Cover Your (Virtual) Ears

Guess what came in the mail and what is about to be viewed at Casa de Halcon?

Vicar of Dibley: A Holy Wholly Happy Ending.

Two birds with one disc: finally get to see the end of the series and get my Armitage fix.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FDR: American Badass Shout Out

FDR: American Badass just got a hit on one of my favorite movie sites. Go check out pajiba.com for a quick compare and despair with FDR and Abraham Lincoln, Zombie Hunter.

Wicked.

Fave line, from Werewolf Hitler, "You a preaching to ze gas chamber."

dawn breaks slowest for the sleepless

I could have sworn to you that the sun was about to rise Right Now for the last three hours. By the time I'm done typing this I might finally be right.

Insomnia in your own place can be vexing. Insomnia in the domiciles of others can be downright hellish. I'm doing okay with this one, but I'm getting a little tetchy here in the final stretch. I'd like to pack my luggage, since that activity usually takes me at least three hours. However, that type of activity would disturb my bedmate. So I'll just have to chill with my freaking OCD crap for now. I mean, that's what god made iPads and Xanax for, right?

I kid, I kid. I know that those things were really invented by Benjamin Franklin, Albert Schweitzer, and Moses.

Wow, I feel dirty. I feel as if I've just taken Schweitzer's name in vain. I must now recite 10 Louis Pasteurs and 12 Nikola Teslas.

I am sort of doing a good deed. See, I'm visiting the Woosters (Bertie and Bef) and my roommate is one the fruits of their loins. Crap....not only was that a gross sentence, but I think I just now realized that "fruit of the loom" might be a play on words. *facepalm*

ANYWAYS. . . so my roommate decided that she was just gonna wake up around 2 am this morn and start wailing away at the bars of her jail like lifer in the state pen. This kind of display usually brings one of her bleary eyed parents running, and they go sacrifice goats and do meth, or whatever it is that parents do to make babies stop crying.

NOT THIS TIME. HAWKEYE P.I. IS ON THE CASE.

And so here we are, ten years later, and guess who is snoozing in the literal center of the bed, and who is saring bleary eyed at a computer screen? Go ahead, I'll wait.

Yeah, it took lots of wallering around, a couple conversations (I can really relate to this one year-old), some quasi yoga moves, tummy rubbing, and finally a few reps of hava nagila! But she finally fell asleep. On my leg. And her face.

Point being, through my dedicated and possibly kosher ministrations, I was able to provide the parents with their first night of uninterrupted sleep in over a week.

However, the relative merits of this good deed are probably zeroed out by the fact that I just snuck into the kitchen and stole the last Pepsi. Whoops.

ACK! The Tiny Tyrant Terror just moved! It might be waking! Do not anger it, for it's wrath is mighty, and can only be assuaged by food. YOUR food. That's, like, traveling towards your mouth that instant. No separate checks waiter, I'll just knosh off my friends plate he. Did you want that fry?

And Just In Case You Weren't Intimately Acquainted With My Depravity: Armitage

Yeah. So, mom, don't look. Or anyone else who is disturbed by my ebullience of hormones and neurological associations.

Richard Armitage. Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Over. How the hell did this happen? The Gods Looked Down and Laughed. This would be a better world for the children if the parents had to eat the spinach.

Just to show that I can have some objectivity, here's some pros/cons:

Cons:

• Much too tall. Really, be sensible and lose five inches in stature.
• Has better hair than me.
• North English accent sounds vaguely Scottish at times (note: this does straddle the line between pro and con, as it is a pro for me but feel the comparison would irritate him--this has been my experience with Brits to date)
• Again with the tall thing
• This man is prettier than me.
• Umm...he is so amazing and wonderful that I would plagued by insecurities constantly?
• Really being picky here, but can he tan? I guess I could accept a true cracker, but still. . . 

Pros:

• This man is prettier than me.
• Such good hair.
• Almost perfect nose. Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
• Seems to be able to take the piss.
• Beautiful, amazing, expressive face (all dependent on the fact that said face would look beautiful and amazing and earnest when proclaiming love for me oneself)
• Likes poetry
• Narrates children's books
• Can ride a horse
• Allegedly sings
• Based on above, might go tupping and singing, fits in with my crowd
• I've mentioned his nose, right?
• The look he gives Dawn French leaning in her doorway for a last glimpse (Vicar of Dibley). I know, I know, its ACTING. But babbies, let me be true with you: at this point in my life, I'd settle for some decent acting if nothing else. Just make me feel special for a quarter hour hurney. My standards, they are rock bottom.

To better illustrate my previous rantings.

Jeans. Thud.

Duh. Okay, okay, okay. So I have a *type*--look on that nose and be not moved, and I must conclude we are from different species.

"You owe me the sum of one kiss, with tongues." Accounting has never been so sexy.

I like this. It's his Basil Rathbone look. Sort of a caricature. Devilishly handsome.

That smile is evil. Pure evil. Pure delicious, awesome, come hither evil. Or just how he looks everyday. I've been accused of both. I know the pain.

Smolder, smolder. Guyliner. Smirk. Leather. Sideburns. Saddle up.

 And in the end, what is it really all about? Adorkable. Look at that. What a goob. *lurve*

I guess in the end it's all a wash, iddn't it? We are presented with brief honest glimpses of people doing what they love and being who they are, interspersed with carefully controlled media images. I can hardly blame them for any of it. I only have to imagine the shitstorm that would occur if somebody started broadcasting my ass fueled daily remarks (remember kids, there's a reason I don't twat the tweets).

And of course, though I know my tastes aren't necessarily "mainstream," they are obviously not so unique as to prevent these men from becoming stars. I am not so singular in my attraction. The miracle would be if we as a culture or the media machine as an enitiy were ever to find beauty in the faces and figures of common folk like us. I see my boys and think they are nothing short of art. I don't care what others think. But then again, if others didn't think the same, I'd scarcely have a chance to see these artful players in the first place, would I? No, it's no good to congratulate myself on my unique taste. A rose is a rose is a rose, and by any other name would smell as sweet.

But it is sometimes hard, isn't it. To see all these roses and the closest you can hope is for thorns? But when I stood in the concert hall listening to SAS (so nice i did it thrice), or in front of the Van Gogh and the Bosch, i never hoped for equal beauty and grace. I simply reveled that such beauty and grace existed at all.

If You Reward Evil, It Will Never Stop

Case in point: in my bizarrely focused OCD/autistic relationship with Netflix streaming now, I clicked on the Spooks (MI-5 American) series.

I fell asleep during the first one. But by episode....3? I was sold. Why?

Because HUGH LAURIE shows up, bitches! Reward! Reward! Reward for bad behavior!

*sigh* I'll never accomplish anything with this life. And I almost don't care anymore.

Also, worth noting, seeing MacFayden in Spooks explains his casting as Darcy in the recent big screen Pride and Prejudice a lot more understandable. But will someone please quite fucking up that man's hair. Have some charity!

2011 Christmakwanzaakah Wrap Up

Firstly, let us give thanks for Richard Dawkins and the elegant definition of the unit of cultural exchange known as the meme. I wonder what validated scientifical type connections have been made between memes and the theory of human trance states--that is, the cyclical thought patterns we organize and run in our heads non stop, from reading to driving to. . . whatever.

I bring up the meme, as it seems my life is most easily demarcated by whatever meme is floating about in my head, song is stuck in my head, and piece of fiction I'm filtering through my head at that particular time. Trips seem most susceptible to this sort of categorization, perhaps by their very encapsulated nature.

Courtesy of my cousin Stu, here's the meme that wouldn't die during my two week stay with friends and family. It's not outrageously funny, and yet it creeps into your mind and speech and can't be got out for all the world.

Yeah. I can't really explain it, either. But I love seahorses. I love them.

It was by far one of the best holiday seasons I've had in some time. I got to spend time with friends and family, avoided most major disasters, and managed to relax a bit (probably in no small part due to recent upsurge in meds--my doctors feel I need some extra strength nerve pills, hurney.)

During a family event my little bro brought up the Mike Tyson Zoloft song, a surprising hit with him that I had referenced earlier that year here in BB. Well, we played it for the family and by the time my uncle came back in from the woodshed he got treated to an a capella  spontaneous rendition of the chorus by all the kids. He was suitably impressed. I'm telling ya, it's one damn catchy song.

There were no gift exchanges this year, but I really liked how it all went down. We decorated cookies, had crackers, ate way too much food, and everybody kinda did their own thing without it being the end of the world. Or at least, I wasn't trying to organize everything, so if it was the end of the world, I was at least blissfully unaware of it.

Christmas Crackers. The only kinda Cracker ass Cracker I'll tolerate.

At the tender age of 45, Uncle Tim gets to decorate cookies for the first time.

Some other family member's talents lie in other cookie directions.

The real meaning of holiday joy.

In what is rapidly becoming an almost glamourously complex bi-coastal relationships, I got to visit with Tink and Pandaman at their new abode. Silliness occurred, but at a lower rate than usual. I think everybody was feeling the holiday wear and tear. However, we definitely employed Tink's craft corner. And ice cubes. And liquor.

Remember kids: Don't drink and craft. 

Gee, too bad there weren't enough beverages to spread between the three of us.

In a wonderful, surprising, and awesome turn of events, all my siblings, my uncle, and my cousin showed up to a party my friends were throwing. You coulda knocked me over with a feather. It wasn't even my party, but I felt like the princess of the ball. I also made cheeseballs. And got to see the lovely HRad and Hotsauce, who overcame a day of considerable medical obstacles to have that soiree.

I pre-debauched for New Years (oy vey) and got to spend a mellow, fun, silly evening with friends at a pretty, pretty dress up party. Two siblings showed up, a dear old friend, a long lost high school bud, and some folks I wouldn't have otherwise gotten to see. Amazing!

In between some other things happened:

• Terrorized brother with endless viewings of Robin Hood BBC on Netflix streaming. I'm sure he wishes I hadn't come home that night and helped him figure out how to set it up. Heh. Heh. Hehhhhhh.
• Hung out with mah moo, but not enough. :/
• Gave my dad a harrison ford makeover hairdo. There are not polite words in the English language to describe his reaction.
• Had an amazing afternoon with Champagne Bubbles, Beck, Hennessy, and Leetle Seester. It was positively decadent, on a Fitzgerald Gatsbyian level. So much fun.
• Fell asleep twice on couches and was put to bed like a small child.
• Went on incredibly beautiful bike ride with Mistah Shik!
• Finally told Tonis (Dean of the College of Rock n Roll Knowledge) that he posseses that rare male trait of beauty: really good legs. There may have been some rum involved in this discussion.
• PEE ESS, when Mike Rotch offers you Kraken rum, dive for the nearest exit.
• Watched an awesome movie from the old Kung Fu Theatre days, The Five Deadly Venoms. Was surprised how much of it I remembered. Though I certainly didn't recall one of the deadly fighting styles being The Toad.
• MST3K. Revisiting Space Mutiny. Oh, so awful. And then one called...oh fuck. I don't even know. Something about Killer Spiders from Outerspace. They land in Wisconsin, and honestly, they could only  have done good by wiping out the truly grotesque white trash billies living there. Gag.
• Got to see more of Bijoux in a strange way, as we were sort of room mates for this period. I would go upstairs and harass her in the mornings before I took off. 

And though many may never read this, I must most humbly extend my heartfelt thanks to the people who helped make this trip possible, from donating for the plane ticket to giving my sorry ass a place to sleep to picking up the check at the restaurants. I'm sure there's more. Oh wait, here it. When you loan me your room, I will use my MacGuyver like skills to help with accomodations. Including missing pillowcases. Cuz I'm crafty. I'm just my style.

No, those aren't my boxer shorts. But they looked like they were in the mostly clean pile.

Now Is The Moment, Balanced On a Boxcutter's Edge

The moment we all face, when two paths lie before us.

Down one, we uncart our wares from the local store, plug this, click that, and have a functioning piece of electronica installed and running for our entertainment.

Down the other path is despair, cursing, hours of fruitless rewiring and internet searching, and possibly the most dreaded outcome of all: a trip back to the store.

I believe reader's of BlatherBlahg have a pretty good betting spread on how this one will go, based on historical karma and all that.

Film at 11.

Update 1, 1:09 PM: Hookup cords salesman assured me were in the box are not in the box. Put wine in freezer to chill.

Update 2, 1:12 PM: Due to hoarder tendencies, have cables required leftover from some other electronics. Am on page 23 of How-To manual. Still no mention of how to actually hook device up to any other device, like, say, a TV. Transfer wine to icebucket, freezer will take too long. Take my nerve pill.

Update 3, 1:34 PM: Abandoned useless instructions, after realizing the below highly detailed illustration was extent of hookup guidelines.

Skipped fancy stuff and wired direct to TV to determine viability. Mashing of random buttons and alterations of various unrelated settings equals success!

Painfully enter in WiFi code via remote in style of ancient texting to access Netflix. Sit back and wait.

Update 4, 1:46 PM: SUCCESS! Watch a few minutes of BBC miniseries to confirm. Dance on the ruins of the stupid stage.

Immediately begin planning to rewire system for better sound, blah blah insanitycakes. Open bottle of wine in celebration. With the advent of Netflix streaming on my TV, prepare to Never Get Anything Done Ever Ever Again.

Final Update, 2:50 PM: I KNOW EVERYTHING!! I AM EVERYTHING!!!! Have now rewired entire system so tv and blu ray plays through the now defunct DVD player. Does it take 3 remotes to work it? Will it be rendered moot by a much easier, more streamlined system if I ever get a job again? Will guests at my house be rendered unable to operate even the simplest entertainment system without a detailed schematic? Could a brighter person have rewired this in half the time?

WRONG QUESTIONS!!! Right question? Clue: Is Hawk having A Moment?

Answer: HELLS YEAH!!

Additional reward: Fassbender is now speaking French on my screen. And killing people. *sigh* He's so dreamy.

secret wish for 2012

magic

A moment of contentment

At the new year's party tonight my friend asked me what phrase or sentence I would use to summarize my year.

This was a great party, filled with cute boys looking dapper, friends with matching shoes, sparklers, good music, ridiculous helium recitations, a surprise visit from my little bro, and a shitload of laughther, warmth, and affection.

This has been a good trip for me. My family has stunned me several times with their willingness to work outside their comfort zones. My friends remain constant and kind. I am welcomed in many homes.

And now for bed.