She might not have come from the awesome Silver Snail, but Debbie Stevens is finally a part of my collection. Along with all the Freddy K. movies and the awesome Never Sleep Again documentary that Heather Langenkamp did on the Nightmare on Elm Street series.
Can you tell that I’m getting ready for my most favorite holiday of them all? Winter may be coming for some, but Halloween is coming for Loba…
I have a lot of opinions about a lot of things (I’m sure you hadn’t noticed). And most of the time, my opinions go against the “popular” opinion (again, really?). I know, therefore, to keep my honest comments about these things to myself. It’s how I’ve survived as many football seasons as I have without being defenestrated by pissed-off Redskins fans.
Sometimes, though, I forget to keep my facial expressions in check. Sometimes, my autonomic response system is simply too fast for my brain.
So, to the grown woman in the airport on Friday who quickly hid her copy of New Moon under her coat when she saw how I was looking at her before my brain could set my facial expression back to “neutral”: Good. You should be embarrassed to be reading that shit.
[I hope you all know that I’m crying a little on the inside for actually being happy that I discouraged someone from reading. That goes against everything I hold dear about literature.
Oh, wait. It wasn’t literature. It was a Stephenie Meyer book. Never mind.]
So I’m not seeing a big increase in hits based on my previous zombie references. Maybe I’m not being specific enough. Maybe I should have said something like Zombie Barbie. Or Rob Zombie.
Or maybe I should combine zombies with the one topic that has proven, much to my geeky delight, to bring in the most hits to the lair: Gates McFadden.
I kid you not, denizens: Teh Interwebz is full of love for the Dancing Doctor. Thanks to a couple of incoming links, my Flood Gates posting is by far more popular than anything else I have written here since the lair’s relaunch. My own love for the lovely doctor is such that I am perfectly okay with this fact.
However, this leaves me in a bit of a quandary. I’d hate for my ImagiFriendsTM to be incorrect in their supposition about the popularity of zombies. So, after a bit of thought (and apparently too much spare time), I’ve come up with a satisfactory solution: I simply have to combine the two.
Therefore, I present to you…Zombie Dr. Crusher. Or, more in line with my affinity for portmanteaux, ZomBeverly.
I’m sorry if this distresses anyone, especially considering how this is supposed to be the festive holiday season…not the festering one. But I’ve been a bit absent in my blogging lately, and I noted a distinct drop in numbers because of this. So please forgive me for what I acknowledge is a pathetic attempt to increase the number of hits I log each day.
Of course, you do realize that if this works, I might end up making this a regular feature in which I turn various other Trek characters into zombies. Ooh, or maybe I’ll start turning Dr. Crusher into characters from various other movies, shows, and books! I like that idea much more.
Not that I’ve given it any sort of serious thought or anything…
I’ve got something in the works for the main event (nothing major, so don’t get your undies too bunched), but here’s a little pre-Halloween treat of a recommendation for you: Drag Me To Hell. Or as I’d like to call it, Button, Button, Who’s Cursed the Button?
Loba loves scary movies. For this reason, Loba loves Sam Raimi. He, Wes Craven, Tobe Hooper, and John Carpenter helped to pretty much define the horror genre that I grew to love as a wee pup in the 80s. Many of my favorite movies, in fact, come from this phantasmagorical collection of directors.
Raimi hasn’t really focused on horror in quite a while…unless others out there were as horrified by Spider-Man 3 as I was, then I retract this statement completely. However, his last “real” scary movie was 2000’s The Gift, which for some reason didn’t make much of a mark in my memory. I remember that it stars Cate Blanchett and features Keanu Reeves playing a bit of a dickish character, but that’s about all I can give you without looking it up.
Then, of course, he became tangled in spinning the massive web of the Spider-Man mythology. He slammed it out of the park with parts 1 and 2, but after 3 maybe even he realized that it was time to cleanse his directorial palate of the taste of radioactive spiders.
And so he came back home to his horror roots.
[Actually, though, if he’d come back to his “roots,” he would have done yet another movie about a group of friends finding evil in a secluded cabin in the woods. Seriously, Sam, how many more times are you going to do this idea? No disrespect, but Bruce is getting a bit too old to keep whipping out his boomstick for you.]
Back on track: Drag Me To Hell is nothing less than exquisite. If you dig watching a classic horror-style revenge story unfold in classic Raimi style (meaning lots of bone rattles and over-the-top grossness held together by ridiculously well-timed moments of Raimi’s trademark gallows humor), you simply have to watch this movie. I can’t think of one thing from this movie that I didn’t adore (although there were a couple of scenes that left me a bit green around the gills…the “face gumming” suffered by our heroine left me feeling extremely grossed out).
Also, the audio is spot-on chilling. I don’t think any other movie has ever made the rusty screech of a swinging gate so utterly terrifying. I also have to say that the “pwink” sound of a staple coming loose during a particularly tense scene was a wonderfully funny post-production touch.
I want to say so much more about this movie, gush like a little fan girl about my favorite moments…but I want you all to go out and watch it for yourselves to discover the squee-inducing glee that I discovered. It’s been a long time since I saw a horror movie that delighted me as much as this one did. Raimi proves that he can still make us jump and laugh just like the old days, even without Bruce Campbell’s assistance (although other Raimi trademarks are present, including his brother Ted and that freakin’ pimp Oldsmobile Delta 88…where the hell does he keep that road boat in between movies?!). So check it out, see if it makes you as happy as it made me.
Now, all I can hope is that Raimi’s next scary movie isn’t Spider-Man 4…
I haven’t really brought you much in the way of useful information lately, have I? My bad. So here’s a little advice from your friendly neighborhood Loba: Don’t trust Lactaid Fast Act.
For those who don’t know, Lactaid is a non-FDA-approved over-the-counter pill marketed to those with lactose intolerance. It’s designed to provide the body with the enzyme lactase, which said intolerant people lack, to break down lactose properly.
What the makers of Lactaid fail to mention is that some people will have a very negative reaction to this pill. And by negative, I mean the pill will make those people reenact the “Barf-O-Rama” scene from Stand By Me.
Thank the Prophets I’m not a lactose-intolerant person (although I can be somewhat judgmental of cheeses based solely on their wax color). However, I have witnessed the agony of Lactaid-induced stomach exorcism twice now by a denizen whose name will be withheld to protect the nauseous.
It’s quite disconcerting on many levels, I can assure you.
The really scary part is that this side effect didn’t manifest itself immediately. Said denizen was able to take Lactaid twice and have nothing but positive results. The third time, however, was most assuredly not a charm…unless you find projectile vomiting to be charming. If you do, you’re a bit dirty in a bad, bad way. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until the fourth time that the puzzle pieces clicked into place and Lactaid was revealed to be the culprit.
The culprit box of Lactaid, however, said nothing about possible side effects including channeling Regan’s Captain Howdy demon. I get that this might deter people from buying your product, but as a company, shouldn’t the safety of your targeted consumers be more important to you than your bottom line? After all, I’ve read accounts of parents giving these pills to their children, and it affected them in similar or worse ways. Shouldn’t this company be held accountable?
Ha, yeah, I know. I forgot for a minute what I was saying. That won’t happen again, promise.
So, there you go. If you’re lactose-intolerant, you might want to keep holding out for that miracle fix. I’m here to tell you that Lactaid ain’t it.
I just passed a cockroach on my way to the office kitchen. I’ve had encounters with roaches here before, including a particularly traumatizing incident that I previously documented on 06.13.05 in my Angry BloggerTM days. Ever since that morning, I have tried to stay as clear of the buggers as I possibly can, especially when I’ve yet to have my morning coffee. Of all the things I don’t want to do before caffeine, hearing the crunch of a chitinous exoskeleton against the sole of my favorite Docs is pretty close to the top of the list. Besides, this roach wasn’t moving, even as I side-stepped it. I figured it must have come in contact with whatever chemical that building maintenance uses whenever the roach problem becomes too pronounced. I figured it was dead.
I figured wrong. After I finished getting my coffee and making my morning oatmeal (all the while trying to suppress any images that so desperately wanted to pop into my mind of roaches licking the water spigots), I returned to my office…to get my camera. Yes, I was going to snap a photo of the dead roach to post here as a wonderful Friday treat. Yes, I know. I’m just too kind. And of course I was then going to scoop it up and toss it before any of my coworkers arrived and freaked out over it.
It wasn’t there. I know no one else picked it up, because at the time I was the only person on the floor. Just me and roaches. I looked around for it, but in a squeamishly half-assed way. Dead roaches I can contend with. Live ones? I’d much rather deal with house centipedes than roaches any day. So now there is a roach roaming near the kitchen. I should clock how long it takes before I hear the inevitable high-pitched panic that will ensue when it reappears.