A quest to make sense of it all. Or a sense to make a quest of it all.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Day 3- Great Aunt

Yes, it's a picture of a picture. Just had to share. I think she's beautiful.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Ok. I went looking for that song in Knocked Up, in the "get to know each other" bar scene.

And I found this, which also made me giggle:

Day 2- Cheerleader

My humble office. Don't touch anything.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Day 1- Clueless

Thursday, June 14, 2007

So I saw Hostel II last night. Way, way different from the first. First, the main characters are female rather than male, which I think had a lot to do with the obvious cutback of T&A. A brief shot of Slovakian boobies is about it in that department... and Heather Matarazzo totally nude, but it's not meant to be titillating. There are a couple of male full frontals, but again, neither is meant to be arousing. One is an an art context and one is under pretty gruesome circumstances. I haven't looked around for any comments from Roth& Tarantino regarding the decision to cut out the horndog element that built the plot of the first one, because if I find anything along the lines of "this story is from a female perspective, and women just don't want to see sexuality like that", I'll daintily scream. This film also has way less gore than the first, thought more undertones of sexual violence. No one is raped onscreen, but it's hanging in the air, like the lesbian innuendo (because you can't have a movie with hot chicks without at least two of them considering some sapphic bonding *rolls eyes*). I'm not sure what the cut in blood&guts is about. Maybe it's trying to appeal to a more mainstream audience? Doubtful. Roth has never given us any indication that he's going for mainstream.

This movie was much more plotted, though I'm not sure in the right ways. Very little significant character development. A couple of token hoochies and bad guys. I think Hostel II's problem is that it can't decide if it wants you to care for the characters or just be shocked that all this death is going on. So it falls a little flat.

Will it be citrus? Or will it be bermuda blue?

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Don't you trouble your pretty little head.

My boss had a meeting this morning that turned into a political debate, which of course I was privy to since I'm sitting right next to the conference room and instructed to half-listen for tidbits to mentally file away. I've never felt so Scarlett O'Hara as when the gentlemen were coming out of the room and they all apologized to me, the little lady, for talking politics in my presence.

This is an example of social custom in historic-district Corinth. The old rules hold on, hard. While things are more casual within our own staff meetings, meetings with other people where I am also present are kinda odd, at least to me. The men all stand up when I stand up to leave the room or just fax something. They are all offered whiskey, I am offered a soft drink. They each only have one drink (this is something I've observed repeatedly) and do not have any more until my purpose in the meeting is complete and I go back to my own office. This is a big one. To offer the sole woman in the company of several men an alcoholic beverage would be a serious breach of etiquette. 1) It would be assuming that a lady drinks at all, and 2) it's just not fly. They accept a secretary's presence in an office as a necessity (who else would do all the paperwork and social arrangements?), but to them, it's not only a ridiculous notion but an insult to a woman to invite her to have a shot and talk business. That's not to say women have no power in this system. They certainly do. It's a quieter power, but it's there. There is a woman in town who comes off as the original steel magnolia. Sweet, overly cosmeticized, belonging to every club that supports the preservation and economy of the historic district. She's also the owner of one of the biggest, oldest commercial plants in the county, and no one knows how many pies she actually has her fingers in. What is known is that pissing her off is really stupid. It's fascinating to talk to this woman, who seems incapable of balancing a checkbook but who has more influence than the mayor.

Is it wrong for a woman to ride the I'm-a-girl-no-threat-here train to the top? Is it better to say, "I'm not a prancing pony. I'm a woman, and I'm smart and creative and capable" and be left behind with your values, or to prance and use the tools deemed appropriate in "a man's world" to get where you want? Does the end justify the means?

Just rambling. Being apologized to for polluting my pretty little head with political brouhaha just got me thinking about it.

They also apologized for swearing in my presence. I don't know if this behavior is a compliment to my femininity or a deep insult to my gender.
I'm getting the results of my bloodwork today, and having an echocardiogram. My doc has put me on Lexapro, which I recall as having helped my mother chill significantly a few years back. Maybe it'll kick in and I'll stop feeling like I'm going to implode. One of my worst fears has come to pass: my psyche issues are apparently manifesting physically. Fuckin-A.

The echo is to rule out bigger problems than mild heart palpitations. My doctor thinks anxiety is the real issue. We'll have a look.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Since Luke has been gone for training, I've taken to dining out pretty much every night. I had been using this as a good excuse not to clean my kitchen, figuring that if no one ever prepared or ate food there, and there were no dirty dishes, that it would just remain in a clean state (Montana, maybe). I figured incorrectly.
As is natural law, if something nasty is going to happen in your house, there must be company there to see it. Now granted, the company that night was Brandon and I'm pretty well past the point of being able to be embarassed in front of him. BUT. We decided to make some late-night coffee. We innocently entered the kitchen anticipating the aroma of fresh-brewing java. I casually ground the beans, measured them into a filter, poured distilled water into the carafe. I opened the compartment that holds the filter, and immediately slammed it shut. Was that a....no, no. Brandon paused in whatever story he was telling, sensing the sudden turning of mood. I cautiously leaned forward, opened the compartment just a crack....and slammed it shut with a bloodcurdling scream. It was. It was a cockroach, the biggest I had ever seen (though I admit, I've not seen many). I stood there, shuddering and stammering. Brandon, very confused, looked into the compartment and reacted similarly. I was overcome with total revulsion, but as I stood there quivering, my disgust slowly turned to something else: RAGE. This was my turf. How dare he?? How dare this audacious insect come into my kitchen just like that? I know that people say that when you see a roach it means there's like 4 million more lurking, but I'm not buying that. This was a renegade, and not a bright one. Probably forced out of the tribe for being a dullard. There was nothing lying about to entice him or any of his kind into my house. Steeling myself, I opened the compartment again. He idled there, regarding me with an appraising eye, sizing me up. Time stood still. His antennae flicked. I squinted, Clint Eastwood-style. A tumbleweed rolled by and into my pantry. We waited for each other to make the first move. He started to kick a leg out to run, but something, perhaps my cool posturing, made him hesitate. He knew he'd messed up. I seized the moment. With an adrenaline-laced yowl of fear and triumph, I shot forward, slamming the compartment shut again. Hurriedly, I poured the water into the back of the machine and turned it on. Within a few moments, scalding water began to drip into the carafe. Victory was mine.

(I threw the coffee pot away the next day and bought a new one. I tried running bleach and water through it, but I knew it would never feel clean again.)

Saturday, June 02, 2007

My next life will be spent lazing about in bed and feeding grapes to Chris Kattan.