i think i'm going deaf. no, wait, there was a knife in my ears. how come no one told me? now i just feel silly.

This movie review is TOTALLY ON TO MY GAME.

First sentence:

The Story: Dan (James Marsden) is out at a bar with his hag friend (Sofia Vergara), whom he puts in a cab when Tom (Scott Speedman) invites him back to his place.

I immediately opened up a new tab in my browser, searched for the movie on Netflix, and added it to my queue. Then I read the second sentence of the review:

After reading that sentence, I wouldn’t blame you if you’ve already sent the film to the top of your Netflix queue, but I’m sorry to have to tell you that there’s no sex on tap here — not even a kiss.

It’s like the author knows me or something!  I am so predictable.

Why are you so strong? Did they give you super-strength when they installed your vagina?

For your analysis, I present to you the following:

Exhibit A, a smudged note my youngest brother sent to me when he was 7 years old.

Exhibit B, the title page of a used copy of The Wild Boys: A Book of the Dead.

Those stamps totally come from the same set.  I recognized them instantly.  That is not, in and of itself, disturbing.  Obviously, I don’t think my brother did that when he was 7—there are bajillions of that stamp kit.  However, the fact that a child’s art is present in this book gives me the wiggins.  If you haven’t read Wild Boys, it’s about, well, it doesn’t really matter what it’s about because it’s William S. Burroughs, so it’s never actually about what it’s about, but on the surface, I’d say 160 out of 180 pages are pure pornography.  The portion of the text that isn’t talking about naked rectums, vaseline, tight nuts, steaming flesh and musky semen is full of freaky violence. Inappropriate for children!

Of course I’ve seen her photograph, but I don’t sully myself w/the tabloids so I don’t know all the sordid details.

It is a truth, universally acknowleged, that I, in possession of a good fortune, am in want of new comic books, new comic books and more new comic books.  While browsing the racks at Golden Age, I stumbled across a current Marvel title that is both a) such a waste of space and time and b) completely irresistable to my sensibilities.  I am talking, of course, about the serialized adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  Jane Austen in comic form.  As far as I can tell from the first two issues, it’s completely faithful to the text and all the dialogue is lifted directly from the original—basically Classics Illustrated updated for a modern audience.  Which kind of begs the question:  WHY?  Is there any real reason for a comic book adaptation?  No, really, I am curious.  It’s not published under the Marvel Adventures imprint, which is geared towards children, which would make sense, I guess, if what you’re trying to achieve is an easier-to-read version, but there isn’t a pressing need for a dumbed-down adaptation because JANE AUSTEN IS NOT DIFFICULT TO READ, OMG.  I have seen many brilliant comic versions of literature (Shanower’s current book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, for example) and the key to success is actually fucking adapting something, godammit, showing what you can add to or improve upon with this new medium.  I suppose it also helps not to have completely lackluster interior art in comparisoin to the lovely covers.  I was compelled (over my initial objections) to pick up the first two issues because the cover art by Sonny Liew, which resembles a Victorian Cosmopolitan magazine, is wonderful and fun.  And let’s face it, Jane Austen would totally have been a Cosmo Girl.

 

Speaking of Cosmo Girls, I am unclear as to why the Bennet sisters look like Jem and the Holograms.

Batman couldn't make it. Sunshine depresses him.

With my end date looming near (7/31), I have to admit that I have no real motivation to be mentally (or even physically) at work.  Senioritis, I suppose.  It doesn’t help that my boss is a total enabler and could absolutely not give two shits where I am or what I am doing.  Which explains why I just decided I might as well give myself a four day weekend.  I rolled out of bed this magnificent, sunny Friday and immediately began preparing homemade Oreo cookies.  You heard me.  Homemade.  Oreo.  Cookies.  (Evidence below.)  Oh, and then, I chilled in a deck chair on the roof and caught up on the maritime adventures of Captain Richard Bolitho, sipped some Stella Artois and ate some watermelon.  So, what I’m saying is, my day was probably way awesomer than yours. Just a guess.

I was curious. Since I'm not a cat, that's not dangerous.

Today was the first truly lovely day of the year, so I followed the only logical course of action possible in this situation:  I skived the hell off of work, donned a sundress and met Mindy in Wallingford for some Molly Moon’s.  I tried the new flavor, salted black licorice.  I know this may sound suspicious, but I assure you, it was delicious.  De. Li. Cious.

Later, as we drove to the waterfront for some beer and seafood, we passed by the visual highlight of, like, my life.  We were stopped on 46th and Whitman when Mindy called my attention to the following:

In detail:

Just…why?  WHY?

If knowledge about Batman was profitable, I would be driving around in a pretty fancy rocket car.

My walk home this afternoon was lovely and sunny and, dare I say it, warm-ish.  I almost wasn’t even completely out of my mind with rage when I stepped in the remnants of a broken jar of preserves on the sidewalk, on the fucking sidewalk, really, come on!  The sticky mess was smack in front of the barrier around the still empty lot where all the bars used to be.  You know, the bars some assbag developers tore down to make room for—nothing!  An as yet unplanned waste of goddamn space!  That’s great.  Oh, and in case you were wondering, that awesome tag?  Still there:

Way to withstand the elements, totally inappropriate graffitti!

I don't give a damn about the van der Luydens, Humphrey!

Hey, do you have $16 and shit-for-brains?  If so, have I got the product for you:  The Sash, by American Apparel.  According to the website, “using some of [their] favorite fabrics from around the factory, [they] create these limited run pieces.”  Or, if I run that through the babelfish bullshit translator: “we’re going to charge you $16 for some scraps of tee-shirt material.”

My proposition is this, American Apparel:  instead of me giving you $16 for some ratty jersey in garish colors, I’ll give you a kick in the junk, free of charge.

Douchebags.

he needs our help with his sexy fight!

Score!  According to this interview, Jason Segel is single.

DIBS.  Srsly, mine.  If you want to debate the topic, I’d like to point out that a) I will kick your face in and b) you gotta give me this one!  He’s actually size-appropriate for me!  With our forces combined, we could destroy all the bodegas in the city.

sadly, the robots did not go unfucked with

Over the weekend, I watched the extended version of Pineapple Express and for the life of me, I can’t remember which bits were extended and which were in the original.  Funny story:  that movie had been in my netflix queue since it was released TWO MONTHS AGO.  Aloha, Netflix.  Aloha hard. 

Also over the weekend?  I ate mostly soft food and wandered about in a vicodin haze because when I went in to repair a cracked 16 year old filling, I came out with a motherfucking root canal.  This is why people are afraid of the dentist!  You steel yourself for one atrocity and end up with whole new ones you hadn’t even imagined!  It’s like, oh hey, no big deal, we’re gonna fix that filling right up, good as new, in and out no problem.  And then, after your face is numbed six ways to Sunday and half your tooth is drilled away, they tell you oops, looks like we’re actually gonna have to STAB YOUR TOOTH REPEATEDLY WITH  BURNING THINGS AND SCRUB IT WITH INDUSTRIAL CLEANER OR SOMETHING UNTIL IT’S DEAD.  Seriously, that’s actually a pretty accurate description.  Oh, and then?  You get to come in one more time to fill it with rubber.  Oh, and THEN you get to come back two more times after that to get your brand new crown fitted and placed.

But, on the bright side, there is the vicodin.

i think frosting makes me lie

This is how I felt about tourists from  the mainland when I lived in Honolulu.  Shockingly accurate.