Juno, one of my all time favorite movies (and this is coming from a person whose preferred genre is mindless action or horror), came out on DVD yesterday, so clearly I needed to go out and buy it. I forgot to do this until after 9PM, when most of the stores around here are closed, so I decided to try my luck with the local video rental place, which occasionally has new releases available for purchase.



Not only did I find Juno, I also found:




























And yes, the title of that movie IS Apocalypse & the Beauty Queen.


And the synopsis from the official website:


"The story revolves around Amber:a bitter model who leaves New Yorkafter being rejected by the fashion world at the terribly old age of 26.Soon after returning to her small Midwestern Hometown, unforeseencircumstances leave the country in ruins. As chaos reigns, her aggressivebig city ways keep her alive and safe. She organizes and leads the localson looting raids acquiring a large stockpile of guns, ammo and food.Supplying them with food and security she soon has many loyalfollowers. In time, Amber becomes the self appointed Queen of the county.Of course, all that power begins to corrupt her very soul. She easily fallsunder the infulence of a trusted, but wicked friend who guides her tohappiness by mistreating her subjects, especially the beautiful onesBut Queen Ambers' twisted reign is cut short when a trusted guard fallsin love with one of her victims."


Allow me to explain how I came to purchase this gem.


I was wandering innocently through the store when I came across a rack of used DVDs that happened to be three for $10. I found The Core and Dark Water, neither of which were very good, but both were films that I enjoyed very much. I was looking for a third and couldn't find anything even halfway decent. I decided I was going to choose between an obscure, terrible action movie and an obscure, terrible ghost movie when I saw Apocalypse & the Beauty Queen.

It was instantly clear to me that this film would undoubtably provide much hilarity.


And so I came home with Juno, The Core, Dark Water..... and Apocalypse & the Beauty Queen. I haven't watched it yet, but don't worry, I'll be sure to let you know how it is. ^_^

I stumbled blearily into my house on Saturday morning with a full on hangover, wanting nothing more than to sit on my sofa and play some Onimusha 3. It had been a long night of heavy drinking and live punk music, and I was definitely ready for some downtime. I was able to relax for what seemed like only a few minutes but was probably more like an hour when my doorbell rang. Confused, I looked out my window and saw a police car.

Great, I thought to myself. I'm hung over and reek of alcohol and cigarettes. Wonderful. WHAT THE HELL IS A COP DOING HERE? I quickly ran through the night before. My designated driver, Nils, had been stone cold sober until we got back to his house, and there had been no incidents involving motor vehicles. The small party at Nils's place had been quiet, and as far as I knew no neighbors had been disturbed. Satisfied that I hadn't done anything jail-worthy, I finally got up to answer the door.

"Ummm... hi," I said intelligently to the officer standing outside my door. Clearly I intended to dazzle him with my sparkling wit.

"Is Ricky here?" the cop asked.

"Ricky?"

"Ricky," the cop confirmed.

"Ricky?" It was as though I thought that if I repeated the name enough it would start to make sense. It didn't.

"Ricky." The cop had his hands on his hips and was giving me a steely look. He was apparently getting tired of this Repeat The Name game.

"Umm..." I wracked my brain one more time. "I don't know a Ricky."

The cop gave me a look. "You don't know Ricky."

"No. I don't know Ricky."

"Are you Rebecca?"

The cop's unprofessional attitude was really starting to irk me. "Yes."

"And you live here?"

"Yes."

"And you don't know Ricky." The cop's skeptiscism was very clear.

"No," I replied a bit waspishly. "I don't know a Ricky."

The cop wasn't finished. "Sandra said he would be here."

I thought briefly about repeating the name a few times, but I decided against it. "Sandra who?" I demanded.

"Sandra *****," the cop snapped back.

"I don't know any Sandras, either," I said, exasperated. "Maybe next door?"

I waited at the door as the cop walked over to the other side of the duplex to talk to my neighbor. Apparently he had as little luck there as he had on my side of the duplex because (lucky me) he was on his way back over. I waited as he positioned himself once more on my porch.

"You don't know a Ricky or a Sandra," the cop said finally.

"No," I said firmly. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

"Because," the cop continued as though I hadn't said anything. "If Ricky was here, I'd have to take him to jail."

Oh good. "Well," I said brightly. "I'm very glad I don't know a Ricky then."

The cop gave me one last look, then turned around and got back into his car. I closed the door, and went back to playing video games, but the encounter disturbed me. Who was Sandra, and why would she tell the cops that 'Ricky' was at my house? Who was Ricky? And why was Ricky going to jail? The more I thought about it the more it bothered me. I might make a quick phone call to the police station today to see if I can get any information about what's going on. >_<

I live by myself, and most of the time I'm very okay with that. Most of the time I even prefer it to living with a roommate. The day I moved out of my parents' house a few years ago and into a tiny studio garage apartment, I did it alone. When I moved out of that and into a 900 sq. ft. duplex, I did it alone.

Last month I broke up with the only person that I've lived with since moving out of the parents' house. We lived together for five or six months, and while living alone is definitely what I'm more used to, it has been difficult for me getting used to the solo living arrangements again. I'm having trouble remembering why I was always so gung-ho about living by myself.

Last night I had one of those dreams that wakes you up at 3AM with your heart pounding and an uncontrollabe urge to leap out of bed and race from room to room turning every light in the house on. I even briefly considered dragging the Christmas lights out of the closet and hanging them in every shadowed corner. When I got ahold of myself about fifteen minutes later (yes, with every light in the house on), I called my mom. She was wonderful, not angry with me at all for the late night phone call, and talked to me until I felt okay enough to start turning lights back off and crawl back into bed with a light-hearted book.

Those are the times that I desperately miss being a little kid. When I could wake up after a bad dream and know that all I needed to do was make some sound of distress and Mom would be there in a second to hug me, remind me that it wasn't real, and gently ask if I wanted to tell her about the dream.

Those are the times that I miss being in a serious relationship. When I could wake up after a bad dream and have my lover kiss my forehead, put his arms around me, and sleepily tell me that it was just a dream, and it's all going to be okay.

Well....

I do have a cat. And she did curl up with me and purr when I went back to bed, which may have been her version of don't worry, it was just a dream.

I'll take what I can get. ^_^

Just in case anyone was wondering, yes I did finally clean my kitchen. And my living room. And most of my dining room. Bathroom and bedroom are next, and then if I'm feeling really ambitious, I might tackle my office (which is much bigger and much messier than my bedroom)..... but probably not.

BUT. I read The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst yesterday. Well, I started it on Tuesday and finished it yesterday. The book follows the story of a man who comes home one day to find that his wife has fallen out of a tree to her death, and as he searches desperately to understand what happened that day, he decides to try to learn what happened through the only witness to the event, his wife's Rhodesian Ridgeback, Lorelei. Being a linguist, he embarks on an effort to teach her to talk.

I didn't have a great day yesterday. I was pretty stressed out. When I went to bed I dozed in and out for a long time before I really fell asleep. And when I finally did, I had the most realistic, vivid dream I had ever had in my life. It was wonderful. It was empowering. It was joyful. It nearly made me cry with happiness.

I dreamed that I cleaned my kitchen.

When I got up this morning and bounded gleefully down the hall I stopped short in disappointment when I realized that yes, my kitchen still looks like a tornado hit it. Five or six times. A tornado of bachelors, even*. And in fact, the rest of the house sort of looks the same.

I think it's time to do a bit of **shudder** housework.



And just so you appreciate how very messy my house is...... Look.






Even Wonder Woman is horrified at the thought of the monumental effort cleaning is going to require.


*And just for the record, I'm sure there are very, very tidy bachelors. I just haven't met any.

When I got out of the theater Wednesday night after seeing Stop Loss, I was on fire with disappointment and ready to write the most scathing review known to man. Then I thought about it. And I thought about it some more. And I read a different opinion on A[tipp]ical Thoughts, which made me think even more.

I've decided not to actually review the movie. There is absolutely no escaping the fact that (in my opinion) it was poorly done. Much of the acting was unconvincing at best, and the whole story was predictable to the enth degree. I was so bitterly disappointed in this film because it is a topic I feel very strongly about, and I was hoping to see a little bit more put into the movie. A little more effort in the writing, a little more discretion in the casting, etc.

That being said, I mentioned to one of my friends that I had seen Stop Loss, and he asked, "what's that about?" I took a moment, stunned, then told him it was about stop-loss orders. "What's that?" he asked. And he was serious. Wow. I hope that my friend was an anomaly, and that most of the general public does know what a stop-loss is, but if not, at least this film will be opening a lot of eyes.

And there were definitely some very powerful scenes throughout the movie. Mostly towards the beginning - I don't remember anything really worth noting at the end - but they were there, and they were deeply affecting. It is difficult to watch a movie like that while there are still soldiers fighting in Iraq. You find yourself wondering, how much of this is Hollywood, and how much of this is really going on? And then, if you're me, you count yourself extremely fortunate that you don't have a brother, sister, father, mother, husband, or wife serving in our country's military right now. Then you feel like shit for thinking that and want to cry for the people who do have to fear for their loved one's lives every day. Then you think about all the Iraqi civilians and innocents who have died, and you wonder what it would be like to be them.

And then your mind starts going around and around, thinking about the man you've known since you were four who served over there, about your friend's soon-to-be husband who served over there, and you start thinking about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder...

And then you curl up into a little ball and you wonder when the hell we're going to get out of Iraq.

I had the extreme (mis)fortune of going to see Stop Loss with Mom and Kristin last night. And just to clear up any possible misunderstandings, it was misfortune because of the poor quality of the film, not because of the company. I wanted this movie to be excellent so badly because of the important subject matter, but the film was just ridiculous. I'll be writing a full review later. Suffice to say that by the end the three of us (all of us very deep, empathetic women) are sitting our chairs making a valiant effort to suppress gales of laughter during.... a funeral scene. No, we are not bad people. I promise.

My hands are getting very dry again, slowly approaching the point where my knuckles are going to crack and bleed. If anyone knows of a great moisturizer lotion that doesn't leave that icky greasy feeling, I would love to know.

Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII is out for the PSP, and it's getting fantastic reviews. Interestingly enough, critic's score is averaging at about 8.6, and user reviews are averaging at 9.3. I'm excited to play it. In one of the reviews I read, the critic mentions as one of the down sides to the game that "combat is on the easy side". I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be too upset by that. And of course, the cut scenes look amazing.

I'm re-reading The Crimson Petal and the White, by Michel Faber. I'm over halfway through it, and I'm once again struck by how intense Faber's writing is. I'm not usually a huge fan of historical fiction, but this book, set in the mid/late 1800s, is so rich and feels so realistic that you can almost believe the author jumped in a time machine and hung around London in 1875 to do his research. It's beautiful, sad, and definitely keeps you reading. I'm glad I decided to pick it up again.

And that's all I've got. I'll try to harness my disappointment in Stop Loss to write a review later.

I was surfing Engaget today and I have something amazing to show you:




Nubrella: tomorrow's fashion mistake, today!






Posted Feb 20th 2008 6:48PM by Paul MillerFiled under: Wearables
This is frankly brilliant. A hands-free umbrella is perfect for walking to work while yapping on your phone with one hand and cradling a cup of coffee with the other. Unfortunately it's just never going to make it past the "my friends will laugh at me" stage, because they will. They will laugh so very hard. It's a cruel, backwards society we live in, and it's no wonder we don't have flying cars yet. That said, you can destroy your own fashion credibility today for a mere $59.99. Maybe the fanny pack types will accept you, but we can't make any guarantees.


I mean....


Wow.


And I don't know what they're talking about - I don't see why anyone would laugh at you! And only $59.99? It's a steal!


But seriously though, can you imagine walking down a busy city street wearing that thing? Even barring the people are staring at me like I'm a freak factor, you've got the I'm wearing a giant bubble that takes up twice the space I normally would factor. And what about getting into a cab, bus, or other such transportation? I don't know how easy that thing is to take on and off, but it can't be that easy. And if it is super easy to take off, that begs the question how stable is it when it's on? Is it liable to tip over, or fly off unexpectedly?

No. That umbrella thingie is a bad idea.


Now THIS is much more useful:



Nihon Uni shirts resist stabbing, make you feel like a superhero





Posted Mar 25th 2008 3:46PM by Darren MurphFiled under: Wearables
Mind you, this isn't the first time we've seen garb constructed to withstand vicious knife fights, and apparently a few Japanese streets are becoming just as frightening as some in London. Reportedly created to provide protection against stabbers following an "increasing number of malicious crimes that have victimized children and late-night convenience store clerks," Nihon Uni has developed a t-shirt crafted from "ultrahigh molecular weight polyethylene fiber." Aside from rendering blades useless, the material is also completely machine washable and lightweight; still, the fabric can be penetrated by "sharp points," so it's up to you to steer clear of rooftop archers. Nevertheless, long-sleeved versions can be had this June for ¥22,000 ($221) to ¥59,000 ($593), while the way less protective short-sleeved variety will run you between ¥19,000 ($191) and ¥52,000 ($522).




Just ask yourself, do I want to be protected in case I get into a vicious knife fight, or am assaulted by someone with a bladed weapon?


I think clearly the answer is yes.

So yesterday after spending an unfortunate number of hours cleaning my bedroom (I even vacuumed the cobwebs off the ceiling! What? Am I kidding? No, why?) I had a flash of inspiration. I dashed to my back room, flung open the closet door, and dove in! After an epic battle with some stuffed animals and old textbooks, I emerged with a battered old Sketchers shoe box. When I opened it, my face was bathed in golden light as I beheld my Holy Grail:

Ah, Sega Genesis, how I've missed you! Cheerfully I carted the shoe box to my bedroom, and examined the older television sitting on my dresser. It was old enough for me to be able to plug the ancient-technology cable trailing from the back of the Genesis directly into the TV. Plug the machine into the nearest available outlet, stick a Sonic cartridge in, turn it on, and....

"Sega!" the TV sang as the blue logo flashed across the screen and the oh-so-familiar Sonic the Hedgehog music chirped thinly from the speakers.

YES!

It still worked! I was so excited!

My mom was always very strict about the television when I was growing up. If I'm remembering correctly I was allowed to watch two shows every week, so maybe hour or two, with an occasional Disney movie thrown in. That's in a week. Not that much. However my dad was in the navy and was gone on submarines for months at a time, and when he was gone, my mom would borrow our family friends' Genesis and I would get to play a bit. I guess it was something of a consolation prize, something to get my mind off the fact that daddy was gone again.

I was probably sevenish? eightish? and I had a blast playing it of course. But my favorite thing to do was watch Mom play, especially Shining in the Darkness. I remember being really excited because Mom was letting me stay up late - REALLY late! - so I could watch her play just a little bit longer.

I got a little older, and still loved the Genesis (which gradually sort of become ours by default - the family friends didn't really want it). My friend Matt and I would obsessively play Altered Beast and Sword of Vermillion. I got older still, then even older, and suddenly the Genesis had been collecting dust on a shelf for many years and I was ready to move out of my parents' home. I asked to take the ancient console with me, and soon it was ensconced in my tiny garage studio apartment. When I moved from there to my duplex, it was shoved into a closet and forgotten. In the three years I've been moved out, I don't think it's been hooked up once.

Until yesterday!

I spent hours crawling through dungeons with Shining in the Darkness, trying to remember how to bring up the cheat options in Altered Beast (press Start and B at the same time), collecting rings with Sonic, being shamefully schooled by the computer in Mortal Kombat 2, and visiting many other old friends.

I think the Genesis can stay hooked up for a while this time.

^_^

So. Those who know me know about my strange fascination/fear for Brazilian Wandering Spiders.

I am reminded that three years ago in April is when that pub chef in England was bitten by the BWS hiding in a crate of bananas.

Thinking about that I did a quick google search for BWS news, as I do from time to time. Mostly to make sure that there hasn't been a population surge in western Washington. What? But BWS only lives in South / Central America? That's what YOU think. What happens when they adapt to our climate, storm all the banana crates they can find, and TAKE OVER? HUH? HUH?!

Paranoid? Me? Pffft.

But anyway, I found this tidbit of information:

Natural Viagra: Spider Bite Causes Erection
By Jeanna Bryner, LiveScience Staff Writer
posted: 01 May, 2007 12:10 am ET

WASHINGTON — A Brazilian spider delivers more than a painful bite that sends most victims to the hospital. Its venom stimulates an hours-long erection. Now scientists have figured out the chemical that seems to be responsible for the penis boost.

In Brazil, emergency room staff can immediately spot the victims of a bite from the Brazilian wandering spider (Phoneutria nigriventer). Patients not only experience overall pain and an increase in blood pressure, they also sport an uncomfortable erection. “The erection is a side effect that everybody who gets stung by this spider will experience along with the pain and discomfort,” said study team member Romulo Leite of the Medical College of Georgia. “We’re hoping eventually this will end up in the development of real drugs for the treatment of erectile dysfunction.”

This information was confirmed in a BBC article.

Wow.

Just wow.

O_O

Doomsday

"If you're hungry... have a piece of your friend."

So my friend Nils and I are sitting on my sofa watching 'Ashura'. It's somewhere between one and three o'clock in the morning and we're exhausted, dozing a bit, not even laughing at the ridiculous movie any more.

Suddenly there was a thumping sound from the front porch, and as we twist around to look towards the entry, the front door FLIES open and a strange woman stumbles into the room.

There was dead silence.

Nils and I stared wide eyed at the intruder, rudely shaken from our Japanese action movie induced trance, unable to make a sound. The tall woman was dressed in a long brown skirt and non-descript top. She stared at us for a long moment. Her eyes slowly got bigger.

Silence. Nils and I continued to give her our best deer-in-headlights look.

"WHOOPS!" the woman announced, flinging an arm in the air and slowly backing/stumbling towards the door. "Wrong house!" As she fled the premises she tossed in a quick "I am so sorry" as she hurriedly closed the door behind her.

Nils and I sat in silence for another long moment.

"I think I'm going to go lock your deadbolt," Nils said finally.

Ah, drunk people......

Despite roadblocks such as laziness and procrastination, I have actually been forcing myself to go to the gym on a regular basis. And by regular I mean just about every day.

A few days ago I happened to think to myself, hey, maybe just for shits and giggles I'll step on the scale.

It had been six days since I started going to the gym regularly and I certainly wasn't expecting anything. I kinda figured, well, maybe a pound or two disappeared.

Then the further I had to push the little slider bar thing, the wider my eyes got.

6 lbs! In under a WEEK!

I'm excited. ^_^

And Mom, I know you're waiting for it: YOU WERE RIGHT!

I learned something today.

Buyer agent Noelle sits at a desk next to mine. Noelle is from England, but is actually Irish - her mother was full blooded Irish, and she spent part of her life living in Ireland, and when she moved away, visited relatives there countless times.

We're chatting a bit as we usually do in the morning, and I mentioned my plan's for St. Patty's day. She turned and gave me a look. "What?" I asked, confused.

Noelle proceeded to explain to me that in Ireland, no one ever refers to St. Patrick as St. "Patty". She said that is a good way to end up dead in a ditch with your head bashed in. I was surprised, and asked her to elaborate.

Apparently in Ireland the term "Patty" is the equivalent to the nastier racial slur against African Americans in the states - and I don't even want to type that word. Therefore, calling St. Patrick St "Patty" is considered horrible and derogatory, and the Irish get pretty anrgy when you insult their patron saint. Noelle told me with a laugh about how when she first moved to the states she was shocked the first time she heard "St. Patty".

So. St. Patrick it is.

Learn something new every day. ^_^

Yesterday, when I got out of the shower, my gaze fell upon the steam covered bathroom mirror. Instantly I leapt over to it, and with my finger a blur of motion, I wrote: