I get to see the boys this weekend. I haven't for awhile. This song ties with "Walls of Time and "Tonight I'll be Staying Here With You" as my favorite.
It is, however, one of my favorite songs to hear live, period.
I love this song. It's my first 2007 anthem.
Laura Love is charming, and a crazy-good bass player.
I've been on a Springsteen kick since I recently read an essay about a guy who met him at the movies in the 70s when he was on tour, and invited him home to meet his family. Bruce went.
It was a great essay. Check out the current issue of Sun Magazine in the chi-chi lit section of your local overpriced chain bookstore. This song is itself a sad short story, so it fits.
That verse about the wedding is a doozy. I'd love to hear Mary's response to it all.
Patty Griffin:
New record February 6th!
Yay! I love Patty so much. She's one of the greats, which means I forgive her for making me cry when she sings.
All of her songs are rated "explicit" on iTunes. This is just..
.strange. One would expect a George Carlin comedy record, which one does not get.
Awesome voice...
wonderful songwriter, and one of the best "new" artists in recent memory.
These girls did a nice job with this cd, which makes the stops on their upcoming tour way curious to me. A garlic festival and a casino golf resort in Iowa?
Weird. But I do enjoy the little cowgirl on their show listing. That's a new one.
I finally bought this cd for six dollars. I've had it on repeat for two months, which makes me laugh for so many reasons, but it's just kind of crawled into my head and won't leave. I'm not really sure how that happened, and it's a bit disturbing.
I'll be dealing with it soon.
It's on the Freedom Writers soundtrack, which I would say was dope if I didn't sound like a total ass saying it.
Because I can be pretend-hip with the best of them, sister.
(Seriously, this is a good song.)
First I saw Notes on a Scandal weekend before last.
I knew very little about it going in, which I actually prefer. I like reading books and seeing movies about which I have very little backstory. The movie was great, although I can't imagine a film that stars Cait Blanchett and Judi Dench sucking.
What are the odds? Ooh, look! Cait and Judi!
I bet this movie blows! right? Right, considering they probably get scripts hand-delivered to them by Harvey Weinstein driving his OWN car.
It was well-acted (duh), nicely filmed, and very creepy - intensely psychological and dark and British and reflective of some of the basest human instincts that don't involve bloodshed. And what always gets me about stuff like this is that even when the characters are a stone's throw over the line from crazy, it's quite easy to see how none of us are really too far ourselves. I learned that when I worked in mental health counseling for a very short time.
Lots of the people in my groups had been toddling along leading kind of benign left of center lives when something happened that tripped a cord and there she went. I mean, hopefully most of us are far enough away not to ever go over the edge, but eh..
.human brains are weird and unpredictable. Throw some stress, self-involvement, depression and bad luck into the mix, and who knows what you'll get?
Usually nothing this wacked, but it just got me thinking. And thinking, because it was still in my head a couple days after. Out, out, Dame Judi.
Leave me alone! Pull on your galoshes and go on up to the pub. I've got stuff to do!
Like Meryl Streep, Judi Dench is an attractive woman who is powerfully able to transform her physical appearance without the aid of much makeup. Give her a crappy hairdo and some frumpy (really, really terrible - terrible terrible) clothes and she's another person, like I wouldn't be if I did the same thing. Her facial expression and gait change, and her voice is different without being markedly so.
It's amazing. Cait Blanchett, on the other hand, is one of the most gorgeous people I've ever seen, and even though I'm very comfortable with and attached to my unfortunate attraction to men, I was distracted by my desire to reach through the screen and touch her pretty hair throughout the film. Jesus.
Just grossly, unfairly beautiful and talented. Cradle gifts, God love 'em.
Last week I saw Freedom Writers, which I then saw fit to defend and I really like that we can discuss such topics on Blogher in a productive, flame-free way.
People just think different things based on their experiences, so it's interesting to read along and contribute if you feel like it.
I read the Freedom Writers Diary years ago when I worked at Borders, and I was interested to see how the project would translate to film. I do not like Hillary Swank at all - as an actress, I mean, as I have no idea what she's like in real life of course.
I find her screen presence grating and whiny, and am one of the only people I know who did not like Million Dollar Baby. I thought it was manipulative and ridiculous, actually. But this movie I liked, for the sole reason that it showed young people actually using the written word for some good purpose.
And whereas I can see the arguments I've linked to above that the movie was just another excuse to show the white liberal teacher swooping in to save the day, I found it less about that than I did about these kids finding their way, regardless of who was there as a catalyst. It's often hard and painful, actually, to observe the trouble that kids have stringing a sentence together, and I'm in that position a lot. As a person who would shrivel up without the outlet I have, and who knows what a bonus it can be to be able to get your point across in writing, it's doubly hard and sometimes difficult to understand.
I'm hoping to use their resources somehow in the work that I do. And all lack of interest in Swank aside, I give her credit for putting her money behind this project, because it least it could have some redeeming value, as well as going into the Entertainment Weekly hopper.
And yes, I know we don't need another Dangerous Minds, but this movie was different.
And also it made me cry, and had pretty good music, and proved to me again that Patrick Dempsey is way overrated.
Yesterday I saw . Damn.
Eek. Violent as all hell. I wasn't expecting that.
Again - limited backstory, which in this case was a very good thing because I'm not sure I would have been down with it otherwise. I saw the preview earlier in the month and was drawn in, plus had heard such good things about who plays the little girl Ofelia. These things are all true.
She is an amazing actress, and although people always say, Wow, and so young, I think there's really no better time to be able to disappear into a story or another character than when you're a child. It gets harder with the road miles sometimes, you know? Children are way more capable than adults of morphing into many different voices and characters, and she definitely does that here.
That said, the story is fascinating, and the film itself (location, effects, cinematography, music) is too. It isn't a pretty little fairy tale, though, so don't go in expecting that - if you want to expect anything at all.
I want to see The Painted Veil , next, and The Queen , too, and many more movies this year with subtitles, because I feel good about letting the language I don't understand seep into my brain while I'm reading along.
I will not, however, be seeing , a new horror show whose preview I was subjected to before Freedom Writers , and about which Eddie Murphy should be very, very ashamed. Any awards he receives for Dreamgirls should be revoked, and he should be made to give every cent of the money he makes off of this new film to some program supporting women of color, or send it to New Orleans for the hurricane rebuilding, because it's a shame to think it would make him any wealthier.
A surefire way to get yourself noticed in the Liz Claiborne Outlet Store in Lancaster, PA:
When the version of Carol of the Bells , sung by what sounds like Point of Grace or SheDaisy or some such girl band of infidels, creeps into your head straight from the in-store music, find yourself, er, ENHANCING the tune by blurting out All seem to say, DING DONG MMMKAY just like Mr.
Mackey from South Park. And do it over and over, and don't really consciously realize this until the song is just about over. And find yourself in a fit of giggles, repeating Hark hear the bells, 'mmmkay all by yourself, all the way to the car, garnering several more funny outlet-mall stares (and not making that whole having-to-pee-really-bad thing any easier.
)
Happy freaking holidays, Mr. Hat.
(Oh, and I realized I never disclosed the number of Feliz Navidads in the song of the same name, as I've fallen down terribly on the yuletide song blogging.
It's 21...
21 times he wants to wish you a merry Spanglish Christmas. But doesn't it feel like more? Doesn't it?
)
| Don't even TELL me that this isn't real, and that it isn't having a profound effect on our culture, because it just is.
There's a new contingent of . I learned about it on the , first of all, and that led me to the homepage heretofore linked.
Pendulum Swingers is a song on the Girls' new record, Despite Our Differences, and it appears that a community has sprung up around it. The MySpace link talks about a contest wherein fans can film a prototypical video for the song, Amy and Emily will check them out, and if you win, you not only get your clip on their website, but also you'll get an iPod that they autograph, which is loaded with the entire Indigo Girls discography.
For God's sake, that's rad.
And I'm serious about the Web 2.0 thing. People are .
If you have an idea, . You don't even have to know code anymore. You just have to have a halfway decent idea, and some interesting pictures.
Get to it.
| I made this my movie weekend, thrilled as I was to not have to go to work at all, or to be somewhere else trying to have fun, thinking about how I should be at work. That's a major drag, by the way, and I don't recommend it.
Work sucks in general (I much prefer play, to be honest) but when it's hanging over my head, the suckage goes forth and multiplies.
After Stranger Than Fiction, which is detailed in sickening detail below, I let someone else pick the movie. My friend Jeremy came down yesterday and he chose Copying Beethoven, which really didn't do it for either one of us, I don't think.
The music was great, but Ed Harris annoyed me, and the story was weak. Plus the cinematography created an atmosphere that made early-1800s Vienna resemble my memories of Three Mile Island from the endless newsreel of my childhood. Bleak.
Grey. Ick. And maybe that's what Vienna looked like then, but in that case I hope they had some early substitute for antidepressants, cause cry me a river.
..it was unbearable.
Today I saw which I was really excited about, and it was fabulous. I loved it. It made me cry it was so good, although I'm a Dixie Chicks fan, so I'm not exactly unbiased.
Or not at all unbiased, depending on how you look at it. I'm not a country music fan in general these days, and certainly not part of the base that burned and steamrolled cds (overreact much?) or held their kids up to say Screw you outside of their concerts after the remark about George Bush essentially led country radio to wipe them off the map.
I just think they're really talented women. Taking the Long Way is arguably the best album released in 2006, and although I was a fan before, now that they're writing their songs and expanding their reach, I like them even more. (I really like them.
I'm sorry. I know, it's gross.)
I wrote a paper for a Language and Politics class this past summer about the controversy, and got really into researching the (literally) thousands of words that were written in every possible media outlet about these women.
When Natalie Maines said at a London concert that, We're ashamed that the President of the United States is from Texas, the day before we sent troops to Iraq, she got scourged in red state America overnight. Toby Keith put a picture of her on the screen at his concerts with Saddam Hussein, and her head on the body of a toad, and it's cool. His free speech is okay.
Hers is not. In the film, she's shown playing one of the first shows after the controversy started, and she heard people booing. Go ahead, you let it out, she said, because I support free speech.
And that's really what goes on the chopping block when people aren't allowed to voice an opposing view.
In any event, it's a really well done film. was harsher on Natalie than it needed to be.
Again, I'm biased, but I hardly think his characterization of her as a blowhard is anything that the women shy away from, or that needed to be pointed out by the filmmaker in the way he suggests. Natalie's opinions and freedom in expressing them started the whole business in the first place, and she references her big mouth several times in the movie. It's no secret.
I wonder if the same depiction would be given if she were a man expressing himself in the same way.
The core of the film for me came almost at the end, with a bit in which Martie Maguire says she just wants Natalie to be safe and happy with the way things turn out. I actually found Martie to be the most compelling person in the film.
She's obviously dedicated to the music and to the life she and her sister have created from the time they were pre-teens, and watching her it was easy to see what was threatened by an incident that grew beyond what any of them intended or planned. Her statements at the end were also the only time any of them are shown crying. Her defense of Natalie was honest and heartfelt, and I really felt throughout that these women were a team, no bullshit, which is refreshing in an industry and unfortunately a world where that often doesn't seem to be the case.
I wish them luck, because I think they took the harder - and longer way - round with all of this, and would that more of us spoke up in whatever venue we find ourselves in, large or small.
| Imagine..
. Jamie Lee Curtis and Billy Crystal (and oh yeah, Madonna..
.you too) watch out.
*Results not typical.
We saw last night, and I loved it. I didn't love it at first, and it started out with a few environmental strikes, because we saw it at the theatre near my house, which is the worst movie theatre I've ever had the misfortune to be in. It's independently run, but not by anyone who cares about the filmgoing experience, and nor does it carry anything other than the usual Hollywood releases.
And then there was the cluster of about fifteen teenagers who sat in the middle of the theatre, completely expecting , who talked loudly throughout the first fifteen minutes of the film. It was at this point that my cranky teacher ass actually got up from its seat and went outside to find the not-more-than-eighteen-year-old manager, who, to his credit, came in and told them to be quiet. Of course, as soon as he left they started talking again, and I got up AGAIN (do not mess with me on certain days of the month), walked over to the center, and said, Be QUIET, or I'll get him again.
It worked. I am apparently a fearsome sight, as one of the little girls (who was being embraced in a creepy way by an eight-foot-tall thirteen year old boy) looked up and said, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
As ridiculous and bitchy as I felt, I couldn't help it. This movie showed promise, and I'm tired of my eight or fifteen or God forbid fifty movie or concert dollars going partially down the drain because often even grown people can't be quiet or even less than really, really loud. I may sound awful but it's gotten to the point where people don't seem to care how they affect others in many group situations.
I do, and plus I like to get into what I came to see. And it was, like I said, a bad night to push it. Eventually they all, every single one of them, got up and left anyway.
Like I said, not typical Will Ferrell stuff. And now it's even more clear that I need to stop the teacher train or soon I'm going to be really over the line.
Anyway, the movie was really good.
It was not easy, so if blockbusters and romantic comedies are your thing...
I don't know. It took time to get going and at first I thought, please do not let me have another I Heart Huckabees experience , because I really wanted to key into whatever they were trying to accomplish with that one, and I didn't, although the title was good for a few months of giggles in another context. This one has an excellent cast - Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson (who I love), Queen Latifah (ditto.
), Maggie Gyllenhall (yeah, again,) and of course, Will Ferrell, who actually is a good enough actor that you didn't spend two hours going, Oh, wow, Will Ferrell isn't running down the street naked, shouting out random phrases that will be destined to be repeated by drunk people everywhere. He went beyond Old School, in other words. The story is a meta-something something sort of thing, where he turns out to be a living character in a story Thompson is writing, and eventually that goes in some wacked out directions, and points are made about living life to the fullest and following your dreams and not working in a cubicle and all that shit.
The special effects (they're not typical - it makes a little more sense once you see them) were really interesting, and from the credits it looks like at least ten studios were involved with different aspects of creating them. That was amazing to me, but then again I'm not to that level of geekdom. What I am to the level of is music, and the soundtrack is really good too - , .
I like Spoon.
You may like this movie. I'm obviously still thinking about it today, which usually means it was at least worth my time and maybe even money too.
And speaking of movies AND tv...
.
I'm still standing!
I was so tired of learning other stuff.
(Happy to see the old girl looking like herself again, though, I have to admit.)
I'm procrastinating mightily, because I have to do like twelve things, none of which are things that I love or bring me any particular sort of joy - not the joy it brings me to post random shit on this here webpage, clearly. Anywho, I set out to ponder my hatred of the term rocks my socks today,a nd let me just say that
The #3 and #5 entry for this phrase make me unreasonably happy (#3 solely for its use of the term freakworthy .
) #5 even uses it in an example sentence: omg, the used like, totally rocks my socks
ow!
see..
.i told you not to say it!
And please note the other words and phrases on the left, which are quite enjoyable as well.
This is all kind of reminding me of a quote from The Dundies episode of The Office , wherein Michael plays the fool he always is, this time with slang:
Michael : Yeealech! TMI. TMI, my friends.
TMI? Too much information. It’s just easier to say TMI.
I used to say, “Don’t go there,” but that’s lame.
| is up. I don't have the black and white shots back yet.
I used a color film disposable and a digital disposable for these, and I can tell the difference a little bit, but not so much that I'm willing to admit that digital is resoundingly better.
Props to my buddy Michael for taking my pesky thumb out of the shot of the little kid crowdsurfing. (I'd put it up here, but it's not letting me upload a tif file.
I'm having technical difficulties this evening.) I keep the Photoshop to a minimum for my personal stuff, but in this case, I really wanted to preserve the composition. I think it all worked out well.
I want to talk some more about how I love film but I'm too tired. Everything I need to share is on flickr now anyway.
| This post is standing between me and brunch, but I care enough to bring you, via Tracey,
If you've worked in a retail establishment anytime in the past ten years, in particular, you may want to check this out.
The time I've done in a couple big-box bookstores (that start with B , coincidentally...
) has given me a certain level of compassion for the slack-jawed service I've grown accustomed to in recent years...
because I've read the training manual, as it were, and it is not compelling. (Let's not even discuss the videos. I'd rather be stuck in front of the acid trip that is with Yanni in the background than watch one more single Borders training video.
Fuckers.) I've also been subject to the bag checks upon leaving the store, and the soul-deadening team meetings , wherein you are threatened with demerits if you don't ask people for their email addresses, and none of this, by the way, impacts your seven bucks an hour at all.
But all that's behind me now, thank God.
Now I can drink my coffee anywhere in the store I damned well please, and also read for free in the cafe when I feel like it, and don't think I don't. They owe me a lifetime Oprah subscription, at least. But I still straighten books compulsively, while repressing my need to alphabetize, and correct crooked sales stickers.
It's been a long road, that's for sure - but it's a much better view from this side of the counter, I have to admit.
(And just go to her links, people - they're always awesome, and just like what I'd try to share with you if I wasn't so damned lazy lately!)
| Working really puts a crimp in several of my favorite activities, including my flickr problem habit.
Just knowing that the is reason enough to dedicate more time I don't have to looking at pictures of people I don't know. I need money to finance these little hobbies, though, so that should help me focus. A little.
over at Defective Yeti, and like I said the other day (I at least waited a couple of days, really...
) he's just a funny guy. His recent audiovisual report on the overfriendliness of bank machines was just the laugh I needed after the Emmy's tonight. No Jason Bateman?
Are they kidding me? Kiefer Sutherland beating Martin Sheen? What?
The West Wing was one of the best shows ever, and although I know better than to expect anything (and really, why would I?) from a Hollywood awards show, still..
.Lisa Moraes from the Washington Post , and caught some of the funnier and more compelling quotes from the sidelines (sounds like she's in California.) This is my favorite:
Female reporter to Barry Manilow: They say music is the soundtrack of your life.
What song.. do you look back at to remind you of tonight?
Manilow: Don't Give Up by Peter Gabriel. (Answer: Don't Give Up by Peter Gabriel).
Earlier, a female reporter to Jeremy Irons: What is the best advice anyone ever gave you?
Irons: Soldier on.
Irons looks at female reporter who somehow looks even more vacant than usual.
Irons: Do you understand what I mean?
Reporter: Not at all.
I try to stay away from Perez Hilton, because it makes me feel like I need a shower after I read it, but I have to admit that this comment about the made me smile:
He loves her cowboy hat, people! Leave her the hell alone!
And lastly, another . They've taken down the Steven Seagall page that she links to in the middle (he's got a new cd out, don'tcha know) but the Armor of God pjs are just what every good little soldier should have to start out the school year, and bacon bars - well, there you have those.
| It was the funniest thing I've heard in a long time, and not even because my standards are slipping.
There's just something about Samuel L. Jackson telling me to leave that PO' excuse for an eduCAtional instiTUtion, to put down my DAMNED CAMERA AND GET IN MY TIN CAN OF A CAR to go see a movie. I mean, I don't know what that something IS about, exactly, but it's something.
I'm really glad someone thought to do this for me today and you should do it for someone who has a sense of humor also. My GOD please could more people make me laugh? I mean, I hate to be so demanding, but it is so magical and wonderful when that happens.
So in that vein, herewith and within, begins Humor Weekend, (humour, of course, if you're Canadian. Or British, yes.) where if it ain't funny, don't bring it around me.
Take it outside.
Speaking of Canadians, one of the oddest things anyone said to me this week (and this is a close race, folks. The oddities were legion and raging 'round these parts the past seven days or so) was, Speaking of cultural diversity and stereotypes, would you by any chance be Canadian?
Because you, um, say some Canadian things.
This was of course right after I said, The Mounties were playing that new Barenaked Ladies joint on the way to Niagara Falls, when they got a call from Toronto aboot the Nova Scotia situation at the Maple Leafs game. Eh?
But since I didn't really say that at all, I had to say No, no, what you're hearing that you think is Canadian is actually the lilt of my Maryland hick-ese, to which he said, Right. And I'm not sure Canadians say y'all. To which I said again, THEY snakes.
On the PLANE. RIGHT ABOOT NOW.
| Song of the day - Just to be Close to You , Lionel Richie.
Why? WE-he-hell, hold on a minute, hot stuff. That is called a setup.
Or foreshadowing. Or something..
.
Really, why? Okay, so I'm currently in the Los Angeles airport (which is really sort of dumpy, much to my surprise) and I'm not ashamed to admit that I was all about seeing Brangelina or Jessica Simpson while I was here.
Can't help it. Years of a weekly smack habit called People magazine (and now the too. God.
I have no shot at being a productive citizen ANY MORE. It's OVER.) have bred a benign interest in the famous, the silly, the talented, and the talentless that I can only defend because I read a lot of smart people stuff too that makes me have to think and ponder and analyze something way beyond whether or not Tom Cruise has locked his daughter up in a cage.
We all need breaks, and People is my thing (one of them, anyway. You really don't want to know how many there actually are, but I'm sure you can imagine.)
I haven't given up hope on the Brangelina or Jessica sighting, for sure, but I will tell you one thing that almost surpasses that possibility: I saw Lionel Richie!
I was looking around for some wireless and some food, in that order, because I'm a cracked out internet junkie with a deep and abiding problem. It's a good thing I'm busying my hands with this madness because I guess otherwise I'd really be at my highest weight ever at this point. (not yet, thank God.
There's still hope, and as long as I can measure it in ounces I'm going to.)
Sorry, digression. So yeah, I'm in LAX, like People always calls it - i.
e., Mary Kate Olsen fuels up with a mango and coke (get it? Get their smooth insinuations and friendly yet deadly patter?
Oh yeah, it's how Star Tracks rolls, totally) smoothie as she waifs her way through LAX after a red-eye from NYC. And I was walking along, and damned if there wasn't Li-o-NEL, right there. Of course I'm fresh off my high where he was the headliner, and have long since outed myself as a fan of both his AND the Commodores.
I've even forgiven him partially for Ballerina Girl at this point (although never Say You, Say Me, because that stupid fast bridge at the end is so lame and the lyrics so ridiculous that I can't bear to hear it, even if it means turning off Delilah.)
I unfortunately missed my chance at paparazzi-dom (like I'd need another method of being PART OF THE PROBLEM. Really.
) because I haven't slept in a long time and I was kind of disoriented, so my reaction time was bad. I'd just gotten off a long flight where the Very Important Airplane Designer next to me used his laptop the whole time and kept knocking into me. He didn't do it hard, just enough to be annoying after the tenth time, and when it got up in the hundreds, blah.
He had no using the computer in the center seat skills, and five hours of that plus no sleep just isn't good. I did make an initial grab for the camera bag, but I was too slow, and Lionel had already passed me. A photo of his back was within the realm of possibility, but that seemed a little pathetic even to me, and standing as I was in the middle of the concourse, I knew that in my current bedraggled state I would not just look like but would indeed BE Crazy Camera Lady.
I'm not trying to get this camera yanked on my first day in California. I could be a plant for the Enquirer for all they know.
So congratulate me - or feel sorry for me that I care a little bit, pick your poison - that I saw an interesting-to-me famous person in my first hour on the west coast.
I imagine I'll be geeking out quite a bit more than maybe even is usual, so I'm not apologizing in advance, even though I probably should.
| My favorite thing I've seen today.
Rain is my least favorite thing I've seen for DAYS.
This is some serious rain we're having here. I just got home and it was actually scary to drive in. I was thinking about how if I'm scared in THIS kind of rain, I feel even worse than I did already for the people who were stuck in New Orleans during Katrina.
The power of too much water is scary (which of course would bring to mind the tsunami as well, but that's a disaster of such magnitude that you can't really compare it to anything we could imagine.) People are getting trapped around here on roads near creeks and what have you, and one lady said in the news today that the water was up to her car window when the rescue unit came. Freaky.
It just happens so quickly that it's really best to not be on the road.
I'm slacking from doing my paper, which of course means I'm finding new, fun stuff on the Web. A TOTALLY RELEVANT writing search (not that I need validation, right?
RIGHT?) led to . Neil Gaiman is one of maybe three sci-fi writers I read (Ursula LeGuin is excellent as well, and I've mentioned Mary Doria Russell here before, but she's not straight sci-fi so she doesn't really count), since my ex-ex-boyfriend bought me Neverwhere , determined to prove that I could indeed enjoy a sci-fi/fantasy novel.
It obviously did nothing for the relationship, but I kept the crush on Neil, which is very well-deserved, I'll add (scruffily attractive sci-fi geeks are one of my specialties, apparently, and he's British too. Done. In.
) And I'd totally expect the father of any child of mine to do something as of-the-moment as name the baby after a drag queen in a Lou Reed song. (And yes, he's married, so it's a Platonic crush. Back off.
; ) )
I'm writing a paper about young peoples' involvement in politics as encouraged by media like Eminem's Mosh , Rock the Vote and Puffy Diddy's Vote or die slogan. This has me thinking that a Ph.d in media and culture is a good idea, which also means someone should put me in a cage until the urge passes.
I have to play Joy to the World in a recital hall in front of several people on Thursday. Our teacher, because she is apparently of the humiliation school of beginner piano instruction, believed it would be a swell idea for us to be able to invite family and friends to this exercise in torture, which means that there will be more people there than just my fellow recruits. I really feel weird about this, but only because until three weeks ago, I didn't know how to find middle C on a map.
Now I know a little more, but not much...
and I'm not feeling quite ready to expose my rudimentary knowledge (even of a CHRISTMAS song. Hello, I get to play a CHRISTMAS song. Heehee) to the unsuspecting masses.
Who wants to come to my house for some bloody Marys at 8 a.m.?
I think it can only help.
I am kind of jazzed because a friend of mine plays guitar and has been composing some music, but he could use some help with lyrics, so that might be fun. Now that I have some kind of control over the keyboard, and plan to keep on with the same class in the fall, it should make it easier to even conceive of writing, which is something I've wanted to learn how to do for years, but never dreamed I could understand.
So far it's been fun, which is my priority.
Two songs of the day: Get out the Map , Indigo Girls and All Right Okay by Last Train Home (okay, LTH's Lorelei too..
.I can't pick.)
And now I have to really write this paper.
Wow. I just can't fathom from whence this INSANE expectation has arisen. I guess these two go out and do good things, and it appears that certain political groups listen to them, but mostly it seems to be about a photo op.
People who think it's deeper than that need to go out and plant a tree or something. Sure, I have as much celebrity amusement as anyone who has a borderline-unhealthy interest in pop culture, but at the end of the day, it's another (edit, o dumbass me who keeps leaving out words and phrases:) COUPLE HAVING A BABY (which in my world seems to be happening like every other minute, but I digress..
..) Sure they're pretty, but she kind of creeps me out for some reason.
Besides, if there's any baby gonna be like Jesus, ROCK on.
(as in, she wrote the parts in quotes. Hello.
)
At the beginning of a meeting today, someone interrupted the main speaker to say, I'm not sure everybody knows why we're here today. (Don't you love it when shit gets all existential at work?) And the speaker said, Sure, I can level-set that.
Level-set? This is new. Check check check.
Can I get a little more bass in my monitor? Can I get a little more dumb-assery in my meeting-speak? Thanks.
This made me laugh, but also kind of cringe, because I don't know where these words and phrases come from either (besides hell.) I'm still dealing with deliverables and benchmarking, while trying to avoid allowing the phrases has a lot on her plate or let's get on the same page or any variation thereof to come out of my mouth. The day I hear level-set in a meeting, it'll be like the shot heard 'round the world.
Which means it'll probably happen soon.
What are people doing to our language, and for why??
???
???
??
I am really sort of bemused by this one, folks.
I shouldn't be, but I am. I have not, in recent memory, seen more news posted about someone who has done absolutely nothing, except for Paris Hilton, who at least has been on television with some regularity for a couple of years and has wealthy parents (which explains a lot in the U.S.
). The constant updates on Pete Doherty's life of smack and misdemeanors just shows the power of the media, and the cult of personality, to make us think that someone or something is important, just by repeatedly showing his broken picture in the paper every single day.
I first saw a photo of Pete Doherty in People Magazine, maybe last year?
He was alongside Kate Moss, who also has done little of any consequence since she broke up with Johnny Depp and started majoring in heroin. I had never heard of Babyshambles, this guy's band, and wasn't inspired to check them out. They could rock like crazy, for all I know.
But what I do know is that all of a sudden Pete became big news. He gets arrested a lot. Allegedly he and teeny little Kate broke up a few months ago.
And he's still making the front-page of washingtonpost.com. Thank God he's in the cheap seats at the bottom, and not up on a par with the Darfur rally, which gives me a glimmer of hope that priorities still exist.
I'm just amazed that he's written about with regularity, showing that even C-list rocker guy arrest and drug addiction lights the pop culture fire for some PECULIAR reason. It's still disappointing though.
I'm not even kidding.
I mean, I've resisted Dance Dance Revolution so far, although I think it'd be a swell way to work out without joining the other disaffected, pushy ( You mean YOU were waiting for the elliptical? OH. I thought you were just watching Storm Phillips!
And no, I CAN'T hear anything because I have my iPod blasting. WHAT? ) suburban masses at the gym.
My sister cracked up when she realized that I downloaded . And a stupid little dance it may be, but hey, it works great for a workout when I'm traveling and trapped in a hotel room, or just feel chunky(-ier than usual) and want to bust a move without fear of anyone seeing me turn it out or go to work as the song instructs. Of course my dog finds it interesting, but he signed a very strict don't-ask-don't-tell agreement when I picked him up from his mom 11 years ago.
as an OFFICIAL program used in their public schools to fight childhood obesity. I actually think that's cool..
.if the kids want to (and can) get down, may as well use those powers for good, I say.
is another jewel in this crown of non-revolutionary revolutionary games (I mean, these aren't exactly mind-blowing or out-of-the-ordinary activities that would require an uprising - dancing, karaoke and git-ar playing, hmm?
Anyway...
) I've seen that one in action too, memorable for causing a completely wrecked drunk friend to sit on a chair on his wedding day and sing along to Hoobastank's The Reason in what might be described as a yowl. I haven't touched that one since, but this guitar thing might push it over the edge. I resist purchasing one of these systems for the perhaps-obvious reason that I have no business having video games in my home, given the responsibilities from which they would suck away more time.
More to the point, I cannot ever again have a means of playing
True confession: I dated a major video game addict at one time, an action NEVER to be repeated, so help me LORD. I have my flaws and odd habits and idiosyncrasies as well, which my previous significant others could illuminate for days, but this was wrong for me on so many levels..
.just..
.wrong. Anyway, I therefore lived in a place with a Playstation for a year of which I rarely speak.
For a period of months, Super Puzzle Fighter became the axis upon which my world revolved. He bought me the damned game. And then he regretted it, because I became obsessed.
The little animated people who lived in my television would come at me with their stupid little pigtails and blue mohawks, bitching at me in robotic fake Asian accents with phrases that amounted to F-You, silly challenger! Puzzle THIS! I WILL KILL YOU, STUPID APARTMENT DWELLER.
This got me charged up into some competitive mode rarely seen except in live Scrabble and Scattergories matches, and I totally wished to kick their tiny little asses at all hours, regardless of what other pressing responsibilities existed in my life. And of course I NEVER wanted to play a two-person game, because when he played with me he'd be on his turn for an HOUR or something and I'd be stopped from my quest to defeat the little pigtailed girl, and I'd totally have to sublimate that energy by doing other destructive things, like eating HoHos or learning how to shop online (this was 1998? 99?
AGES, I tell you. Ages.) ANYWAY, he sent the game off with me when I moved, and it became nothing more than a tragic tale of a video game cartridge (if that's what they still are?
I'm forcibly out of that loop) with no...
ummm...
console? A metaphor is perhaps in there somewhere, but I don't really want to think about that right now. The bottom line is that if I purchased a means for rocking out with Zakk, I kind of have a vague idea where that old game is too, so let's just hope I don't find it, because that would be more trouble than I'd need at this point.
(edit: Dig how this guy plugs his friend's band at the end! Very smooth..
.More power to local music, but it alternately tickles me and gives me hives that no article has a distinct purpose anymore, really. Everything is a hybrid, marketing sort of thing (like this post?
Maybe? Do you want to go and buy these games? No?
Good!) Still, if you're local, don't discount the guy he's talking about. That's not my point.
)
Goddamned Broken Flowers. I'm so sick of cool indie films that end in these ridiculous, ambiguous, unanswered-question ways! YES, I love Bill Murray.
Yes, I find him completely unattractive, and would yet likely smooch him. YES, the movie was well-written and acted, and filmed in a place that looked like a perpetual Seattle. Yes, it included the requisite returned aging actress (Frances Conroy AND Jessica Lange - a double threat, as Frances also wins the fringe, cult-status award), and the occasionally mumbled dialogue, and muted humor that maketh a hit sleeper film.
But Jesus H. Christmas, PLEASE no more non-ending endings, that make even a semi-savvy Landmark Theatre denizen go blinking into the night, going, Well, that was..
.interesting. PLEASE.
This one made me want an OUTCOME, not a bunch of pink and Bill buying his would-be son a sandwich, and another guy gazing steely at him from the window of a vintage ragtop Bug. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I wanted more from this movie.
This movie had a STORY. And yeah, so we want Don to stand there and FEEL IT at the end. Cool.
Let's let him ponder his choices, and how he's standing there in the street, so veryveryallalone...
...
...
...
..But dammit, ANSWER THE QUESTION too.
Do it. It's the right thing.
I should avoid this, but particularly this one:
Thanks to , Glibby McSuckington spills the beans in prime-time about how Katie has converted to Scientology, about how doctors giving birthing advice is so not cool for his people, and about how everyone who isn't a Scientologist is a puppy-kicking cannibal.
Thanks to this xenophobia, we'll never be your wingman.
Ladies and gentlemen, Tom Cruise has tossed off the shackles of Hollywood oppression and is piloting his Scientology-fueled funny car straight towards you.
The giggles I get from the writing ABOUT this situation interest me far, far more than the situation itself, which interests me like .
005 percent...
.although I'm still freaked out by his crazy eyes. Carry on.
I bring you, Awesome. These are moments when I feel like Al Gore invented the Internet just for ME, for my own, personal, inane enjoyment. It says something about this lunatic fringe of a world that so many frighteningly smart people are using Blogger's powers for good times like this:
Do not fuck with Duke.
He has removed his weapons from their holsters while in the shala but he will pop your eyes out with his overdeveloped thumbs if you unroll your mat with a disrespectful snap.
and it's a tag team of new age superheroism. (Make sure you go to F.
Spiderman's profile for another classic shot.)
I am Fey Spiderman. As you can see from my picture, I enjoy meditating in a melodramatic and rather fey manner.
(This photo isn't necessarily safe for work - depending on where you work, of course. If you're in an anything goes kind of job, this is chump change. But still - just sayin'.
It also might make you a little queasy. Careful! ; ) )
And while you're on this tacky page, indulge a minute and read the Kate Moss and Pete Doherty to marry link because it's funny.
(This guy is in a band called Babyshambles, a name I find sort of appealing in spite of myself. However, he appears to have made news in the US for getting arrested and dating Kate Moss - nothing more.)
I just downloaded ELEVEN songs.
And you need to know, regardless of what you do or do not know about this old metal band (reconstituted as , yes) that this has been the most enjoyable experience. It is not sad to me, or scary, or ridiculous, although if I was trying to be much cooler than I am, I'd tell you it was.
Instead, this has FUCKING ROCKED.
I have had the most entertaining, absolutely off the chain 45 minutes of remembering several nights at better than I could probably have remembered them the first time! And I want to go hang out with my friend Lisa, (who I'm sure can still rock even though she has three kids,) because we used to have so much fun at these ridiculous shows. And a new listen kind of makes me think that (he went to mastered that metal bump-bump-ba-da-bump-bump drum thingamajigger in a way that makes an 80s lady kinda want to cry.
But in a good way. And it's good to share that with the girls you shared it with in the first place.
And if you, yourself, would like to rock your ASS off, you need to go have a couple glasses of wine (or not), and listen to Walkin' Away (and probably Midnite Dynamite too.
Throw that one in there.) There's really no reason, other than it's all kinds of fun.
And so what if my iTunes went straight from Cold Shower to the Little River Band's Lonesome Loser .
Wanna fight me? ; )
| ..
.no matter what turnip-truck-faller-offers that vacant-stared GWB thinks we are. Can there be no other news?
gives me pause.
I hate to join the chorus (actually that's a total lie. I really live to do so.
) but whereas I thought, along with every other teenaged girl who saw the volleyball scene in Top Gun, that Tom Cruise was the hottest thing on two stumpy legs at one point, now he's just a pain in the national ass. When will he go away? And why are we subjected to news reports about him and his poor, deluded young girlfriend?
And why is this girl's family allowing her to waste away at a packed schedule of her stepchildren's sporting events when she should be buying BABY CLOTHES? I loved my ex-boyfriend astronomically, but were I to ever have been with child, if he had stuck that close to me when I became that huge, I would have knocked him out in a fiery, frustrated rage by now. GIVE THE GIRL SOME ROOM, DUDE.
Blah. She doesn't even LOOK good pregnant. She looks.
..frumpy.
They've frumped her out and saddled her with soccer mom status, and she's not even thirty years old. He grabs her by the HEAD and clutches on to her like she's his contract for Mission Impossible VII. GET OFF OF HER.
She skipped the debut of her OWN COOL INDEPENDENT FILM this week, to plod off to some stupid Yahoo event, for HIM. I mean, please!
Okay, that's out.
I feel better now.
I admit it - I enjoy Hollaback Girl . It makes no sense, really, but that's okay with me, because its sole purpose in my life is to get me through my trip to work.
It works, because it's catchy (whoever came up with the synthesizer hook is a genius - simple, addictive...
) and unintentionally funny. And before 8 a.m.
, the best possible thing for me is to sit at traffic lights yelling out The shit is BANANAS, b-a-n-a-n-a-s!!!
like 25 times.
Gwen Stefani, however, made the grade over at , and that's kind of curious. There's nothing like looking up some wise words from Virginia Woolf or Eleanor Roosevelt to come across these gems from a wanna-be :
But can I always wear an Alice-in-Wonderland costume?
I probably shouldn't.
Tomorrow night I'll be in bed with my husband again and it will be really great.
When I'm 40, maybe I really will want to get up and be 30 pounds overweight and I'll want to get out there and sing songs for people.
Quotes, yes. Brainy, not so much. There were a couple that almost made it, like this one:
It was such a turning point to find that I had a talent and I had something to contribute, somewhere.
But NOT quite enough to warrant her 55 (55!!!
!!) quotes to Roosevelt's 57.
Curious. Odd. A little bit bananas.
That's just weird.
I mean, not the cowboys being fond of each other part. If cowboys want to get their swerve on on the range, that is just fine with me (although I can never watch that old cook in the Old El Paso commercials quite the same again).
I do find it kind of odd that Willie Nelson would write a song about it, and that the news media would be so captivated by it (and yes I understand marketing, and the Brokeback Mountain craze and ALL OF IT. I'm just wondering aloud in an existential, how did we get here from there sense, because I like to do that sometimes, capiche?) I don't understand how if this was such a huge and intoxicating issue in this country, we avoided dealing with it for all of these years.
Are we to believe that Annie Proulx writes Brokeback Mountain , Ang Lee makes a kickass movie out of it, and lo, the floodgates are open for the whistle to be blown on all cowboys, everywhere? It's just..
.strange.
I don't know any cowboys.
I mean, where HAVE all the cowboys gone, anyway? ; ) And I find the concept of rampant homosexuality among this relatively small focus group to be entertaining at the least and fascinating at the we're-now-stretching-it best. Are we to consider it the Nelson Report, a la Kinsey?
And what's with the cumbersome title? It sounds like a British porn film, if such a thing exists.
I'm overthinking this, but maybe the Tom and Kate breakup rumors were just too much for me to handle for one day.
Maybe Tom really IS a cowboy. Maybe Willie can help him where others have tried and failed. Maybe Jake Gyllenhall and Heath LEDGAH will headline Farm Aid.
I really need to go lie down, and stop reading the news online.
Chris Penn died today, and so did another little piece of my childhood. He was only 40 years old - only five years older than I am.
He played Willard in Footloose, and the montage where he learns to dance would not only go on to be the most memorable montage of any sort on film for me to date, but it also rocks. Still.
I was a HUGE Kevin Bacon fan at the time (and remain so, just for this movie, although I'll never forgive him for Tremors and have never heard a Bacon Brothers song) and watched this movie just this past year like three times over on a VH1 Movies That Rock marathon.
The scene at the end where they all - including Ren and Willard - dance at the prom is still one of the most joyful moments ever committed to film. I never followed Penn's career after Footloose, either. This film was quite enough, and I love that these guys live for me, captured as they were on film in 1984.
I have no idea what took Chris Penn, although I can surely guess, but MAD props to him for Willard. It mattered.
: You like Men At Work?
: what men?
: Men at work.
: well where do they work?
: No, they're a music group.
: well what do they call themselves?
: Oh no!
What about the Police?
: What about 'em?
: You ever heard them?
: No, but I seen them.
: Where, in concert?
: No, behind you.
: You know what it is, you've got an attitude problem.
: Oh I've got an attitude problem?
: Yes and I'm not the first one that's noticed it.
I mean we're not stuck in the goddamn middle ages here. I mean we've got TV. We've got Family Feud.
We're not stuck in Leave It To Beaver land here.
: Well I haven't noticed a wet T-shirt contest in town yet.
: Yeah but I'm waiting.
Patiently.
Willard: Ariel likes trouble, and everyone around here knows that you're t-r-u-b-l.
(I did not make that up.
I sort of wish I did, which is why I may not respect myself in the morning, but I didn't.)
(I did make that up, which I'm not so proud of. Sure, it has just the right amount of slightly outdated pop culture cachet that usually satisfies me, but hasn't that Hey you got your chocolate in my peanut butter thing kind of been done enough?
Couldn't I have added in a reference to something more timely, like iPods or Nicole Richie's arms? Not that I would EVER joke about the daughter of the man who brought me Easy like Sunday morning. Please.
)
Anyway, Starbucks and Yahoo Personals met online. It's a beautiful thing. They're registered at Bed, Bath and Beyond.
Please do not buy them anything taupe - only primary colors.
My current interest in Cinnamon Dolce Lattes should therefore indicate that I'm sweet, with a fiery glow simmering just below the surface. However, any fool could see that a drink that tastes like liquid cinnamon buns is bound to be clutched in this coffee freak's hot little hand, and have nothing whatsoever to do with a date - espresso or otherwise.
Sweet, with a fiery glow simmering just below the surface
True love.
If you ever need a kidney, I will give you mine if I haven't broken it yet.
- Motocross racer Carey Hart, in his personal vows to Pink during their wedding ceremony
Motley Crutches (heehee) for Vince, proving that in one's forties, the desire to rock is strong - but the pull of the ground is a little bit stronger.
Or, as Atlanta is a distributing location for his new , perhaps there was a pre-show tasting. Although his mainlining-of-every-available-substance days are over, he recently professed a love of the grape, and I have to admit that the site is pretty spiffy. This should really up the ante at Crue shows.
Or not.
And while on the metal note (yes, I do still have a few notes reserved for metal..
.), I have to admit that I stumbled across the Mandatory Metallica show on Baltimore's legendary 98 Rock while driving home from dinner the other night, and literally tripped over my dog, rushing to the living room to crank up For Whom the Bell Tolls . for the song is hilarious, and I can just imagine livening up life in my building with that one.
Not I have EVER actually purchased a ringtone. Ever. But for a minute it felt like a swell idea.
Um, hello. So yes, after a seventeen month, completely photographed pregnancy, Britney and K-Fed had a BABY today, a baby no doubt born shaking from caffeine withdrawal after months of mom's big old Starbucks drinks. But guess what?
Guess who else had a baby this week, and got nary a peep on the People website?
Tina Fey is a mom. And from Saturday Night Live this season also.
Wow. I wonder if Amy Poehler and Rachel Dratch are at the doctor as I type?
I can just imagine life with Tina Fey as my mom.
She'd wear that blue blazer and those funky glasses all the time. Every day would be full of rollickingly sarcastic comments, delivered in between visits from freakish side show impersonating characters. She'd throw pencils across the desk at you when you were done speaking.
She'd sing occasionally, and mostly read off cue cards.
Ahem, anyway.
In honor of these momentous SNL births, that thankfully have nothing to do with Britney Spears and her overexposure while leaving public restrooms and her fast food habits, here is my very favorite , from SNL's Weekend Update a couple years back.
There are typos, but you'll get the drift. Got the job done, girls. Yes you did.
: )
Pop superstar Britney Spears has revealed her three favourites names for her unborn child. They include Sean Preston if it's a boy and Addison Shye if it's a girl. However, the singer had also said that she is considering calling her baby London!
Britney told Female First that she has a gut feeling her first child is a boy, but has not found out its sex because her and husband Kevin Federline want it to be a suprise at the birth.
Actually London is pretty tame compared to what I thought she'd name it. I figured we'd all be talking about little Starbucks Frappy Federline.
So I go to see tonight, which I knew very little about going in, and the film is just brutal. It's violent, and crazed, and has Andre 3000 Benjamin in a decidedly non-musical role, although his voice is so distinctive that I kept expecting him to go, 3000's always changing but you stay the same/and I neeeeeeeedddddddddd thaaaaaaaaaaatttttttttttt . I'm a little bit of an Outkast fan.
Can't help it.
Anyway, this movie had me freaked out to an incredible degree - hands over eyes, fidgeting around, the whole nine. It was all guns and death and execution-style killings in snow and people being drowned under the ice.
Insane. I don't see this type of film very often, and I was reminded why. I'd had no caffeine for many hours and still thought I was going to jump out of my seat like fifty times.
It wasn't all bad. I love Mark Wahlberg, although I have no idea why, and Tyrese is no harm to the eyes either, and oh yeah, not a bad actor. The soundtrack was dope - lots of Marvin Gaye (it's set in Detroit - talk about Inner City Blues .
Let's give that song of the day props while we're at it - the sexiest, grooviest song about poverty and devastation ever.).
I know, me getting into a movie about the Marines is unlikely and strange, but as my friend said unexpectedly when he came on the screen, He's so weird but I just LIKE him.
Which is why we are friends.
After the alarming movie, we went to the IHOP, where at one point a big man walked by our table and I told everyone I was never going to see a violent film again, because I totally expected him to produce a gun and start shooting. The friends who went and saw the movie about the 40 year old virgin laughed at us for passing up that genius film for Four Brothers.
It got better after that. I haven't hung out in a place like that for hours and talked about life and drank coffee and gotten silly since those lovely Denny's days in Ohio, and it was sweet indeed. IHOP also makes a nice crepe with lemon butter.
Yes, indeed.
I am really grateful for my friends. I have so many amazing people in my life right now who are supportive, gifted, creative and fun, and I'm feeling pretty lucky about that.
Things have been so hectic, but it's so true that sometimes you just have to take the break and hang out with people...
I've also found that I still give pretty good advice (thought I was tapped out there for a while!) and some people - even those who are not completely desperate or drunk out of their minds - seem to appreciate it! ; )
| smoothie drink or Starbucks clutched in her (didn't you KNOW?
SHE'S TOTALLY PREGNANT!) hand, she's like, totally into being married. I think our love is growing, says Spears of her relationship with Federline.
It sounds clichéd and cheesy, but it's true.
K-Fed has these pearls of - uh - wisdom: It's kind of like a turn-on knowing that she's having my child. Fo' realz.
It's stupid. And the Twatty-ism of the week ? - Money isn't everything.
Happiness is two percent.
As part of my valiant attempt to be inspired with of-the-moment story and article ideas (my first mistake), I signed up for a service where you get press releases via e-mail, on subjects that you choose. It was in this format that I was introduced to Twattygirl.
com. No, I did not sign up for anything to do (specifically) with twats, which I think is a gross little word and I even have trouble typing it, because in a very few instances in my life I become a little girly prude. Only a FEW, but apparently this is one of 'em.
Anyway, the head girl is - get this - selling a book. And she tells me that, if I'm a Twattygirl, my mantra is sexy, bold, outspoken. Okay.
I wouldn't call it a mantra, per se. More like a dull hum in the back of my brain, but still. Okay.
Check. Then, she elaborates that I am also more inclined to ask for a divorce, freeze my eggs, go to graduate school, use a surrogate mother, or not bother to get married. Apparently a T-girl doesn't care about parallelism neither, which is probably a strike against me.
So okay, the mantra I got going for me. The second list..
.well, some of those inclinations ring true, but some of them are definitely fall-back positions. And how come I can't do them accidentally OR on purpose without calling myself this uncomfortable name?
This is unfortunately not explained to me.
There is a section of this site called Twatlettes on the Town (!) The whole thing is completely g-rated, but just.
..very disturbing, for some reason.
Sometimes I'm really glad I don't have a teenaged daughter, because I think a lot of times, I just wouldn't know what to say. Hell, I don't even know what to say to myself a lot of the time.
Finally we have a label, the site says, We are Twattygirls.
Are you a Twattygirl?
It's safe to say that's a no, no for me.
This is the Daypop Top 40 - a list of links that are currently most popular with bloggers around the world.
Then, there's which is also a cool link.
I'm really irrationally fond of meta-sites. G.
E.E.K.
R. Kelly is a twisted dude.
I saw a clip of Trapped in the Closet, his new urban opera yesterday, and just happened to be looking for a link to it tonight for my other post when I realized they were airing it on VH1 at 11 p.
m.. So of course I had to watch it.
Wow. Some kind of crazy. It's a collection of videos , each a chapter in this twisted story, with the characters lip-syncing dramatically along as R.
sings the dialogue.
Here's a primo snip from VH1.com: Ho, I should've known/ That you would go and do some bogus sh-- up in my house, Pastor Rufus roars to his wife — whose name is actually Kathy — as chapter two progresses.
But the Christian in me gave you the benefit of the doubt.
Uh, okay. It's so bad.
The basic storyline: R.
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