"Nate Is a Blog" Blog Review

Nate Is a Blog Blog Review

http://nateisablog.blogspot.com/

blog by Portland, Oregon comedian who has a long list of chuckles up his sleeve

I’ve been remiss, my gentle readers. I haven’t brought Blog Review Sunday to you in several long, lonely weeks. I am aghast at my own heartlessness…when I think about all of the people who depend upon me to direct their blogging on lazy Sunday mornings… the horror and confusion you all must have felt when there was NO BLOG TO GO TO… I am ashamed. Deeply. Contritely. Please forgive me.

Hehehe.

I love to bring out the drama.

Yet here I am again, to help you find a chuckle, a giggle, a grin.

So if you do want me to review your blog, go ahead and email me. Don’t expect superfast results because I cook my blog reviews slowly, over time, tasting and sampling and sniffing from day to day, week to week. But I’ll get there eventually. Guess you’ll just have to keep coming back to see if you got lucky, huh?

Alrighty then….

On this fine Sunday I bring you Nate Is A Blog. One Mr. Nate Smith, from Portland, Oregon (a city I happen to adore and visit often, giving old Nate a little bit of a boost in my ratings system) makes his living as a comedian. It takes about three nanoseconds of reading his blog to understand that he must be successful at this.

The blog has been around since August, when he launched with the debut post “Blogs are stupid”. In the first (very few) posts, it looks like Nate intends to write a typical blog, you know, recording of thoughts, actions of the day, etc…. but by the time he got to “In My Head”, he was beginning to show serious signs of a sense of humor. Next up come the other perspective posts, some of my personal favorites, where he writes from the perspectives of wide-ranging things such as a ham sandwich, a dog, God Himself, and Toucan Sam. (Yes, that Toucan Sam…how many do you know?)

One of my favorite aspects of Nate Is A Blog is when he does the Best Nate Smith Ever Contests. Hahaha…excuse me, I’m laughing my butt off just thinking about it (and that is much preferred over something sweaty like a Stairmaster in removing those pesky pounds back there). Nate goes in search of other men of the same name and has a little internet showdown with them…deciding which of them is the “better” Nate Smith. In his own words:

“I am pretty aware that Nate Smith is a very common name. I've met several Nate Smiths in my day and heard of many more. I was sitting around the other day being extremely vain when I began to wonder where I ranked amongst all the other Nate Smiths in the world. I went to school with a Nate Smith and he was a total tool. So I know I got him beat. But how many other Nate Smiths am I better than? How many of them are better than me? I've decided to find out in a segment I call "Best Nate Smith Ever!"

The first installment of this grand idea can be found here.

(Currently, our Blogging Nate holds the position of Number Two, beaten out by the piratey, less-shallow, wiser, and better at creating beauty from fire Nate Smith. You have to admit, that’s pretty damn cool. And our Nate admits it, too. )

…if your name is Nate Smith, I totally encourage you to enter the fray and send him a challenging email.

Another regular feature on the blog is his F.A.Q. posts where he answers the legions of emails pouring in from his curious fans. Example:

“Q: What is more magical, a Dragon or a Unicorn?
A: This is a very good question, and I am honored that you think I can even answer this. The truth is, Dragons are not actually as magical as most people give them credit for. Rather, Dragons are legendary. Unicorns on the other hand are the most magical creature to ever exist. A big distinction between the two creatures is that many a dragon has been slayed, while Unicorns are so magical that no one would ever even want to slay a Unicorn. A Unicorn could spear you straight through the chest and spin you around on his horn, and while you were spinning around with your blood and life gushing out of you, you would still say, "Isn't this Unicorn beautiful!" If Unicorns wanted to, they could take over the world, but they are so magical that they don't need to take over the world. But then again, maybe they have taken over the world and this is exactly how they want the world to be. GOD I LOVE UNICORNS!!!”

He also takes the time to ask his readers’ opinions on some very important subjects, such as the recent “Should I Buy a Prosthetic Limb?” query, where he explains that no, he doesn’t exactly need one, but….

“I think you are being way too hasty and aren’t looking at the big picture. But you’ll just ignore that and try to tell me that buying a prosthetic limb when I don’t need one is immoral and an insult to those who really do need one. You’ll probably give me some sob story about little Jimmy who lost his leg in a freak Easy Bake Oven accident and needs a brand shining new leg and I might be taking the last one. Well first of all, Jimmy and I are probably not going to need the same size leg, so don’t worry. But again I tell you, you aren’t looking at the big picture. Haven’t you ever heard of supply and demand? If I buy a prosthetic limb, that will create more demand for prosthetic limbs, which in turn will force the prosthetic limb manufacturers to create a greater supply of them. The hike in supply will cause the price to go down. And then Jimmy will be able to get his tiny little fake leg for a much cheaper price. There you go Jimmy. Mobility is on me.”

Recently, Nate has tackled some stickier issues, political in nature, such as the well-thought-out post Where Have All the Ninjas Gone? He also has some great suggestions for halloween costumes for all those Last Minute Larrys who want to be an original. It’s worth the time to click on his links, especially his Myspace profile, where you can watch Mr. Smith in action via You Tube. My personal favorite remains the top one, where there’s some very fancy dancing.

I look forward to this blog having a long, illustrious life. Never fails to make me grin, even on a rainy Sunday. Nate Is a Blog. Check it!

Post Scripture... props have to go out to SQT's blog, that Nate pointed out, where there is a beautiful, touching story about a man and his mustache. Read it and just try not to be moved.

Click Movie Review

Click

Directed by: Frank Coraci

Starring: Adam Sandler, Kate Beckinsale, Christopher Walken

Rated: PG-13 for language, crude and sex-related humor, and some drug references.

107 minutes

DVD

I hate to start a review with a question, well, actually that’s not true, I don’t mind at all… anyway, in this case I have to ask… did anyone else see this movie and immediately say “WTF? I thought this was supposed to be FUNNY!?”

If you did, take happiness in the fact that you are not alone. In fact everyone that I’ve talked to in the flesh who has seen this flick said the same thing, although most of them, considerably less vulgar than I, left out the WTF part.

In case you haven’t seen Click yet, and plan to, let me be the first to give you the warning. This is not a “typical” Adam Sandler flick. Yes, you have your juvenile humor moments, dogs humping stuffed animals, Adam in a really, really fat suit, some parts where people hit/fall/strike in the balls/etc…. you know what I mean. But all in all, I would have to say that this is more of a drama than a comedy, perhaps what is labeled a dramady, and a “lesson-teaching” dramady at that.

Lesson? Don’t rush through life. Stop and smell the roses. Family is more important than money. If you don’t appreciate your life and family, you’ll end up a lonely old man, dying in the rain.

Oops, that could be a spoiler. Ok, you know there’s always spoilers.

I like Adam Sandler playing serious, don’t get me wrong. Spanglish was one of my all-time favs. It established Sandler, at least in my mind, as a versatile actor who could handle a heavy role with the same ease as a slapstick knock-em-down. Yet this time, I wasn’t expecting heavy, probing, soul-searching… I was expecting Happy Gilmore, and laughing til I cried, not choking back tears that were manipulated out of me by the damn filmmakers. Sorry if I sound bitter. It’s just that I am. Or was. By now, I’ve had time to settle down and stop feeling so used.

Sandler plays Michael Newman, an architect on the fast track to success, constantly choosing work over family. His hot wife and two adorable children are quite understanding, but you can see, right away, the central theme for the movie. One day, he’s going to wish he’d picked the other way.

On a trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond (isn’t that an awesome store, by the way? Where else can you get high thread count Egyptian cotton sheets for a hundred bucks or less?) Michael goes through a door marked something like, ‘Way, Way Beyond” and runs into Walken, a mad-scientist type who introduces him to the Universal Remote Control. Now from the previews we already know what it does. He can pause time, to move the baseball mitt of his son's bratty friend away from his face, thus resulting in ball hitting the bratty face. He can slow down a female jogger going by to better appreciate her bouncing, generous assets. He can fast-forward through arguments with the wifey, leaving him basking in the afterglow of “making up”, without ever having to do the heavy lifting of arguing. All good ingredients for a comedy.

It gets serious fast. See the problem with the Universal remote (and of course we knew there would be one) is that it starts to take over. Walken explains that it is adjusting itself to Michael, making choices for him based on his past behavior. This means, for example, that he cannot enjoy leisurely lovemaking, because it’s programmed now to rush right through the foreplay and get to the good stuff. This is a drawback Mr. Newman didn’t count on and he tries to avoid doing his “regular” things, (which adds some funny scenes, such as him going to work in his bathrobe to sidestep the regular routine of dressing) but to no avail. Time slips out from under him and he starts waking up with gaps of years behind him, where he was on “auto-pilot” and actually remembers nothing. Has experienced nothing. You see what page they’re leading you to read, right?

At one point, Michael wakes up enormously obese, his children grown, his wife remarried. Yet his job is better than ever… he has advanced to the position he always dreamed of. Another slip-n-slide and he wakes in the hospital, after having a huge tumor removed. His ex is visiting him (and of course he loves her, to him she’s his wife, not ex-wife) and he has had several stomach-reducing operations. He “flaps” his belly skin incessantly at her. This was one of the “funny” moments, but by this time, the moments aren’t funny anymore, because every viewer is imagining how they would feel in such a stupid, sucky situation. In each of his stops through the race-of-his-life, there’s a new family dog, humping the same stuffed duck-and that’s what all the humorous moments start to feel like. Heh heh….yeah, that was funny, the first time.

Before we know it, Michaels’ fast-forwarded right through his entire life and is full of the obvious regret and heartbreak. I won’t tell you how it ends, because I’m going to leave at least that bit unspoiled, but trust me when I say it’s totally predictable and you can GUESS how it ends if you put forth any amount of effort toward wondering. I was also completely disgusted that a movie, an Adam Sandler movie, was going for the cheap emotional route, sending in scenes of such heartbreak and sorrow that you’d have to be a stone to not feel something, anything, even if you didn’t cry like a lil baby. I don’t mind my emotions being manipulated during a film, as long as the film is up front in the previews that it’s going to do just that!

I wish they hadn’t packaged this, preview-wise, as a comedy. I wish they hadn’t tried to make it into a weird hybrid of comedy and drama, because it just didn’t work. I wish I had known, before I started watching it, that it was going to be just another movie in the A Christmas Carol tradition, scrooge morphing into a decent guy because he sees how screwed his life has been.

If you want dramady with humor sprinkled sparsely throughout, sure, go ahead and rent it. But if you want a Sandler Special, funny-so-funny with a wee touch of feelings, then save your dollars or spend them on Big Daddy.

I give it 3 &s...

& I happen to believe the moral of the story is true…I just didn’t want to find it here.

& the fat suit part was grotesquely hilarious

& David Hasslehoff plays his boss in the perfectly slick Hoff way.

Celebrity Paranormal Project Review (and a lil kick for me)

Celebrate good times... yeehaw! I’ve been awarded the BESTEST BLOG OF THE DAY for Thursday, October 26, 2006. I knew it was only a matter of time before my genius was revealed to the world… I just didn’t expect it to be in this particular way. For those of you not in the know, the Bestest Blog of the Day is an offshoot of this website, the Bestest Blog of all Time (a win-win situation). If you don’t know about it, I suggest you hustle your lil’ fanny on over, because all the really cool bloggers hang out there.

Like me. J

Thanks, Bobby Griffin, you the blogger, dude.

For those of you new to this site, welcome, welcome! I take requests and you can email me your suggestions for what to review at meowkaat@hotmail.com. Now, come in and enjoy my biased view. I’m so honored to be the bestest blog of the day and all the nice things Bobby said about me, etc. etc. Now I’m all flustered!

OK… back to the business of bias.

Celebrity Paranormal Experience (the photo above is both a photo of screeching for getting the BBOTD award and the screech of fear from the show...pictured: Donna)

VH1 Sunday nights

If you are one of those people who likes getting creeped out, who thinks that things that go “bump in the night” might be ghosts and ghoulies as opposed to your cat trying to scare the crap out of you and then giggling behind it’s paw, you just might find this new VH1 show to your liking. If you don’t like this kind of crap, cease your reading at once!!!! I don’t want to scare you with my oh-so realistic descriptions of this chilling new television program. Still here? Ok, fine. You’ve been warned. Now….

Even if you don’t believe in the soopernatural, you could be like me, and always in search of the amusing and unbelievable. Or things that make you laugh your ass off. In either case, it is quite possible that you will watch this show just to hear Gary Busy spout his almost incoherent spiritual psychobabble at other celebrities while they nod, smiling nervously and glancing at each other out of wide eyes, obviously wondering if perhaps he is the paranormal entity with which they are intended to interact.

Celebrity Paranormal Project is a lofty title. According to the celebrities having the experience, they were not told what they would be doing, who they would be doing it with, or that they might tinkle in their knickers with fright before it was all said and done. In the series premiere, which aired on Sunday and again tonight, five pseudo celebs go to the Waverly Hills Sanatorium, a totally freaky old place where it is said that 63,000 people died of tuberculosis. Among them is Toccarra, from America’s Next Top Model (…and Celebrity Fit Club, but let’s not talk about her chubby days), Jenna, the Survivor: Amazon winner, Hal Sparks, otherwise known as Mr. Sarcastic on the “I Love the…” VH1 series, and Baywatch’s Donna d'Errico (El Hottie My Gottie). Oh, and of course, the friendly and ever increasingly odd Mr. Busey, who has had, he assures his new pals, lots of these kind of experiences. He mutters something about “supernatural”, “out-of-body” and “angels”, and the rest of his words are lost into rambling nothingness. But hell, that’s good enough for me. If Gary Busey says he’s had otherworldly experiences, and lots of them, I am not about to be a nay-sayer. In the style of all VH1 “Celebreality” shows, CPP is interspersed with little narratives from the people involved, giving their take, so to speak, on the action that went down. It is during one of these Kodak moments when Gary The Guru tells the camera solemnly something along the lines of… “Everyone who watches this show is going to learn something about themselves, and that’s why it’s so essential that everyone in the whole frickin world watches this and I mean it and I’m right cuz I died in a motorcycle accident and I saw angels and…” ok, I was paraphrasing, but you get the idea. I am not certain what we are supposed to learn about ourselves from the show, but we certainly learn a lot about the various celebrities’ fear-levels. (Hint- not real high, with the exception of the tough-as-tin Tocarra) Good enough for me!

The celebs are equipped with body-mounted cameras and flashlights and other interesting equipment that’s not like something you can pick up at radio shack- this is heavy duty, ghost-hunting gear! After they have inspected the premises, they need to determine where the ghostliest place in the place is. This, a dramatic-sounding narrator tells them (and us) is the Heart Of The Haunting, and yes, you can hear the capitals on the front of the words.

Among other ghoulish tales, we learn that the sanitarium had an upper solarium where children with the disease hung out, and Timmy is the spook who might just roll a ball at you if he’s in the mood. During the hour-long show, the ball appears and disappears from various doorways and halls and the celebs all note its presence or lack thereof in the same, breathy voice.

“That ball wasn’t there before!”

“The ball isn’t there anymore!”

The peeps split into pairs and head off to their assigned area, in search of contact with the other side. It’s scary enough, you’re imagining wandering around the place full of what locals call “Shadow People” and you’re thinking, yeah, I wouldn’t want to go there, but it’s not too bad. Then the trick is revealed. See, the celebrities, now ensconced in dark rooms, shadowy hallways, totally amped up, and freakin’ just a little….are supposed to split up. Base camp tells one of them to remain where they are and the other person to proceed to a different area, and this, my friends, is when it gets scary.

Who doesn’t have that deep, almost primal fear of being alone, in the dark? Add to that tales from the crypt, or just a few stories about the old place, and you’ve got the perfect combination for oh-my-god-what-was-that.

Since the cameras they wear are pointed right at their faces, it’s easy to see the terror descend as the seconds pass by and the celebrity is left alone. Jumpy- jump. Hearing things. Maybe a tear trickles down one cheek. This they had not counted on, and it’s not acting (or extremely good acting) when Jenna begins to bawl, “I want to get out of here”, or when Donna, left alone in the hallway to look for the Doctor Ghost, starts screaming hysterically when she hears footsteps and sees, sure enough, a shadow walking in her direction. All we the viewers see is some (poor) computer-generated ghosties, but the descriptions are good enough for most folks’ imaginations to fill in any blanks. Although we don’t hear screaming, we’re fairly sure they do, and when it looks like Hal gets a little shove from behind, well, we can believe he didn’t stumble. I admit it, my adrenaline got a little workout.

At the end they all troop back up together to hold some kind of a weird-ass séance that made no sense to me whatsoever. There was a scroll, and they put their hands in little handprints on it and chanted some shit, but I gotta say… if I were Hal Sparks (chosen as the best conduit to the spirits out of the bunch of them) I would not be saying things like, ‘Come on, and enter me, all you restless and possibly hostile spirits. Jump on IN, brothers and sisters!!!!” Isn’t that considered a no-no, even in the least religious homes? Inviting dispossessed spirits into yourself? Isn’t that a little dangerous, or if not dangerous, then plain old tacky? I expected Hal’s eyes to roll back in his head and him to start mumbling like Gary, but nothing of the sort. There were some loud noises, the temperature apparently dropped and then they wrapped that shit up quick. It was like, “Ok, we’re done here specters, you’re no longer welcome in us, forget I said that whole entering me stuff… so take off- let’sgetthehelloutofhere!” Yes, again I am paraphrasing, but you get the feel for the thing, right? That’s’ what’s important.

So it wasn’t convincing proof of the existence of ghosts and/or other ethereal beings, but it was good fun. Unless you’re a big party pooper- the kind of person who simply has to blurt out during the tense moments, “Oh this is so fake!” In that case, go away. And take your big, interrupting mouth with you. This is supposed to be fun, dammit.

A new episode is on next week- taking place at a prison for the criminally insane. I’m there, but like I said if you’re superstitious (or a chicken shit) don’t even try it. You’ll sleep with the lights on for a week.

The Vampires Memoirs Book Review

The Vampire Memoirs

by Tracy Briery (co-authored by the character in the book wink wink)

published by Pinnacle books (2000)

432 pages

It occurred to me the other day that I have only been reviewing the good-to-great books that I read on here. I haven’t yet mentioned the mediocre-to-really, really shitty books that I read. And it’s inevitable that when you read as many books as I do, you’re going to find some clunkers.

Now, the latest in the long line of idiocy that I cannot believe ever got published and where is this publisher when I want to submit a stinky manuscript…. is called the Vampire Memoirs.

I should have been warned by the 99 cent sticker on the cover. I should have been warned by the cover art, a sexy-looking, waving-haired brunette with a sultry pout and two, needle-sharp teeth protruding from between her luscious red lips. I should have been warned when I started the journey and within the first page or two read that this chick was “living” in A.D. 325 when she got transformed into a vampire and yet her life doesn’t seem to change much in the next thousand or so years… oh and the guy who “turned” her had been a vampire already for a thousand or two thousand years… putting him back in the days of cavemen as far as I’m concerned, though he talks about the many years he spent trying to find the secrets to immortality, as did all men of his time... I thought people back in that day, the Late Archaic period- were just busy trying to find grubs to go along with their haunch of venison for dinner that night. I didn’t realize they were all searching for the secrets of immortality.

Despite the staggering inaccuracies of this author's descriptions of life in 325- dressers, mirrors, and paper common enough to be considered “junk” shoved into drawers- I went ahead and read it, more out of curiosity than anything. I like vampire books, they are usually at least slightly interesting, and I could forgive the author’s one little lapse. Mara, the main character of this book, spends the first third of the book as a human. She is a “warrior”, apparently, although again there is little historical evidence of female warriors prancing around hiring themselves out as bodyguards during the time period. She meets/hates/gradually falls in love with this annoyingly persistent guy who falls in love with her even there is absolutely nothing, even remotely, loveable about this woman. I got a kick out of the fact that all of her characters talked like modern day dufuses- imagine a little peasant girl from 325 saying, “HUH? I don’t get it. Tell me what the heck you’re talking about.”

She is turned into a vampire against her will by this evil dude- the one from the cave who is already several thousands of years old, yet shows the emotional maturity of a kindergartener and the savvy of his first grade brother. People apparently grow no wiser, even when living as a supernatural creature forever….not in this author’s imagination. They remain basically the same person they were when they were transformed, temper tantrums, unreasonableness and stupidity intact.

Sniggers turned to giggles when Mara is in London like a thousand years later- it’s a short jump, the author decides not to really get into what she does after she escapes from her maker. Instead we read a page or so that explains that she runs around with wolves and eats rabbits and stuff in the woods. For hundreds and hundreds of years. Hehehe. And, when the moon turns full, she gets a little amorous. Guess who she takes her libido out on? The wolves! Uh-huh. Even if she’s also in wolf form, this is skating the edge of bestiality to me. Gross.

The funniest part of the book (and there are a lot of funny parts) is that now, in London, she starts speaking with an affected, Shakespearean tilt to her words. Although the other characters don’t. Let me give you a taste.

Mara finds a child lying in an alleyway. “Child, dost thou needest help? Leteth me help thee up from thine pile of filth.”

Child: “Huh? I don’t get why you’re trying to help me, lady.”

Mara: Come, mine child. All will be welleth. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you…uh. I mean, thee.”

Child: “Um…Yeah ok. I’m hungry.”

(One of the biggest giggle-inducers of the book was the fact that all of the characters, whether gutter brats or wise, billion-year-old vampires, say “um”, a lot.)

Jump ahead a few chapters and she’s still in London, although now it’s a couple of hundred years later, she’s become a prostitute. Shocked? Well…What else can she do? She’s only stayed alive for eons, stalking bunnies in the woods and rats in the cities (because she’s one of the noble vampires that don’t want to drink human blood). Now apparently, she can no longer care for herself, unexplained, so she has to become a hooker, to earn enough money to survive. If you ask me, I’d say the author is getting her weird fantasies mixed up while writing this…she needs to pick one and stick with it. Either she’s an all-powerful vampire, or she’s a sexy hussy that men use and abuse…. One or the other, sister. You can’t have both.

Anyway, now a hooker on the London streets, she talks for a few chapters with an Eliza Doolittle accent. “”Ere now, guv, wanna see what’s unner me skirts, do ye?” There is, of course, no explanation for this, nor does she offer one when Mara discards the accent in mid-sentence on her way to the 20^th century.

She jumps through several wars in a paragraph or two and we end up in “modern” America, where Marahas become a history teacher (at night school, of course) and has made friends with a few other vampires. I was almost drooling with boredom by this time, but I had to finish the book, to see what happened. She was falling in love with a mortal, and of course, she wasn’t going to “turn him”. This made me think…most of us, if we became vampires, one of the benefits of the job would be turning the people we love into vampires as well…you know, giving them immortality and all that. But this author is one of the ones that wants us to see a vampire as a tortured soul, someone who regrets that she can no longer feel the sun on her face and doesn’t really care is she can shape-shift, charm people, and has the strength of the Incredible Hulk on steroids…. Not that it matters, in this book, because as we have seen Mara uses none of her powers and has to struggle to survive with the rest of the grimy humans. She wishes she was a human, although that means she would have died back in the dark ages… although undoubtedly she would have lived to be ninety-three, surrounded by grandkids, unaffected by the young age people died and high infant mortality rates of those days.

This book was Corny

Unbelievable

Stupid

And a total waste of my life. I shouldn’t have even stuck it out to the end… I should have realized that nothing was going to happen there, either.

The question is, how, why and where did this piece of ridiculousness get published???? The author has a sequel to this charmer, out, too… and what appears to be a werewolf story. I think I’ll pass. If the author’s vampires have sex with wolves during a full moon, I don’t even want to know what her werewolves get up to.

I give it a nice, deep purple on the Reading Rainbow.

So ....if you the reader are actually searching for a good vampire book- one where the vampires like being vampires, they eat people with no hesitation, where they own all the cool aura and mystique that creatures of the dark should own…. Let me give you a recommendation. I don’t want to send you away empty-handed after reading through that garbage above.

Take a look at Mick Farren’s vampire series, starting with The Time Of Feasting. This is some kick-ass writing, so ignore the dubious, dorky title. Led by Mr. Cool Vampire personified, Victor Renquist, a little band of vamps in New York city make up an unusual, creepy, and fascinating clan. The Time of Feasting is nearly upon them, a legendary period where vampires must practically bathe in blood, and as if Renquist didn’t have his hands full with trying to control this snacking-gone-wild time in his brood’s lives… now one of the cocky pups in the clan, Carfax, is starting to think that he’s all that, and Renquist might have a battle for leadership on his hands.

This series continues for another four or five books and they are all good stuff- what vampire readin’s supposed to be.

American Dreamz (nightmare) Review

American Dreamz

Starring Hugh Grant, Mandy Moore, Dennis Quaid, Willem DaFoe

Directed by: Paul Weitz (and written by him,too)

Rated PG-13 for brief strong language and some sexual references

107 minutes

...Against all my better judgment, I am delivering the requested review on this movie. If you loved it, so sorry. Again, I cite the "Biased" portion of my blog title. You asked what I thought, you've been warned.

Again I was duped. I watched the previews for American Dreamz and thought to myself, now that is going to be a good movie. I loved about About A Boy- one of my ever after favorites- and here we were again, directed by same director Paul Weitz, it was a snazzy-looking little flick, an ironic take on American Idol-type television shows, also with the star of About A Boy, Hugh Grant, who inexplicably cracks me up at odd times. Present as well, Mandy Moore, who made me tinkle myself with her performance in Saved! Not to mention the secure place on my Keep Shelf that her teenage coming-of-age flick, How To Deal has.

Oh there are probably spoilers ahead, if you are anything like gullible me and thought this movie was about what the previews showed, instead of about... our stupid president, terrorists bent on destroying us and the well-known fact that all Americans are stupid and greedy, and did I say stupid? It was the main message of American Dreamz, so if you do bother watching it, make sure you understand…especially if you’re an American, when such clever irony might get lost in the air filling up your skull. Also, I might have more run-ons than usual, a fine representation of what happens when I am reviewing a movie I loathed, anxious to write the review and get it out of my head for eternity.

I somehow, thankfully, missed A.D. at the theaters. But I’ve been watching for it like a hawk, and when it was finally released this week, my friend bought it and we made plans to watch it on Friday. I was also asked to do a review on it as soon as I saw it. American Dreamz has been something to look forward to, a movie I was going to like, I was positive. That’ll teach me, again, won’t it? So last night we sat down, all bubbly with anticipation in front of the DVD player, and three hours later (made so long because we constantly had to take breaks from the movie, to smoke, to yawn, to stretch, to vomit….) we sat watching the credits with grim expressions on our faces, instead of the delighted grins we were planning on.

What is so disappointing with movies like this one is the Couldabeen Rule. You know the one- they have great cast, a great story idea, great producers and directors…It couldabeen so good, we moan.

And it goes like this… Hugh Grant plays Martin Tweed, aka Tweedy, the host of, you guessed it, an American Idol kind of show, called American Dreamz (the theme song actually has the lyrics, “American Dreamz…with a Z…” which was only clever the first couple of seconds that we heard it.) He is shallow and self-centered, and he did make me chuckle a few times with his surface-thin self, but it quickly became old, as the rest of the movie was from the beginning.

Ok, let me just say it. Bush bashing is old. Contrary to some people’s beliefs, the entire population of our country does not hate George Bush with a seething, boiling, never-ending hatred. And “George Bush Is Dumb” jokes stopped funny after the first six million. Dennis Quaid plays a bumbling, idiotic president, depending every second on his puppeteer chief of staff, a really creepy-looking bald Defoe, obviously meant to remind all of the viewers yet again that we have this really dumb president. Uh-huh. We know. He doesn’t read newspapers, his wife is more like his mother than a lover (calls him “Poopy” or something equally retarded) and he has to have an earpiece for DaFoe to whisper words for him to say… hardy har har…been there, done that, wasn’t funny the first time. Or six million, like I said. The President, to raise his ratings, is going to be a guest judge on American Dreamz. Great idea.

Moore meanwhile plays Sandy Kendoo, one of the contestants from some small, no-where town. Interestingly enough, although she lives in what would be described as a Frickin Mansion in my town, she is supposed to be “white trash”. She is a cold, grasping heart beneath bubbly blonde persona, cruel to her dumb (of course he’s dumb- we all are, that’s what the movie’ about!), puppy-like, solider boyfriend and will do anything to win the competition. Our other main character is also a contestant on the show, and here’s where the fun really starts. He’s an Iraqi terrorist named Omer who is going to use his winning moment to blow up, guess who (oh you’re good at this) the Guest Judge. Isn’t this HILARIOUS?

………….. oh, sorry, I was snoring. What was I talking about? Ah yes… the delights of this -don’t we Americans hate everything American?Let’s make fun of it all- movie. It's this kind of rib-nudging, winky-wink, nodding filmmaking that makes me ill. Each of the viewers is supposed to understand, I guess, that the film is about all the other dumb Americans. Not we, the select few that watch movies. We're different.

Snort.

When a movie depends upon the viewer sharing the same views on politics, television, society and an apparent belief that terrorists are really big-hearted guys who truly want to be Americans themselves (as evidenced by their great love of Showtunes and the way they sit in the tents at night and watch US television)… then the movie’s going to fall flat with more than a few people. That loveable Omer, who could blame him for wanting to kill us all? It’s just a cultural thing, and sure enough, once exposed to the Apple Pie Goodness of the United States, he became one of us! The terrorist, is in fact intended to be the “sympathetic” character. That’s taking political correctness just a wee bit too far for my admittedly biased tastes. Yet none of these people are sympathetic, you hate them all… well, with the exception of the gay cousin, but even he was just a caricature and we probably liked him more out of relief at his predictable behavior than anything else. Look, if you’re all set on watching a Weitz movie, go rent About A Boy. Or American Pie. Just save your eyes, and your brain, and your stomach, and avoid the Clever Commentary on Today’s Society that is the unfortunate mess of American Dreamz.

I give it 1 &…

& I didn’t have to worry about insomnia while watching it

Flavor of Love Season 2 Review

Flavor of Love 2
Sunday evenings
VH1

Let’s just take a look at the season of Flavor of Love 2... the finale aired last Sunday, but I betcha you could catch a re-run if you realy wanted to.

Flavor Flav picked his girl for the finale of Flavor of Love 2. Now, we the viewers of previously mentioned television reality show are divided between two camps… the camp of Delishis and that of New York.

Let’s do a quick rundown to explain the intricacies of Flavor of Love. I have linked to Talking Videos for this post (mainly) in case you want a more detailed version than I can type before work. Let me just say it- Talking Videos is the funniest shit out there when it comes to Flavor Of Love. I honestly don’t know what I looked forward to more each week- the show, or the Talking Videos version of the show.

Season 1- 20 girls are fighting it out to become the Flav’s main squeeze. There are a few favorites, pretty evenly divided… several of the girls seem to be nice little hoes, perfectly suited to life as the mistress of a man who wears a giant clock around his neck, even in the shower.

If there was one thing that viewers of Season 1 pretty much agreed on, it was mutual hatred of New York. This woman was eeeeviiiilllll… but, her scheming and screaming were what really made the show interesting. She is a drama queen of the highest order, and early on in the season, she declared herself desperately in love with the Flav. High moment of television Beauty- when Pumpkin was eliminated and spit a big ol’ loogie right on New York. Right in her face! The cheers could be heard across America. So… It came down to a pick between Hoopz, lovely and cool, and New York, who, amusingly enough, probably gain ten pounds shooting the show. She was forever stuffing her mouth in reaction to Flav’s dates with the others girls. And when Monsterwoman, aka, New York’s mother was introduced, well, the deal was sealed….this is where NY got her crazy gene.

Well, everyone in my house clapped excitedly when Flav said, “ New York, don’t be mad at me, I’m gonna roll with Hoopz.”

Yaya…true love for Flav, whose widdle heart was broken by Bridgett Neilson, his co-star of earlier shows. But wait…it’s not over. (You never thought it was, did you, clever creatures?) On the reunion show, we discovered that Hoopz and Flav were… Just Friends? Ohnooooo… everyone knows that “Just Friends” means, quite clearly, the girl doesn’t want the guy, not in “that way”. So we suffered through the entire first season, and all those lovely gross girls were eliminated, only to have Hoopz dump Flav, even before the reunion show was taped?

Puh-lease. We were so wrong about you, Hoopz.

Some of us began to question our own hearts, asking deep down inside, we were wrong about everything? Should Flav have picked New York? I, for one, didn’t sleep much those first few days after the reunion show. The only thing that soothed my tempestuous emotions was the fact that Flav announced a new season! OK! We were going to have Flavor of Love 2, and this time, I vowed (as I am sure all of you did, as well), I would not be taken in by honey-smooth skin and good basketball skills. I would choose who was best for Flav, no matter what I personally felt for her.

As Season 2 began, I mourned the absence of New York. Oh sure, you had some drama. What else do you call it when some girl shit on Flav’s floor on the very first episode? No, I am not kidding, and I’m offended that you asked. I wouldn’t lie about pooping in the mansion. That’s plain good TV. Needless to say, Somethin, said pooper, didn’t last long out of the gates. Bootz was the resident biotch, and I felt for her. As she says herself, on her myspace page… she is “a very fine peice of work that others wish they could be”. Heehee. Who doesn’t want to be a peice? And then you had the totally gullible Krazy-Just tell me anything and I’ll believe it Girl. How many times do you need to get stabbed in the back before you get it that maybe, just maybe, these women aren’t you’re friends, girl? Add in Nibblz the lisping bi-sexual stripper, Buckwild, the homely white girl who talks like she straight out the ghetto, and the obligatory “Big Girl”, Like Dat (who, incidentally, booted her own big butt off the show by cornering Flav in his bedroom and showing him all of her size XL lingerie, not noticing his wide and slightly horrified eyes),you have a zooful, for sure. I shouldn’t be complaining. But there was something about New York, some level of bitchiness that none of these girls could even approach.

I had mulled the idea over and come to a conclusion…based on Flav’s mad love for Insane Bridgett, and his admiration of what he called “strong women” (translated: woman who will blow up at the slightest provocation and starting waving hands and necks and heads and talking faster and faster until you think surely someone must explode… ), I had decided that he perhaps should have picked New York, that her over the top, drama queen antics and certain signs of bi-polar disorder were, in fact, exactly what made her Flav’s dream girl.

And then, midway through season Two, sheeeee’s back! Brought on to “help” Flav find the right woman, and determined to go she-devil on these poor chicks’ asses for the entire hour guest spot, New York was in fine form. Plus she looked tight- had a go around or two with Jenny Craig, methinks. It was no surprise when at the end of the episode, Flav brought out the old NY clock from season 1 and asked her if she’d stick around. Of course she said yes, and of course, from that point on, the show got a whole lot more exciting.

She plotted, she schemed, she double-crossed. She threw temper tantrums and seduced Flav right out from under the “celibate until marriage” Bootz’s nose. (yeah right, Bootz, that was a great strategy for sticking around- the whole, nope, no sex without a ring routine) And I have to say it, my feelings about NY had done a complete 180. I was in her corner all the way. It was a guilty pleasure, cackling wildly at her cruelty to the others girls, but it was a pleasure, nonetheless.

So we came down to it… the final fight. New York on one side, and Delishis on the other. Despite looking like a man, and being covered with ugly raised scars that were to “remind” her of her survival of a car accident (Like you’re going to forget going through a windshield…nope, better hang on to those gross-out, big, welt-like, growth-looking scars, too, just to be on the safe side), Delishis had somehow managed to make it to the end. How? Oh yes, well, there was the GIANT ass that Flav could not stop staring at during the entire season. Maybe that had something to do with it.

Drumrolls aren’t necessary… I’m slow out of the gate on this review, and you all probably already know… Flav chose Delishis. Because apparently NY acted a little bit too much like her Psychotic Bitch from Hell Mama. I was indignant on her behalf. So what? You dumped her in favor of Hoopz last season, and she cried but was brave, managed to get over you and lose weight…. but now you bring her back again… kissy kissy all the way up to the end, and do it AGAIN?! That was rejection, squared. Plus he had the nerve to argue with her and start shouting back when she –rightfully- was pissed off, wanting to know why the hell he brought her back in the first place.

I give it to NY, she told his ass OFF. And then she showed him HER ass, flipping up her skirt and mooning him just as sweet as you please before she stormed off the set. And then Flav remembered that he had this other chick, shemale Delishis waiting for him, and was like, ‘Oh yeah, you. Sorry.” Then he gave her the disgustingly tacky gold grill for her gaping maw of a mouth and it was all like, yea, happily ever after. She towered over him and he looked unconcerned about any crushing. I guess he’ll be fine as long as he sticks to what he did the other time he slept with her- fell asleep on top of that mountain of an ass. Yes he did…he was snoring. Not musically, either.

So, I was sore. Yet I couldn’t help thinking, NY deserves better than Flav. In fact, the idea quickly took shape…VH1 should do a show about HER- she gets to pick out a man for her fine, high maintenance self. They could call it…”I (heart)love New York”. And lo and behold, rumors on the grapevines of the ever-fruitful Internet say that just exactly that is on the menu for VH1’s future. I guess it’s supposed to be called “Flavorette”. I liked my title better.

NY says on her myspace blog that she has a “surprise” to reveal on the reunion show. I’m guessing no one wants to take bets that it’s about the new spin-off? Didn’t think so. I’m looking forward to it- getting to see all the girls again, with their new hairstyles and their secrets revealed. The preview looks good, boyeee. See you there.

A Picture Meme

A tag for all reasons.

My protégée Alethegoodsoul (I really like this girl) over at Observe and Analyze has tagged my ass.

If you don’t like memes, as many, many of you “pretend” not to…and it’s just because you’re afraid no one will tag you- yes it is! I know it is! It’s like getting picked last for the softball team... standing there, really praying that someone, anyone, will think you look like you might be able to catch a ball. So don’t give me that “I’m waaay too uber cool to do a meme”, just listen for a second, if you please.

I love memes. Tag me any frickin time, ok? There is something about a meme that will stop me in my internet tracks and make me read. It’s a glimpse of the person…ok, so maybe it’s not always the person in truth, but it’s a glimpse of the person that they want you to see. It’s – excuse my overly romantic dribble- a bit of dreaming, a flash of heart. I will read any meme, any time. In fact, I have bookmarked a certain spot where memes is the whole pagedy goodness. I will randomly trot through blogland, looking for memes and often decide to bookmark and return to that person’s site based on the memes alone.

So, I like them. It’s ok to admit if you like them, too. (I promise I will never tell) I bet other people even like them. I also bet other people don’t like them because… it’s all about someone other than me- but that’s a matter of self-centerdness that should be kept completely to yourself, you arrogant twit. Heeeeheee. Aw come on, I’m jokin.

Here’s the deal, wagon wheel…. If I tag you, and you’re one of the Too-cool-to-meme, forgive me. Ignore me. Rant at me. But if you secretly want to do the meme, send it to my email and your secrets will be safe with me. The reason I’m tagging you is because I’m interested in YOU, dingaling. I want to know you. And isn’t that even a little flattering?

(NO, Kaat, it’s not. Butt the frick out of my business). Well, you're a grouch then. And I tag you anyway.

This meme, however, is a bit of unusual, and I like it a lot.

"8 Things I find amazing, in picture form". Even the meme haters must admit that's different, isn't it?

Now I have to go browse my hard drive for amazing things.

In the meantime, I tag (let’s just do ten, for the fun of it)….

Mighty Michele, she I dub Ms. Mysterious

Uncle Nutzy, now that he’s finally blogging again

Konagod, he always gives good pics

Jessie, Sweet as Shugah

Serena, who has sworn to never do a tag again…BUT LOOK AT HER BLOG, shouldn’t she be the one I ask about Amazing things in PICTURE FORM? I ask, isn’t she????

Patrick, because he asked me not to and I’m contrary like that. You don’t have to do it, but I can tag you whenever I want. NAH-NAH!

My Brother, because I bet he has a shit load of awesome pictures/graphics. That’s just how he is.

Cat, who is one of my newly added bloggers

Sarah X Dylan, because I bet there’s really interesting pictures on her hard drive and I bet what she finds “amazing” would make me laugh…though I doubt she checks all the billions of her emails she must get.

Last but NEVER least, My Much Adored Jay, though she might hate me for it and never even acknowledge such a stoopid tag.

If you’re breathing a sigh of relief because I didn’t tag you this time… well, the operative words to note are “This time”. I’ll get you, my pretty. And your little Toto, too.

Eight Things I Find Amazing...in Picture Form


#1. Tiny living creatures... especially this one...


#2. The California Redwoods...


#3. Making my friends laugh...


#4. Determination....


#5. My husband's arms....


#6. Playing in the ocean....


#7. Having the chance to stop and smell the roses.....


#8. My sons....






P.S. And to take the place of the lame-os who "Hate" tags, I tag Most Bodacious Bitty!

School For Scoundrels Movie Review

School For Scoundrels

Starring: Billy Bob Thornton, Jon Heder

Directed by” Todd Phillips

Rated : PG-13 for language, crude and sexual content, and some violence.

100 minutes

Spoilers and stuff ahead I think… but please, arm yourself before seeing this.

I was looking forward to this movie. I figured with Billy Bob Thornton, Jon Heder, and Ben Stiller (all shown in the previews), it couldn’t go wrong. That’ll teach me. I never looked at single review, just went along merrily with a bunch of my friends to enjoy what I really, really thought was going to be gut-busting hilarity.

You know how I have that eye-rolling thing? You know how I hate to waste my life? Siiiiighhhhh…. School For Scoundrels brought out both, the eye-rolling and the hatred, in full force.

Let’s break it down, real quick-like. You’ve got Jon Heder, Mr. Dynamite himself, who plays Roger, Nerd Extraordinaire. He is supposed to be likeable, I think, but he is the kind of character that just makes you squirm with embarrassment for him, from the moment the film starts and he is “carjacked” in his little meter man mobile (that’s his job- giving out tickets, so natch, everyone already pretty much hates him) and two thugs steal everything he owns, including his uniform. BWAHA- there’s funniness, a nerd gets his clothes stolen by bullies! Wait, that stopped being funny to me like in sixth grade.

Roger lives a pathetic little life, giving out tickets and being picked on by all the other meter people. He is such a loser that in the Big Brother program, three boys have wanted a new big brother after being stuck with him. (He cries at this, by the way, crushed-up-face, ugly lower lips-pooching kind of crying, ewwww….SO unattractive) He is dying of a crush on his totally inaccessible neighbor, a hot Aussie girl, (you know the type, she’s nice to him but he has no chance, ever, in hell, of hooking up with this girl…not in real life, anyway, or in viewers imaginations if they have any logical grasp of the Way of the World). He suffers from panic attacks that make him pass out unexpectedly. Heh. Yeah, funny so far…NOT. When a cool-by-comparison friend (but this guy’s pretty dorky too) gives him a “secret” phone number and tells him to sign up for this class- it will change his life- he does. Enter the school, where presumably all of these losers are going to learn to be scoundrels.

Billy Bob Thornton is the teacher, Dr. P, and he is an asshole. A cocky, conceited, cruel asshole who tells the guys in the class that yes, in fact, they are losers, and he is going to teach them to be slightly cooler, though they will never equal his coolness stature. Now I like BBT as an asshole. In fact, I adored him in Bad Santa (who didn’t?) So maybe the only part of this movie I enjoyed was his part. He has that shiny, creepy smile down pat, eh? Anyway, Dr. P ends up singling Roger out of the pack of more mediocre students (because apparently, Roger is the star of the class….it escapes me at the moment why) and sets out to destroy him, basically, in a burst of truly pathological competitiveness. I really did LOL at some of Dr. P’s antics. He’s pretty bad, just the way I like him.

Oh, yeah, and um… Dr. P. inexplicable sidekick is the giant, bald, black Lesher (played by Michael Clark Duncan), who basically scares the shit out of the unfortunate students in the scoundrel program and later, we learn, there are rumors that he rapes some of them. Ho Ho Ho…nothing like a some big black guy, raping skinny white guy humor to get those belly laughs going. I questioned the entire character of Lesher, wondering why? Who thought this guy was necessary? Does someone really think the idea of this dude raping people (men or women) is funny? Ben Stiller’s way-too-brief and not funny enough performance as one of Lesher’s past victims was a bit better than most of the movie, but not better enough to save it from my disgust. He was a past “star pupil” of Dr. P’s, who was ruined by the man and also, I guess, raped by Lesher, and now he lives in an old house full of cats…. Are you chuckling yet?

So the breakdown, as I was saying… Dr. P goes after the hot Australian girl and of course Roger thinks he is stealing her from him. Here goes the war. I admit, there were some funny parts in their little ridiculous tug-o-war over a women who was really not going to go for either of them (if they were honest with her, that is. Of course, lying and manipulating always turns a girl’s head). Here’s where the movie really kind of broke down to me. You’re supposed to like Roger. You’re supposed to find him sympathteic, the underdog who you cheer on to victory. The problem was… I didn’t like him. I not only didn’t like him, I fricking despised him. He was a stupid wimp in the beginning of the movie, and he was a stupid wimp at the end of the movie, only he’d learned to be mean, as well.

This guy never stood up for himself, not really. He was dumb. He was gullible to the point of, OHCOMEON, like falling for Dr. P’s ploys over and OVER again. (That was when my eye-rolling got a little out of control.) Heder’s acting was flat and lifeless and he spent probably two-thirds of the movie with this sullen, little (ugly) boy scowl on his face, clearly thinking, “This is not fair”. Yeah, well, life’s NOT, Roger, good old buddy, get used to it. He wore blue tennis shorts with a burgundy t-shirt tucked in, for gosh sakes. (When exactly was he supposed to suddenly, Cinderella-like, transform into a creature we could imagine winning a war of wits with Dr. P? Oh that’s right, NEVER… so his eventual triumph was just as stupid and unreal as the rest of the show). You know that the movie has lost you when you are cheering on the sadistic bad guy and hoping the underdog “Hero” falls into a garbage can somewhere, where he can sit in the banana peels and scowl with his arms crossed over his skinny little chest and his almost non-existent chin quivering.

I give it two &s…

& Billy Bob Thornton was great, until the end when he was supposed to be “humbled”…he don’t play humble too good.

& Sarah Silverman’s very brief role as Becky, the hot girl’s roommate, was probably the funniest part of the movie.

Review of a Blonde Day

You see over on the right, where I have proudly put a little whattayoucallit that says “Blonde and Smart”? I’m a natural blonde, and I am usually fairly intelligent as well. Not that blonde jokes upset or offend me, I think they’re funny. I collect them, in fact. Yet I never, well, almost never, consider myself to be one of those ditzy, flispy, airheads known as Dumb Blondes. I’m a smart blonde, like the label says.

Wellll…. Some days, I have to tell you, it’s not true.

Some days, for lack of a better excuse, or to simply avoid calling myself a big idiot, I have what I term “blonde days”.

Days when I put the milk in the cupboard after carefully stowing the cereal in the fridge.

Days when I look for fifteen minutes for the car keys that I have in my pocket.

Days when I look around with a pathetic, startled gaze, searching for the mysterious, eerie noise, thinking, What is that? Is it a ghost? Alien death rays piercing my skull?… and then discover that it is coming from my cell phone in my purse. (It’s called a RING and I’ve met it before, but some how, it keeps being unidentifiable on inexplicable occasions)

Days when I put on two different shoes (both of them are gray and blue, both of them are Nikes, but they are decidedly not the same shoe) and don’t notice until I’ve left the house, and I’m standing in the supermarket, wondering why the teenage girls in front of me in line are giggling and casting surreptitious looks at my feet. Did you know that there was a study done once and it was found that people notice your shoes, first, when looking at your overall appearance?

Days like yesterday, when the little, stoopid things I kept doing just piled up. Most of them are work-related and therefore completely boring and un-mentionable, but I will tell you about my Almost Ticket. My blonde day yesterday. If you are annoyed by people acting in an incredibly dumb manner for no discernable reason, I warn you… read no further.

I was running late for a friend’s birthday party, and wanting to reach the restaurant before they ate all of the pot stickers, I was moving at a steady clip. However, when the cop behind me turned on his lights, I pretty much ignored him. Aw, I haven’t done anything, so he can’t be after me…Blonde Moment Number One.

I slowed waaaay down, in order to let the nice officer pass, but to my surprise, and puzzlement, he continued to stay behind me, slowing down himself, until the two of us were positively crawling along the street, blocking traffic because of course no one in either lane was going to go around us, apparently for fear that the cop would lose interest in me and attack them, thinking, aha! There’s a driver who dares use the other lane and go past my obvious Police Car. I’ll teach him!

Finally, after an embarrassingly long time, the police officer blipped his siren at me. Just a short, little friendly, “Hey there. Yes, you! Pull your stupid ass over”…that kind of a blip. And I realized, oh…it is me he wants to talk to, after all.

I pulled over. When the nice officer came to my window, I launched into a defensive monologue without giving him time to speak. (This could be Blonde Moment Two, but I don’t want to be hasty, there’s plenty more moments coming) I don’t remember what I said, but I know it was something along the lines of… the party, my lateness, my horrible mood, the strange smell coming from under the passenger’s seat, and the fact that last time I checked, you could make a right turn on a red light in this state.

Yes, he acknowledged, you certainly could. Apparently, however, the key to this driving maneuver is to stop first. A full stop.

I did stop. (Blonde Moment Number Two.)

No you did not. You…paused.

I paused?

You certainly did.

Well, what exactly is a full stop? Describe it to me. (Blonde Moment Three)

You stop, you look to the left, then to the right, then to the left again, and then proceed.

I looked.

You looked, but you didn’t stop.

Oh.

And you don’t have on a seatbelt. You can get a pretty big ticket for that.

It was true, I didn’t have a seatbelt on. (Blonde Moment Four) I explained to the still polite man that I normally wear my seatbelt, virtually all the time, in fact, and it must just have been the rush I was I to get to the party …which I was progressively getter later and later for... However, pointing that fact out might have been Blonde Moment Five. I don’t know. You decide…. that I forgot to put it on.

He was skeptical. I could see it on his face. But he let it go. However, he did appear a bit impatient when I couldn’t find my insurance information, (and hello, Moment Six!) although I did assure him that I had insurance, it was taken out of my checking account every month on the fifteenth, like clockwork. I showed him my old insurance card, which I found easily. He didn’t look entirely convinced, but, kind man that he was, he let that go, too.

I listened raptly to his description of a Full Stop again. I listened to his lecture on seatbelts, and the following warning about the necessity of carrying your insurance card in your vehicle. It did no good whatsoever, he rightfully pointed out, in my other black purse. I considered listening to him my rightful punishment. Finally he was done talking. (I know, I asked.) He went back to his vehicle. I, very properly, put on my blinker and looked carefully at the oncoming traffic. I was doing everything right.

When I was just getting ready to pull back out into traffic, and the nice officer sat scribbling things on a little pad against the wheel of his car behind me, I was, of course, shocked when he blipped the siren again.

I stopped, foot on the brake and stared at him. What now?

He mouthed the word, but I understood it clearly.

SEATBELT.

Oh. Heh. Guess I forgot to put it on again. Blonde Moment Number Seven in less than ten minutes, and surely the crowning one of the day.

I made it to the party, even got a potsticker. Afterward, unfortunately, I agreed to see the movie School For Scoundrels, which I will review soon. For a preview, read this: YUCK. All in all, it was pretty good, for a Blonde Day.

Lost Season Three Premiere Review

Welcome to Lost Season Three…. A breakdown of last night’s episode

Spoilers or whatever, by the way.

I apologize profusely to those of you reading this who are not Lost fans, because everything I say will remain an indecipherable (although admittedly amusing) babble of words which can be processed and translated only by those rare and wonderful individuals known as Lostralians. Or whatever you call yourself- we watch Lost. We’re hooked. We have waited impatiently all summer long, various theories running through our minds, seizing and rejecting ideas about what the hell is going on… and now…. We are a junkie whose needle finally got all filled up with yummy television joy last night… the season premiere of Lost.

First of all, we see the Others in their hood. They have a little TOWN set there in the jungle, complete with houses and Stephen King books. And book clubs. Where folks argue. We get to see the earthquake that shook everything up- caused no doubt by the magnetic overload of the hatch or something- which caused the plane to crash. We see the Others taking orders (specifically Ethan and Goodwin) to infiltrate the survivors’ camps by Mr. Henry Gale himself, who we learned at the last season cliffhanger, is really the head honcho of the Others. As SOME of us suspected.

Ah yes… Season Three….

Where… Jack, our stupid hero (sorry, but let’s get this out of the way- Jack is an idiot. A stubborn, know-it-all, arrogant, I am God/Doctor, bona fide idiot) wakes up in a cell with a glass wall, having flashbacks about the end of his marriage. It is suggested that Sarah, his darling wife, possibly had an affair with his drunkard of a father. We see, via flashback, Jack acting out in his usual fly-off-the-handle, totally irrational way, going postal on Sarah and dear ol’ dad, destroying, in the process (it is implied) his father’s fifty days of sobriety and getting his own dumb ass thrown in jail.

He has a hottie captor, Julia, I think, who idiotically opens his cell and allows him to jump her, force her out into the corridor, and up against a door…a hatch, really, with a spinny-kind of wheel. She refuses to open it, says they’ll both die if she does. The biotch is obviously frightened. Now, what does Jack do? Well of course, he OPENS it. Such a Jack-like thing to do. Of course water rushes through and immediately starts filling up the hallway and click- viewers realize they are in the theorized Underwater Hatch! Yes, Virginia, there is an underwater hatch, and it probably has something to do with that dharma- tattooed shark we saw a while back! Luckily, with Julia (or is it Juliet) to help his sorry butt out, they get the door shut, water stops gushing it, and wham, she punches Jack, knocking him out, and when he wakes up, he’s back where he started. This time, J appears to be reading a file- something she says is “his entire life”, and she tells him tings that she obviously shouldn’t know, if she’s as shipwrecked on this island as he is. She asks him repeatedly, “What do you want to know, Jack?”

Now there are lots of questions he could have asked…starting with, “How did you get that information on me?” But oh no, Jack has to ask, of all the stupid frickin questions, if his dumb ex-wife is happy.

Yeah. GOOD CHOICE JACK. And then he blubbers like an infant while Julia/et tells him, oh yeah, the girl is positively joyful. Whaaaaa…. Let’s forget about Jack and his supreme infantile idiocy and get to the real hero of the story….

Sawyer wakes up in what is obviously an animal cage… in a zoo of some sort. He sees, across the way, another person locked up in another cage, a young kid who starts asking him how far away his camp is… and then unlocks both of their cages. Sawyer makes a run for it, but he’s obviously lost – Hehehe- and out of the bushes pops Julietta. She promptly shoots him with a little dart and he ends up back in his former-polar-bear’s-we-assume-cage. The kid who set him free is caught too, brought up to apologize to Sawyer for “trying to involve you in my escape plan” and then frogmarched off. Ok, so what was the point of the kid? To show us that some of the Others aren’t entirely cool with the agenda? That some of them (probably the younger generation-like Alex letting Claire go last season) want to rebel, want to get loose? Or to make us think that, when it’s all really an elaborate ploy to make Sawyer think that when actually….well, something. All I know is that you can assume nothing while watching this show. There’s always a twist ahead you don’t see coming.

Kate, Kate our darlin girl, meanwhile wakes up on the floor of what looks like a locker room, with a shower running. Creepy Big Smile Guy tells her to take a shower, don’t worry, she’s not “his type”. Does this mean he’s gay? Or just totally abnormal? Because hello- Kate is EVERY guy’s type. So she showers and then gets dressed in the lacy little scrap of a dress they leave for her and then is escorted out to breakfast in front of the ocean, including coffee and strawberries… yummy yum. Yes, the host of the breakfast is Mr. Gale, and he makes her put on handcuffs. In answer to her questions (good ones-not like Jack’s stupid, self-pitying question) Ben- formerly known as Henry- tells her he wanted her to enjoy the breakfast, feel like a lady and relax, because the next few weeks are going to SUCK, bigtime. Oh hooray, you can see Kate’s excited about that.

She ends up in the cage across from Sawyer’s at the zoo. They share a fish biscuit and a tender glance and it is obvious, to me, anyway, that these two are finally gonna hook up. It’s written all over their hot little faces.

And can I say, it’s about TIME? When Kate kissed Jack last season, well, EWWWW is the only word I can use to describe my personal feelings on the matter. Imagining his egg-shaped face, all bristly and sweaty, his thin little lips coming close to mine…makes me want to hurl. Nope, I am all about the Sawyer and Kate connection. They are two of a kind- and Jack merely represents a fantasy for Kate, while Sawyer is like her long-lost (Hehehe) other half. Because basically, Kate’s a bad girl. We know this.

So, was the season premiere all it was supposed to be? Of course not. We waited all summer and we didn’t get nearly enough meat in last night’s episode to satisfy our hunger. We still don’t know what happened to Echo and Locke and Desmond and Charlie. We don’t know where Sayid is with that damn boat (although previews for next week hint we’ll find out then). Last night’s episode just brought up like one million new questions, and we realize we’ll have to suffer through- slowly, so slowly- this season to glean any kind of answer, and maybe even at the end of the season, we won’t have the satisfaction we’re seeking.

But hey, people, that’s Lost. That’s what it’s all about.

Keep ‘em hanging, make ‘em beg for more. We’re like in this masochistic relationship with the show’s makers, a love-hate thing. We despise them for what they do to us, yet we come back, wanting it again, week after week. A lot of people complain. A lot of people say they’ll stop watching if they don’t get some concrete answers, like SOON, dammit! But not me.

Oh no.

I for one, am looking forward to next week’s tease-me-leave-me episode. And the one after that…and the one after that….

Now, if you never watch Lost, and you actually stumbled your way through this to the end of the post, hey I admire you! You've got gumption! And a curious mind! I suggest you get on the Lost wagon, right now. Go buy or rent the first two seasons and catch up. You'll be so glad you did....or so mad you did....but either way, you won't be the same.

Review of The Email That's Gonna Change My Life

To Read the Email That's Gonna Change My Life, go HERE.

Yippee! I’m an heiress!

Yes indeed, my friends and neighbors, you’re looking at one lucky kaat. I don’t know how much time I’ll be able to devote to my blog once I’ve received all the money that my dear old Uncle… um… well, shoot, I guess I don’t know his name. But I do know the name of his attorney, good old Barrister Benedict E. Maxwell. Yep, good old Benny, the man that’s gonna make me rich.

Of course, it didn’t seem like Benny knew my name either, since he address me as “sir”…. But I’m not going to worry about that. I mean, that’s an honest mistake. Anyone could take a look at me and think, “Well there’s a nice young man,” or even, “What a studly guy!” I’ve thought it myself many times when peering in the mirror.

Whoooweeee! I can’t wait to collect my money from good old Uncle Moneybags’s estate. See, Benny sent me an email explaining the whole thing. Unfortunately, my relative… I just call him “uncle”, you know, ever since I learned about him this morning, but he might actually be a cousin or something. Anyway, the dead rich dude, he sadly died in that plane crash, the Belleview Boeing 737. And I know this is true, because helpfully, Benny put some links in his email to me, and there REALLY was a crash!

Anyway, so he’s dead, right? But Benny, the barrister guy, he’s been looking for his family. The dead guy’s bank contacted him, and told him he needed to find the next of kin, so they can get rid of the guy’s money. I mean, it’s just sitting around, burning a hole in their vaults and they don’t know what the hell to do with it! It’s not their problem. They just want it OUT of there. And I don’t blame them. Filthy money. Yuck. So, anyway, after the board of directors (of the bank, you know) adopted a “resolution”, which I’m pretty sure is important, Barrister Ben went out looking for Dead Guy’s, I mean, Uncle Money’s, family.

And he couldn’t FIND anyone. Can you believe this?

So this is where it starts to get crazy. Now the bank decides they want that money after all. I should have guessed it. And they’re gonna invoke the abandoned property decree of 1996 to do it! Filthy BASTARDS! I think if they’ll stoop that low, well, there’s nothing they won’t stoop to.

Now here’s where I come in. Uncle Rich Guy was a successful business dude, um, I think he was like, a “Oil Magnet”, Ben said in his email, but I’m not sure what that is, except maybe that he like, attracted money to himself. Anyway, since he is dead now, with lots of his bucks in that stupid bank, like 12 million or something, Bennister figured out, really professional-like, that I should get some of it!

I KNOW. I mean, I totally agree with him. I deserve the money of dead guys all over the world, not only in Nigeria, it’s just that the rest of the dead guys’ lawyers haven’t found me.

So Ben figures he’ll present me as Dead Rich Guy’s next of kin, which is cool with me. I mean, I don’t know half of my relatives in Finland, let alone Nigeria. There could definitely be a lot of them over in that part, because I heard there was a big immigration from Finland to Nigeria sometime in like, the seventies, and that’s when they could have moved there. Conceivably.

So now it’s just a matter of all the silly nilly legal papers and stuff, but Ben doesn’t want me to worry about none of that stuff… he’ll take care of all of it. He says, right there in the email, that he’ll take care of all the angles, so you know, I won’t have any legal hassles later, which is a relief, because I deserve that money, you know? I don’t want anything to mess it up. I just have to give Bennyboy my particulars, like name, address, phone and fax and um… something else, I can’t remember…oh yeah! My bank account stuff! And he will do everything from there. I get 30% and he gets 60% which is fine with me, ‘cause obviously he’s doing all the work, and stuff, and 30% of 12 million is still a lot of money. I mean, think of how many pairs of boots I can buy with that. I already have my eye on a pair at Macy’s and I’m getting them the second this legal stuff is over with. Oh, and the other 10% is the cure money. I’m not sure what that means, but he said it’ll take that much at least for “expenses cured”. I was thinking that maybe people like get sick a lot in this kind of deal, what with it being cold and flu season and all, and maybe there’s a special fund set aside for medical expenses for all the legal people involved. In case they get sick, you know? I think that makes sense. So they can have the best doctors money can buy and then get cured and we can get on with the case and give me my rich dead uncle’s money.

I know you all are really excited for me, and I thank you. I promise I will try not to change too much once I’m a millionaire. But you can’t expect it not to go to my head a little. But I won’t forget where I came from. Promise.

Ok, so I better get going, because Bennister said there was a deadline the bank gave him, and he needs all my information right away. He almost kinda threatened me, that if I didn’t jump on this, then my ass was out of the deal and he’d find someone else to be Rich Dead Dude’s relative. So you can see I have to act fast. I know you all understand.

Thanks for being my friends and I won’t forget you at the top.

Love,

Star The Future Millionaire

P.S. Could someone please email me and tell me what the “routing number” is on my checking account? I can’t figure out which one it is and Barrister Ben needs it, like, yesterday.

The Email That's Gonna Change My Life!

Dear Sir

My name is Barrister Benedict E. Maxwell a legal practitioner and the personal attorney to one of the passengers of the Belleview Boeing 737 plane crash in which 117 persons died on 22nd of October 2005,my client died along side with his entire family. After the death of my client his bank contacted me, as his Attorney to provide his next-of-kin who should inherit his funds. The board of directors of his bank adopted a resolution and I was mandated to provide his next-of-kin for the payment of this money or forfeit the money to the federal government treasury account as an abandoned property.

After making several unsuccessful attempts to locate his relatives,I decided to trace his relatives through the Internet in order to locate any member of his family yet nothing came out of it. The bank had planned to invoke the abandoned property decree of 1996 to confisticate the funds after the expiration of the period given to me.

My late client was a successful businessman, an oil magnet here in Nigeria and he left behind a deposit of ($usd12m) in his domiciliary bank account in a commercial bank here in Lagos. I have reasoned very professionally and I feel it will be legally proper to present you as the next-of-kin of my deceased client, so that you can be paid the funds left in his bank account.

PLEASE SEE THE WEBSITE BELOW FOR CONFIRMATION:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4370572.stm
http://nm.onlinenigeria.com/templates/?a=5826&z=17

The procedure for approval is simple. Once you indicate your interest, an affidavit of claim will be made and a letter of administration will be obtained from the probate Registry which will
authorize the release of the funds to you. An application letter will also be sent to the bank informing them of our intention to claim the funds this documents and some others will be notarized and forwarded to the legal department of the Bank for vetting and approval. As you can see everything will follow a normal legal process, thereby assuring you that you are not exposing yourself to any legal problem. I will back up all necessary documents that will be required at the court. You don’t have to worry about any risk. All I require is your honest co-operation to enable us see this deal through.I guarantee that this will be executed under a legitimate arrangement that will protect you from any breach of the law. All that is required from you is as follows:

1. Your Full name and contact address, as you want them to appear in the document here.
2. Private telephone number
3.Private fax number
4. Your bank particulars.

As you can see time is of great essence as the bank has given me deadline. We shall both share the funds this way; 60% for me while 30% will go for your contribution. 10% should be for expenses cured during the process of transfer. Contact me as soon as possible so that I will intimate you with the details. But if you are not interested, indicate by sending an email so that I can look for someone who will be interested.

I AWAIT YOUR IMMEDIATE REPLY TO ENABLE US START THIS
TRANSACTION IN EARNEST.
Thanks and God bless.
Barr.Benedict E. Maxwell

Go back to POST