cobb salad

Aug. 5th, 2010 04:05 pm
theholyinnocent: (Default)
So, I did not like Inception. Cut for spoilery blather )
theholyinnocent: (Default) now my new favorite word. I even put it on my Wordie! Thank you, Michael Stipe!

Also: Pride and Predator. I think poor Predator would find bony Keira Knightley an unsatisfying snack.
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In case livejournal goes tits-up (thank you, Nikki Wade), my blogging activities (such as they are), will migrate to here. I'm going to try to export my lj archive there as well, but that will take time.

Regardless, as long as lj is still in business, I will be posting here. And I hope they remain so for a long time, because I would miss you guys a whole lot.

ETA: A review of David Denby's new book about one of our favorite things: SNARK!
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I know you think you are making some mainstream-defying, provocative-auteur statement by atrociously misspelling the title of your new movie (and also by having a cracker character from Tennessee called "Aldo"), but instead I think you are just alienating people who appreciate correct spelling.

Also: via [ profile] adastranot, whose talents for sniffing out the beautifully pointless on the internets equal my own, I give you my profile on Library Thing. I'm not quite sure what the point of the application is (perhaps just saying, "I r smrtr than u!"), but it's about BOOKS, sweeties, so it's all good!
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1. Remember (or not) this bit of crazy I shared with you all not so long ago? Same person, same bathroom, but different day, different flavor of crazy:

This time I, your bran-eating, underpaid, oh-God-what-am-I-getting-X-for-Christmas chronicler of modern life without a cellphone, was sitting in the serenity of the bathroom stall minding and doing my own business, when enter stage right an unknown personage occupies the stall next to me. And not unlike those annoying people who decide to talk to you while you are in the stall--this confessional, if you will, of one's bowel system--said unknown peep exclaimed: "OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY!", thus revealing her crazy identity. And that was it; then she was gone.

I assume this meant that things went...well (although initially I feared flatulence that would cause a fault line from here to Maine). I mean, my cat gets excited doing number 2, but adults? Usually notsomuch.

2. A Newsweek profile of the Great Maddow tells us about Rachel's first date with her partner--it's a classic, dewy-eyed bit of romance, lesbian style: "Their first date was at a shooting range—they fired muskets, pistols and rifles and threw tomahawks. [Susan] Mikula says Maddow was so 'unbelievable' with the AR-15 that people stopped to watch." ([ profile] adastranot, sweetie, keep your pants on!)

Goddamn, Rachel, if anyone could turn Sarah Palin it would be YOU! I bow to your superior butchitude.

3. You knew this game was coming. Frankly, I would not waste my Doc Martens on him.
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I think I am falling in love with Kristin Chenoweth. (I mean, why is the Lion King on Broadway and not this? And why was Pushing Daisies canceled? WHY?)

And I know I am in love with my new...wait for it...MACBOOK. It's like driving a Porsche after six years of driving a Hyundai.
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With so much deliciously obscure and random information available and flowing in a constant stream at my fingertips—how many bad reviews were there of the Brideshead Revisited movie? Is Firefox larger than IE? Is Chrome faster than Safari? (stop sneering at me, geeks!) Who wrote “Cat’s in the Cradle,” Harry Chapin or Cat Stevens?—how can I ever tear myself away? How? And an even bigger and better question: How is it affecting my ability to think, read, and write? Lately I find my ability to read impaired. Maybe it’s the class I’m taking on top of work, but no longer do I have the option of Blaming the Election for its worry and distractions, even though I still can’t believe what has happened—I’m half-afraid it’s a happy dream replacing the nightmarish reality, like in Brazil.

Pass the Squid, Bring on the Madeleines )
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Best things about Hillary's speech:

1. Bill getting verklempt. Awwww. Sure, he was chatting up a random female just before Hills went on, but you know he still loves his old lady.

2. Astonishing proof that a white person can wear an orange pantsuit. Or, judging by Michelle Obama's facial expressions throughout, perhaps not. Or maybe it was regret on Michelle's part: Why didn't I wear the orange last night? I rock the orange!

Oh, the speech itself was pretty good. Really! Kaith Olbermann says so!

And now onto matters more pressing than the future of the country: I ate a broccoli knish for lunch that was so dry it scratched my throat! Thank heavens this did not happen Monday, during the homicidal heights of PMS. I always tip my hat to sneaky PMS; so insidiously does it corrupt your moods that you aren't aware of how awful you behaved or felt until the bleeding commences. So it's like, oh, this is why I wanted to kill my boss yesterday! And why I wanted to throw my laptop across the room last night! And why I wanted to crush the windpipe of the person on the A train who was talking too loudly over my head...

Moving on again: As many of you know, Baby is old. You know this because I complain about stuff, and that's what old people do, and also because [ profile] cabenson keeps reminding you how old I am. So perhaps you will not believe me when I tell you that I once watched an episode of Gossip Girl. It was quite accidental, I assure you. But there was nothing on and suddenly Mrs. & I found ourselves looking at young people pouting prettily and stalking through elegant-looking manses. We felt as if we were in a live version of all the Ralph Lauren ads from Vanity Fair. We marveled at this spectacle, in large part because all the boys seemed preternaturally gay. Super gay. Uber gay. Gayer than Fire Island transported to San Francisco in the middle of Pride Week.

So imagine my lack of surprise when I discover that the gayest-looking boy of the bunch, so sleek and feline and haughty that you can't decide if you want to smack him then screw him or vice versa writes bad poetry. This definitely makes me want to smack him. Perhaps take him over my knee and pound on his bony little behind and then, just when he starts whimpering for mercy, I shall make him wear something from Wal Mart. It would have to be a poly-cotton blend T-shirt that says SUPPORT OUR TROOPS and a pair of khakis with pleats. Thus attired, he will have to film several episodes of Gossip Girl. It could be an amazing story arc of fashion tragedy.
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Via Arts & Letters: A take from the Literary Review of Canada on fan fiction.

From the article: "So where does all this leave fan fiction? It may be that its shadowy status – largely tolerated, but legally vulnerable – leaves it just where it ought to be, in a healthy state of tension between fans and authors. Because the fact is that fan fiction has so far been able to operate as a tolerated use, if not a fair use. Both parties have good reasons to accommodate the concerns of the other. No one wants to crush a fan; and fans don’t want to damage their favorite author’s livelihood or reputation. Fan fiction, particularly under Canadian law, and in view of authors’ moral rights, requires the author’s forbearance, and probably deserves a degree of that."
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Big gay Monday news. Well, big because it's stuffy and sticky in my office and as a result I don't feel like working (but when do I ever?):

1. Gothamist reports that Brokeback Mountain may be made into an opera. For the love of all that is holy, PLEASE keep Philip Glass away from this project. I think we should all be thankful Brokeback is not getting the third-rate movie-to-Broadway-musical treatment.

2. Watched the movie trailer for the remake of Brideshead Revisited:

I like Matthew Goode, I love Emma Thompson (even in frump mode), but boy, this looks like a ton of suckage. A complete bastardization of the book that makes it into a boring, quasi-tragic hetero love story, where the homoeroticism between Charles and Sebastian is nothing more than an exotic counterpoint. Gutless. Give me the original any day:

theholyinnocent: (Default)
My Lord, I don't know how I missed this: Check out Ernest and Bertram STAT! It's Sesame Street meets The Children's Hour and it's brilliant.
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You know what? Culture sure is exhausting these days. (And Google is more evil than I thought! Cookies--and not the good kind--until 2038? Yikes, maybe I need to give up that gmail account with the ginormous inbox...)
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The Bad Sex Awards are back. As seen in the link, the Guardian has given us a list of passages in the running. Vote for your favorite in the comments! I think I'm going for the Marlon Brando quote myself.
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Or maybe I'm just overreacting. But sweet Sal Mineo, was this necessary?
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These are some serious T-lovin' dudes. I myself am quite enamored with the gold chain bubble gum...but I would only allow myself to be videotaped chewing 20-year-old gum only if money were involved. I suppose my love is not true.
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Teh Wife & I [singing along with Sarah Jessica Parker's GAP commercial]: I enjoy being a...GIRL!!!!
Me: Hey, where's the cat?
Teh Wife: I think our squealing scared him.

I'm down to the last 200 pages of Middlemarch. While I'm loving it, and loving the great depth that Elliot goes into with the characters, modern life has corrupted me so that I can't help but wonder what Dorothea Brooke's lj would be like:

I've realized that my husband was Teh Suck. "Synoptical Tabulation for the use of Mrs. Causabon"? I mean, wtf? I don't mind the widow's weeds, in fact I think I look kind of cool in them (Lydgate was SO checking me out)...but...this "Tabulation"? So I can continue his lame-ass "work"? Not. Going. To. Happen.


But are Will & Dorothea really the OTP? Dorothea & Lydgate? Will & Lydgate? omg, Middlemarch slash! Run for the hills, good people!


Apr. 7th, 2004 03:48 pm
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So Yahoo! reports today that a "Queer Eye for the Straight Girl" is truly in the making. Quelle surprise! My suggestion for their first makeover: Casey Novak, ADA on Law & Order SVU. While TPTB are selecting new fagelahs for the new show, it's curious to wonder...What Would the Fab Five Do (WWFFD) with Casey? Well, first we're not even sure if she's let's call it "Queer Eye for the ADA" and may the spirit of Alex Cabot bless the endeavor:

The occasion: Big date with Olivia! Like, omg!

Kyan: "Highlights are not child's play. You would not place a Stradivarius in the hands of a rank amateur, and so hair dye should only be used by a professional. Casey, is this a home dye job?"

Thom: "I melted down your softball trophies into a metallic shelving unit for the bathroom. Don't thank me. It was my pleasure."

Ted: "See these little numbers on the oven? Okay--the higher the number, the hotter it gets." ::pause:: "Maybe we'll just prepare some finger food and have you guys go out. And no, Bugles are not acceptable finger food."

Carson: "Hon, do you really want people to look at you and be instantly reminded of vomit?"

Jai: "Um, Olivia doesn't play softball? You're kidding me. I thought all dykes--oops--never mind. Well, work is always a good intro to conversation. So ask how many people she's shot today."


Lunch time adventure: It was nice and warm today, so I went for a walk. In a bookstore, I heard Johnny Cash's version of
"The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." Intense! The cool thing was the accompanient by an organ. Really captures the sexual/sacred aspect of the song.
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Am I completely mad, or last night, while watching the Apprentice (or was it ER?)...did I really see Bob Dylan in a Victoria's Secret commercial????


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