan texted me midday to beg off the gym, claiming severe depression. I'm being patient with him, but I did helpfully suggest that maybe exercise would help him snap out of it. No response.

So I opted for a bike ride. I've been having trouble with the bike ever since trying to attach a rear rack and mistakenly removing the back tire. I had no idea the back tire was a bit more complicated to reattach than the front. Consequently I've been having trouble with it refusing to stay attached. It's especially fond of coming off when I'm trying to pedal across a huge intersection one block from our house, when roughly 50 motorists are staring at me as I cross.

It had come off a couple of times on my ride, until the last time no matter how securely I thought I had it on, I couldn't pedal more than once before it popped off again. Admitting defeat, I resigned myself to walking home. It was about a mile and a half; it felt like ten. And I was afraid I wouldn't get a very good workout away from the gym.

I called Ryan hoping for some sympathy. I didn't expect his phone to be answered by a very drunk-sounding girl, presumably Lucy (you remember Lucy, the not very big drinker). Ryan came on and immediately said that he couldn't help me, he was downtown. Not too depressed to go out drinking, evidently.

I was too worried about my immediate plight to think much at the time, but I woke up the next morning pissed as hell. It was good to know that had I been in trouble, Ryan would have preferred to stay at the bar rather than help me. And he can get his own damn free passes for Lucy. I've since learned she's unemployed and living rent-free off Ryan's goodwill (he's got a real talent for attracting losers who for some reason mistake him for Mr. Moneybags Sugar Daddy), so I don't really see how 7 free days of gym usage is going to do her any good.

(Hopefully the bike problem is solved. I brought the bike back to the shop where they tightened the tire on really well. I don't know if I'll ever fully relax on it though.)

Wednesday. Ryan called in sick to work because he "wasn't feeling well." Which in Ryan-speak means hangover. Good thing Lucy isn't a very big drinker.

Anyway,

( ::the movie:: )

Overall a respectable addition to the franchise. Certainly better than Last Stand. Will most certainly be purchasing.

~*~

Last but not least, this is what my lazy postal carrier has come to in delivering my packages:

Hai. I live next to a drug addict. Please to not be leaving valuable things on my doorstep

Can anyone explain the point of draping the welcome mat halfway over it? The welcome mat that's full of big holes?

Current Mood: good
Current Music: From above, they say temptation will destroy our love

A Super Bowl party is a damn lonely place if you don't care about sports. I went to Tery's bar, City Pub nee Toby Jug, for the promise of a free half-time buffet and the chance to see Ryan (which I never miss). It was loud, boring, and the only food that appealed to me from the buffet was a hotdog and nachos with toppings. In between a shouted and only partially-heard conversation with Ryan I caught myself watching the game, which was ludicrous given the fact that I understand only the bare minimum of how it's played and really absolutely could not have cared less who was playing, let alone winning. I left immediately after the half-time show to spend a much more enjoyable evening alone at home.

~*~

I heard back from the IRS once and for all. The good news is they agree that I don't owe them $2000. The bad news is the last line of the letter was something to the effect of, "You may have gotten off easy this time, but we'll be back, my pretty." Lay off, Mr. Taxman. Have you run out of Enron executives to investigate?

~*~

I hate computers. I love them, but I hate them. My ability to make any given program/hardware work falls somewhere above that of my father (at the 0 end of the scale) and below my friend Gerry, who bandies about lots of fancy terminology but doesn't by any means know enough to make a living at it (or maybe he does and just enjoys the thrilling inventory life instead).

I want to use my cheap, no-frills, secondhand laptop basically for two things only: to read Snarry at night in my bed, and to occasionally write a journal post for days like today when I'm sick and tired of sitting at this desk. I had achieved both goals handily when I got my brother-in-law's wireless modem card working for awhile. Then, stupidly, I unplugged it for some reason and when I tried to use it again weeks later it had stopped working.

I fiddled with it endlessly, tormented by the knowledge that it had worked fine at one time so should logically do so again. If it had never worked I would have stopped much, much sooner and wasted much, much less time. But nothing I did would establish a connection (well, specifically it APPEARED to have a connection, but every page I visited produced an "unable to find server" message).

Fine, I thought. I'd go back to the old days of using a floppy disk to transfer data (the laptop has a CD drive but not a burner). Until I looked more closely at my new desktop and only then noticed it didn't HAVE a floppy disk drive. It has no less than 4 different openings for presumably various sizes of memory sticks, but floppy disks, nada.

My choices then were to go back to eBay in pursuit of either an external floppy drive to retrofit my new desktop, or an external memory stick drive to upgrade my laptop. You see, this is why I HATE computers. Nothing can ever be simple. I then thought I had reached a compromise by buying a USB data transfer cable, which arrived yesterday. What the auction failed to mention was that to use this deceivingly simple tool, one needs to set up a network. I don't know what I was expecting. Probably what I always hope for with my computer and rarely get, that I could plug in a "plug-and-play" device and it would magically start working without requiring any extra effort from me.

Network. The very word makes my blood run cold, because it was a word I encountered repeatedly in my exhaustive efforts with the modem card, and I never once found a simple, straightfoward, plain English explanation on what it is, how it's used, and how one creates it. And, as far as I can tell from spending about an hour on it last night, it's not possible to establish a network between a brand new desktop running Windows XP and a laptop of indeterminate age and limited capacity running Windows 98. If it is, I don't want to know because I'm sick of playing with the damn thing. Sick to death.

Simple. I want things simple. Back to eBay I went and bought an external floppy drive for my desktop. It's also USB "plug-and-play" but claims it only needs drivers for Windows 98. (Drivers. Another word that raises my hackles.)

~*~

Speaking of computers and Snarry, when I got my backup disk from the good people at Action Computers, one of the things they saved was my own humble effort at a Snarry story. I went back and reread it, and it rekindled my interest in writing it. It wasn't as bad as I remembered, and I also forgot how fun it is to write dialogue for Snape (who is almost as snarky as me). I'm toying with the idea of eventually posting it on one of my Snarry communities (if I can ever think of an ending). The only thing preventing me is the fact that those people gush over just about everyone, regardless of talent or lack thereof. I would honestly prefer it never see the light of day to having insincere praise heaped upon it. So far the only person privileged enough to read it is my beloved Bear, who never talks to me but I love her anyway. Maybe I can entice

ohdeve...I mean,

yammerhead with it. He's back and he'll never admit it, but I suspect he couldn't resist the allure of the Snarry.

~*~

Finally, I keep putting off writing this because I've been trying to limit my posts to one topic, but since this is a miscellaneous dump I'm including it here.

A movie review 18 years in the making,

( ::Die Hard:: )

This movie has undoubtedly stood the test of time, especially in comparison to two movies I've reviewed in the past: The Lost Boys which came out the year before and is now hopelessly dated, and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves that came out 3 years later and is retarded and dated. With its story of a terrorist attack on a skyscraper, it could be argued that it's more relevant than ever. So, Alan Rickman + Bruce Willis (not an annoyingly horrible actor like other action heroes) + still a great story + with still pretty decent effects = 4.5 out of 5

Current Mood: hungry
Current Music: they don't come much more slick than you//and I'd drive your car if you asked me to

I feel the urge to update again, you lucky, lucky people.

Crankwhore: Still no sign of her in person, although we did get a call from the environmental testing 'people' (HA! My blog has inside jokes). It seems our attic tested positive for unacceptable levels of contamination. They'll have to break through the firewall after all, and decontaminate all the seasonal stuff we've got stored up there. You can imagine the effect this news had on the tiny amount of good will I'd managed to scrounge up earlier in her defense. Fucking Crankwhore. It also occurred to me that we pulled all that stuff down for Christmas, obviously long before realizing the danger. Fucking Crankwhore poisoned Christmas! This might shed some light on why I was so sick for the first three months of this year, or perhaps not since Tery wasn't. Until they clean it up, all that stands between our bedroom and unacceptable levels of contamination is a thin piece of plywood with cottage cheese ceiling material. THAT'S a relaxing thought. The good news is I'll get to hang with my friend Leah some more.

Pigeons: The HOA sent out a pest control "hit man" to examine our situation. He gave us large corn kernels to lay down for them with instructions to call him back in 3 weeks when he would switch them out for poisoned kernels. Mind you, I don't really want them dead, but it is starting to resemble an Alfred Hitchcock movie around here. We put out the corn and honest to god haven't seen them since (on our balcony, at least). Go figure: I attacked them with a bat repeatedly for a week, and they kept coming back. We covered the balcony top to bottom with elaborate fencing, and they kept coming back. We lay down a little corn for them, and they said, "Shit, they mean business! We're outta here!" As MyFriendDeb put it, "Perhaps all the ones who said, 'Look! Food from the people previously hostile to our presence!' have been weeded out already." The birds aren't gone completely. Tery noticed definite nest-building activity over on the CW's balcony *snicker* The babies? Dead. Tery was upset, but come on... it's not like she drove them miles and miles away. They were in a tree 10 feet away from the building. Any species too stupid to find their offspring in this situation deserves to be thinned a little.

Concerts: I had a bit of an existential crisis on Friday. I decided I HAD to see Muse when they come to Denver next month, forcing me to ask the age-old question that still has no answer -- where have all my real friends gone? You know how you kind of categorize your friends in terms of social situations? Like, Friend A is good to see a movie with but Friend B is better at a club? Yeah, I don't have enough friends to do that. And concerts are trickiest of all because they are typically expensive, a logistical pain in the ass (buying tickets, getting to the location, fighting the crowds to get to your seat, then when it's all over fighting the crowds to escape, etc.), PLUS you have to know someone who likes the band enough to deal with the first two issues. Not easy. I had a friend for this category, he even lived in the Denver area, but the shithead went and moved out of state on me. Long story short (for real this time), I got so frustrated and self-pitying trying to think of someone to go with me (that was right about the time I contacted you,

metatronis) that I called Tery in tears and she said she would go. She said she LOVED Muse and couldn't wait to go with me. She was lying of course (proven easily enough when she couldn't sing even one song), but that's what you do when you love someone as much as she loves me. But then I got online to buy us tickets and stopped dead in my tracks when I realized the place where they're playing didn't have assigned seating. "Standing Room/Limited Seating" it said. I didn't care for the sound of that at all. I'm getting too old to be stuck in a giant mosh pit with a bunch of 16-year-olds. I had an instant flashback to every concert I've ever been to. With the exception of Sarah McLachlan where I practically fell asleep, concerts usually sound like a lot of fun in theory until I get there and suddenly remember they're all hordes of obnoxious, often drunk people who are going to spend the rest of the night jamming their elbows into my boobs. Or so I rationalized to myself. Those conditions might be more tolerable with someone as passionate about the band as I am, but not with someone who's going just to make me happy, as much as I love her for it. Sorry, Roxie, I'm going to puss out. : (

Snarry: I'm ~~writing~~ attempting one of my own. It's a more daunting task than I thought it would be, keeping them in character. Tery says it's good so far, for what that's worth coming from someone who hasn't read the books and has only seen small snippets of the movies before I relent and let her change the channel. She takes great pleasure in adding her own bits to the story, for example: "Poop," said Harry. "You're stinky," said Snape. Very mature. She's also very insistent that I incorporate a famous phrase from her own teenage writing effort, namely, "Cooperate, you hot bitch." I asked if I could scatter the words throughout rather than use them in the same sentence. (I'm kidding. I won't be using at least half of these words.) I haven't decided yet whether it will see the light of day. I feel terribly shy about posting it in one of the Snarry communities; not so much fearing negative feedback (I'm perfectly capable of stringing words together into pleasing and grammatically correct sentences, which is more than I can say for some of the writers who have posted there) as having it be completely ignored, as it seems most of my other appearances on LJ are. Maybe it will be available by request only. I don't know why fiction writing is so intimidating, I certainly find it easy enough to blather on about my life.

Finally, a movie review 15 years in the making: Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. I taped this for the Rickman goodness of course. I had worked an 11-1/2-hour inventory during the day and plopped on the couch as soon as I got home. 15 minutes later my joints had stiffened up so much I literally could barely move enough to change out of my uniform. I discovered this is actually the most desirable condition in which to watch Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, and possibly the only way to endure Kevin Costner's embarrassingly bad performance - namely, to be so utterly immobilized that you can't even muster the strength to work the remote. Oh my god. He might even be worse than Richard Gere, someone I had previously considered to be the world's worst, most overrated actor. I've seen RH: PoT before of course, but that was when I was much younger (well, 15 years younger to be exact) and still blissfully unaware that appallingly horrible actors can be glorified just for being marginally good-looking.

Some of the more painful lines (which I will not blame the writers for....there's nothing wrong with the lines themselves, only the actor delivering them):

(Being chased by Nottingham and his men, debating entering haunted Sherwood Forest) "Either we face the ghosts or become ghosts ourselves!" Not the best of lines, but Kevin's delivery is so ham-handed it made me physically cringe.

(just before the Turkish executioner is going to cut off his hand in prison) "This is English courage," says Kevin. No, judging from your accent I'd say it's Southern Californian courage. Is it so very hard to do a British accent? Apparently not, as later in the film when he poses as a beggar to sneak into church he does a perfectly passable Cockney accent. Why, Kevin, why? Because no one would buy you with a British accent? Well, I don't buy that Robin Hood was a "whooooohooooooo!" guy (which is what Kevin does when he becomes over-excited about walking on his farmland again). (BTW The same accent criticism applies to Christian Slater, who comes awfully close....but then gives up, doubtlessly in light of his co-star's pathetic effort.)

Even when he's saving people's lives he's got the emotional range of a beer vendor at a baseball game. I could go on and on, but you get the point.

Of course Alan does his best in the way of damage control, but there's only so much you can do as the deliciously evil comic relief. Wearing deliciously evil leggings and pirate shirt. Deliciously raping and pillaging and...and....oh hell, what was I saying?

As for Morgan Freeman, he was the only bright spot next to Alan. And got all the best lines (AND managed to deliver them in a foreign dialect. ACTING!!!!)

This is the review imdb.com chose to post on the RH: PoT front page:

I am totally shocked this movie has such a low rating! [I am totally shocked you feel passionately enough about the movie to say so]

I thought it was an excellent movie. One of my favorites!!

Of course Kevin Costner is so yummy! He could be the only character and I would still love it! ["Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves - a one-man show in three acts, by Kevin Costner." Might actually be kind of amusing]

Also Mary Elizabeth [don't want to attempt spelling her last name?] did a good job as Marian. I thought both of them put alot of emotion into their roles and they had GREAT chemistry! I loved watching Marian go from wary of Robin Hood to realizing he wasn't "stealing all the gold and jewels for himself". [wait, why is this in quotes? Is this a line from the movie?]

You could just see the love on the screen! Of course Alan Rickman made a super bad guy. [how generous of you to mention him in the midst of your Kevin Costner-obsessed frenzy] And who can not like the Bryan Adams song? [::meekly raising hand::] Perfect addition to this movie!

All in all a great cast and a great twist on an old story!

This was written in 2004, long after most people had realized that some Hollywood blockbusters of olde don't always stand the test of time. I'm guessing this person still lives in their parents' basement and owns a very battered, worn out VHS copy of the movie.

Ugh. 3 out of 5, as long as you edit out anything not involving Alan.

Current Mood: bitchy
Current Music: never never wanted this, from the start I've been deceived