Month: December 2009

50BC09: Book Number 47

~ lobablanca

motfv1

Ha! And you thought I was serious when I said that I wasn’t going to read anymore Trek this year.

Although, to be fair, this isn’t really the same as all those Trek novels I’ve been reading. This is, instead, more of a memoir of dorkery, a love note to the video documentation of a geek’s life at its most delicate, impressionable, vulnerable stages.

I mean, think about it…puberty is a bitch anyway. But here we have Mr. Wil Wheaton, being ravished by the puberty fairies on a nationally syndicated show, playing what would become one of the most reviled recurring characters in Star Trek history. Though, as we learn through Memories of the Future: Volume One, not completely his fault (though he does admit that he was a bit of a teen on the set…but really, weren’t we all?).

Wesley Crusher was written by people who apparently have no memories of their own adolescence. Either that, or they were some of the most abused nerds in the herd…which one would assume would make them a bit more sympathetic to our beloved Boy Wonder. Instead, they wrote him to be anything but sympathetic. I confess to embracing with open arms the “Shut Up, Wesley” crowd. I didn’t think he was at all deserving of such a cool mom.

As I’ve already written numerous times since, however, I have moved beyond that pettiness. I embrace Wil Wheaton in all his geeky glory. I’m not even miffed anymore that this volume of MotF is only on the first half of the first season. Wil is a self-published author now, which means he’s making his way all on his own. And as Cheers taught us so well, “Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got.”

I’ll stop now since I’ve already blathered on about this book once before…before I even read it! The force is strong in this one.

Final score: 5/5. They’re pure fun, these memories of the future. If you’re willing to let go of past hatred for Wesley Crusher and embrace some honest and honestly funny reviews of that hella bad first season of TNG, then this is the book of choice for you, my geeky denizens.

And, just because I did this last time I talked about MotF, here’s another image from Wil’s Flickr account. It’s so wrong…so very, very wrong. But, strangely, it fits with my previous post, “Full of Evil Clowns.” I love serendipity…

[Loba Edit: Thanks to Marius for being the first to point out that I failed to finish my own blog entry. D’oh!]

“Full of Evil Clowns”

~ lobablanca

That might possibly be one of my favorite song lyrics EVAR, from an artist who has somehow made her way very high on my list of music awesome: P!nk.

To be honest, I’m not really sure how this happened. I remember barely registering her arrival on the music scene back in…good grief! 2000? That long ago? “There You Go” was probably the only song I heard from her debut CD. It was okay, but I wasn’t really sure how to process her or her music. Honestly, I don’t really think her record label knew what to do with her then either.

Thankfully, someone let her evolve naturally, and what she’s been coming out with in recent years has grabbed me in ways that most mainstream music simply doesn’t anymore. What really rocketed her into my consciousness was her video for “Stupid Girls,” which, simply put, is exactly how I feel about what’s happening with girls today. When did it become law that girls had to sacrifice their intelligence and their dignity in order to be popular? Oh. Never mind.

I’m so glad that I’ll never fit in
That will never be me
Outcasts and girls with ambition
That’s what I wanna see

So, yeah, P!nk. Let me say here that it should drive me crazy that she spells her nom de musique with an exclamation point, which is a bit too cutesy for her own damn good. But she’s just so adorably bad-ass that I can let this one slide. I love her voice as well. It’s got a Janis Joplin-esque rawness that she can temper into a surprising tenderness. Plus, she rocks the catchy hook like no one’s business.

And her music videos are fun. I find videos in which all they do is show nutrient-deprived, lethargic pretty people pouting their way through a bunch of boring undulations and lip-syncing….well, boring. P!nk is definitely not boring. Her latest video to make the OnDemand rounds is for “Funhouse,” the song from which the eponymous lyrics of this post come. Watch her bounce and kick her way through the remnants of a burned-down relationship. Watch her hair. Watch out for the evil clowns.

Actually, most of her videos are fun to watch. I’d highly recommend heading over to YouTube and checking out some of her others, like “So What” or “Sober,” which puts a whole different spin on the familiar message that you can’t really find true happiness unless you, um, love yourself.

And there you go. To quote Aerosmith, “P!nk is my new obsession.”

Heh. 😉

This Silver Lining, In 3-D

~ lobablanca

snow1

So I griped and complained about the snow all Saturday. Then Sunday came and went, and nothing. Why? Because I spent a large portion of that day, digging out from under all that you see to your right. When all was said and done, we got a little more than 2 feet. That might have just been the final measurements due to drifting, though. The numbers people on the telly were saying more along the lines of 16 inches. My arm muscles disagree…but that’s okay.

When all was said and done, I felt much better once Sammy was no longer being held prisoner by the snow. So Sunday evening was spent relaxing and being in a far more agreeable mood.

Then the news came from WaPo: All federal agencies will be closed on Monday.

I’m not a federal employee, but I help make federal employees look spiffy. So if they’re not there, we’re not really needed. Which meant that my company closed for the day as well. And the silver lining shone through brightly.

So where the heck was I all day? At the movie theater. Watching Dances with Na’vi Avatar. For 3 hours. My butt still hasn’t woken up. Which is why I’m getting ready to go exercise…and maybe even attempt to process how I feel about this movie. I’m still not sure. I did, however, make sure this was available as soon as I got back online. Seriously, Sigourney Weaver as a feline alien must become part of my collection. As soon as possible.

Oh, one more thing. Expect some serious 50BC09 posting in a little while. Maybe not now. But soon. And for the rest of…er…the year?

No, Seriously, You Can Stop Any Time Now

~ lobablanca

snownight

Okay, all mixed sentiments aside, why won’t it stop? It’s been almost 24 hours since the storm fired up. Not even something enjoyable is good for 24 hours straight. Isn’t it tired? Sore? In need of a smoke? I just don’t get it.

At least someone had a little fun out there today…

snowstuck

Before you even ask, no, that is not me sitting in the snow. The only way my ass is touching snow is if I’m standing in a snowdrift that high. Which, if it doesn’t stop snowing soon, might actually be the case in the morning.

Okay, I’m going back upstairs. It’s now officially time to start adding copious amounts of spiced rum to my coffee.

That’s Lovely…Could I Get It in a Smaller Size Though?

~ lobablanca

snowflurries

It started snowing last night at around 9 p.m. It hasn’t stopped since.

The meteorologists finally got this one right. If you live in the D.C. area, you understand precisely what I mean.

Biggest snow storm since Presidents Day weekend, 2003. I remember that storm very vividly. Spent 4 hours on the road, one way, trying to make it to one of the local airports. Don’t ask, because I’m not telling any more than that.

We’re in the band that’s expected to get nearly 2 feet of snow by the time this is all said and done. Not even officially winter yet. This does not bode well for getting out of this next season unscathed.

Even better? This isn’t even something we can blame Canada for! This is a gift straight from the Gulf of Mexico. Yeah, NAFTA!

Yes, before you ask, I’m cranky. Snow doesn’t inspire joy in me. It’s cold. It gets stuck all over your clothes and inside your Docs, then melts and puddles all over your floor, where you’ll inevitably step right into it in your fresh pair of dry socks. It’s heavy to shovel, slippery, makes a mess of an already awful driving situation. I’ve lost the ability to see it with the wonder and joy of a 10-year-old whose sole goal is to get outside and start building snowcats and snowdogs (why on Bajor would I build a boring old snowperson?).

What happened? Having to drive in snow, for one. It sucks. Sammy is a marvel in weather like this, though. I continue to be blown away by his winter weather skillz. However, his skillz do not transmit to the ass clowns on the road with me. I may not have seen fire or rain, but I’ve seen some scary shiznit out there. You really haven’t been a Beltway rat until you’ve watched a car spin out on a diagonal path from one side of the Inner Loop to the other. In slow motion.

Truth? Snow makes me think of Jodie. You should have seen her in the snow, denizens. This beautiful, wonderful dog who hated rain so much that I had to buy an umbrella large enough to cover both of us when she needed to go for a potty walk…but put her in a field of snow, and she was off. Like a bright flash of light. It was then when the Husky side of her completely overpowered the Labrador side.

snodie

Snow makes me miss her all the more. It’s been more than 4 years now. I didn’t even mourn the loss of my first dog quite this long. I don’t really know how to explain it. Yes, she gave me love and devotion that I knew I didn’t deserve. But in return, I tried to give her every drop of love and loyalty that she did deserve. She was a wonder of a dog, unlike any I’ve ever known in my lifetime. Unlike any I’ll probably ever be lucky enough to know again. She could even make a curmudgeon like me spring through snowdrifts like a jackrabbit, running to keep up with her, laughing because there was no way I could.

Snow brought her joy, kind of the way everything brought her joy (well, except bath time…and that creepy Oompa Loompa vet back home). So snow should, by proxy, bring me joy as well, shouldn’t it?

Besides, it’s Saturday. I’ve got nowhere I absolutely have to be today. Yeah, I’m still short on holiday shopping. But there’s a pot of split pea soup on the stove, a special blend of caramel dark roast coffee brewing, and a whole lot of time to do with as I please. Is that really a bad thing?

I’ll let you know after lunch… 😉

snowbranches

Flashback Friday: Mixed Nuts

~ lobablanca

This is one of the most underrated holiday movies ever made. I think it might also be one of my favorite Steve Martin films. It’s also one of the few Nora Ephron movies that doesn’t make me feel like I need an insulin injection or a barf bag halfway through.

The story centers on Martin, who runs a suicide prevention hotline staffed by Rita Wilson and Madeline Kahn. He receives an eviction notice on Christmas Eve…and hilarity ensues. It’s probably too quirky for its own good most of the time, but it’s also highly dysfunctional. I love dysfunction. How can you not? Look at it…it’s got “fun” right in the middle of it!

Let’s start with the cast. Yes, it’s one of those overwhelming ensemble casts. Check the litany:Steve Martin, Madeline Kahn, Rita Wilson, Robert Klein, Anthony LaPaglia, Juliette Lewis, Rob Reiner, Gary Shandling, Adam Sandler, Liev Schreiber, Parker Posey, Jon Stewart, Joely Fisher…plus a very little Haley Joel Osment.

Standouts from the group are Madeline Kahn, whom I have adored since I first saw her as Mrs. White in Clue, and Liev Schreiber, who…well, let’s just say that this was the best introduction to any actor I could have ever wished for. No matter what I see him in, he will always ALWAYS be Chris…

lievschreiber

Who knew Sabretooth could rock lace so fiercely?

Adam Sandler irritates me, but he usually does. Otherwise, the rest of the cast fits together like the gears of a Swiss movement watch. Okay, maybe not that precise, but they all make a great hodgepodge of characters.

And then there’s the soundtrack. Oh what a fun playlist this makes! Plus, this was the very first time I heard Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby.” This is the only version of this song that should be allowed to exist. All others fail in every way that Eartha’s succeeds. Madonna’s version should be burned out of existence. And the Pussycat Dolls should all die slow, horribly painful deaths for the abortive mess they made of this classic holiday standard. I only watched 5 seconds of that clip and I thought my eyes and ears were going to start bleeding.

No, it’s gotta be Eartha.

The only thing that disappoints me about this movie is the fact that they have never released it in widescreen format on DVD. I do not understand the point of releasing anything less than the original theatrical aspect ratio on DVD, and I refuse to buy anything less. So, sadly, I don’t own this one. I also don’t own a DVD copy of Death Becomes Her for the same reason. And I’m equally pissed off about both of these gaps in my movie collection.

The good news, however, is that you can watch Mixed Nuts online, in its entirety. In widescreen! Go figure.

If you haven’t seen it yet, check it out. Even if you don’t like it, it’s free. My gift to you 🙂

Is That a Banana In Your Pocket…?

~ lobablanca

bananu

I haven’t been eating bananas every day like I usually do. That’s the excuse I’m using for what happened.

See, potassium deficiency apparently runs in my family. Lack of potassium has certain side effects, one of which is horrible muscle cramps in your legs.

Like the one that woke me up this morning at 5 a.m. Anyone who knows me well, knows that I can sleep through anything. Almost anything. Having my calf muscle twisted into an Auntie Anne pretzel shape apparently does not fall under the “Almost Anything” category. The pain is excruciating but quick, although the soreness lingers. I can still feel the remnants of that sweet agony in my every limping move today.

It’s days like this that burst my mental image of me still being on the edge of 17 (guess no white-winged doves will be singing for me today, eh, Stevie?).

So I went back to my banana pattern this morning. Want to know a secret though? I hate bananas. Unless they’re barely ripe…skin still a bit green. Firm flesh.

Sorry, I really don’t mean to sound vulgar in my description, but that’s how I like my bananas. If they’re too ripe (what most people would probably consider “normal”), I can’t stand them. I’ll get through maybe half a banana at that stage before I simply can’t go on.

I especially can’t stand listening to another person eat a banana. Nails on a chalkboard? Don’t bother me. The gooey, viscous shlup of someone masticating banana bites? Oh, the humanity! I have left conversations in which someone was eating a banana. It’s either that or trying to explain why I just shattered a molar in an effort to refrain from sucker-punching them.

Is that normal? Of course not. Am I normal? If you can’t already answer that question, you need to spend a little more time perusing the lair. I’ll wait…

…

Done? Good. I suppose I could just start taking potassium tablets. But I hate the thought of taking vitamins. Isn’t it better for you to get your vitamins and minerals from natural sources? I also know that there are lots of other foods out there that are as rich with potassium as bananas. Bananas are, however, the most convenient to eat on a daily basis.

Just as long as they’re young and firm…

[Yeah, I was being unnecessarily dirty just then.]

Cuyahoga Calling?

~ lobablanca

Someone from Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio visited the lair. Spent half an hour here.

Cuyahoga Falls, denizens. You know who comes from Cuyahoga Falls, right?

Right?

cuyahogabev

Osmotic squee!

[Yes, I’m such a dork that even seeing that someone from her hometown has visited me here has the power to make me squee. STFU.]

Drinking Up the Dregs of My Brain

~ lobablanca

End of the year. My brain is all over the place. Forgive me, denizens, if I fail to make sense.

Lots of flotsam, pushing at the edges of my noodly noggin, clawing for the chance to see the light of the lair.

If Scooby Doo had a sister, would her name be “Booby Doo”?

See that? That’s the kind of shiznit I would post if I had a Twitter account. Kind of makes you glad I don’t, eh?

My ImagiFriendsTM tweet. They tweet lovely, silly geekery that makes me giggle gloriously while glugging raktajinos spiked with rum. Don’t follow? Don’t worry. Spliff on this tweet:

Most people don’t realize Janeway’s voice is pure molten sex.

janeway

Oh HELLS yeah.

Award for most awesomest tweet of the year? Make it so. Even if tweeted in jest, it makes me that much prouder of my Janeway impersonation. Not that I do such a thing. Or would ever record doing such a thing for others to hear.

Heh.

Do any of you ever get the feeling that you’re only getting part of the picture when you come here to the lair? Like it’s a little window that doesn’t show you even half of what’s going on. In the night. In the dark. There’s a whole lot more going on in the shadows…you just have to wait for me to invite you deeper.

I’m not feeling fa-la-la-festive just yet. Where’s Dr. Noel when I need a little injection of holiday cheer? Oh yeah. Kirk found her under the mistletoe. Guess he’s decorating her Jefferies tube now. Where does he store that photon torpedo?

OMG, Trexual innuendo!

I’m usually surly around this time of year. I don’t know why. I suppose I’m an emotional Scrooge in some ways. Mmm, portmanteau: Scrooge = Screw + Gouge. Did I impress anyone with my word nerdery just then? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

I used to decorate my door here at work. Truth? I only did it for the Benjamins. Well, the door prize, really. I only won once though. Want to see the sexy that won?

bouncerrudy

He’s R

50BC09: Book Number 46

~ lobablanca

endintears

Blame Canada for this one, denizens. More precisely, blame one of my awesome Canadian ImagiFriendsTM.

“Blame” seems like too harsh a word, however. How about “thank”? Or, even better, “praise”? Yes, praise. Let us now praise my lovely Canadienne ImagiFriendTM, who bestowed her own copy of Joe Ollmann’s This Will All End In Tears to me upon our first meeting (of hopefully many).

You know the meaning of the word “serendipity”? No? Well, here: “The faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.”

This book was a gift of serendipity from a serendipitous friendship. It is a graphic novel that comprises five tales of emotional variances: “Big Boned,” “Day Old,” “Oh Deer,” “They Filmed a Movie Here Once,” and “Hanging Over.”

There is something beautifully fractured in each of these stories, something fragile that you recognize instantly as a part of yourself, drawn out there for you in black and white and all those glorious shades of gray (grey?). The final story in particular crept under my skin where it resides still. Aspects of it hit a nerve that left me quite discomfited…as good writing is apt to do.

Plus, how do you not love a book that includes a graphic depiction of someone accidentally ripping the front legs off a deer carcass?

Even better? This is the book that I proudly pulled out of my backpack and started to read in front of the woman I shamed into hiding her copy of New Moon. Yeah, that’s right! This is what a real book looks like!

Final score: 5/5. There wasn’t a moment while reading this that I wasn’t completely entertained. The title has now also become one of my favorite things to say at work…particularly at the beginning of staff meetings. Bonus 🙂