Madcap Movies

This may need to be a regular blog feature...

I am scanning through what's on t.v. I click info to see the descriptions of movies. One catches my eye and inspired this...

The title is Sassy Sue. That sounds pretty bad right there...I'm not sure I can even articulate why (and I shouldn't need to, I mean, c'mon!). Sassy Sue?! Sounds like porno-light or something. But that's not my point. Here's the description...

"A chicken farmer seems to spend too much time with his prize cow."

Okay, for starters, a movie about a chicken farmer with a prize cow. Like that's not enough right there. But secondly, the word "seems". He "seems" to spend too much time with his cow? Wow.

I'm tempted to watch this movie just because of the crazy-ass description. That would be taking one for the team. I'm not sure I can manage it. We'll see.

Fool in the Rain

Yes, it's a very favourite Zeppelin song, and it's also the subject of today's blog.

So I go out for a run - the weather has been a bit confused, but it seems pretty good, lots of patches of blue sky and sun. Very quickly that goes away. No big deal.
It starts to drizzle. No big deal.
Pretty soon it's raining steadily. Not such a big deal.
I think you can see where this is headed...

It starts moving into the realm of pouring. And I mean pouring. I'm wearing a light running jacket and the arms are soaked through (ick) so once I'm at the point where I move from walking to running I take it off and tie it around my waist. I wonder how many people were driving by and thinking, "you idiot! you have a jacket, why aren't you wearing it!?"

Pretty soon I am soaked. I mean like I've been in the shower with clothes on (and yes, I would know, so there, shut it). I can feel the weight of my sopping clothing. Hey, this is good right? It's like running with weights. What a workout! I know it must be bad because someone driving by slows down and lowers the window to offer me a ride.

The rain continues - now torrential. I get even more soaked. Other than a couple of dry(ish) patches here and there, I now look like I've definitely been in the shower, but more likely in the bath. If it were horse racing 'bath' would be 3-1 and 'shower' would be 15-1.

A fire department vehicle going the other direction stops, the man driving offers me a ride. (Let me clarify, this isn't a fire truck on it's way to a fire or anything, it's just a vehicle painted in red that says Fire Department-whatever stuff all over it and has sirens and shit.) The guy driving calls me ma'am. Hey buddy, you are way older than me, cool it with the ma'am stuff. He also is snarky, all, "guess you need a ride huh, dumb twit got caught in the rain" type of thing. I am super polite but decline. I'm in running gear with headphones and the whole bit, I'm not running with a newspaper over my head to the closest shelter here, c'mon. Anyway, I think the only reason he offered me a ride was because he saw how soaked I was and went, "hey, she could put out a fire like nobody's business! Throw her on there and vooomffff, flames gone! The chief will give me a promotion if I bring in this sure-fire (no pun intended?) human extinguisher." Sorry about the promotion buddy. Better luck next time.

I continued on with my regular route, not really minding the soaked-ness that much. In truth, my main concern was, hmmm, just how see-through would my shirt be right now? That particular issue took up a fair bit of my attention. Especially as it seemed that for some reason the traffic level was higher than usual. And I was wearing a pale coloured t-shirt.

I made it home, having somehow managed to get even more soaked by that point. As I walked inside I could hear that "squoosh squooosh" noise. I looked in the mirror, observed the level of see through, decided it wasn't great but that I would be able to show my face again (preferably only my face in the future though) and struggled to remove my wet clothing. I kid you not, my little t shirt weighed about 5lbs. After I finished my arms hurt. Honestly. Like, more than they do after the gym. Yeah, how sad is that.

The Lights Are On - Is Anybody Home?

This event occurred many years ago so I'm a bit fuzzy on the details. Not that they matter anyway.

Awaiting a visitor that was going to pick us up and take us...somewhere (see above).
Time kept on ticking, ticking, ticking, into the future (ok, I totally stole that) and we were wondering where this person was. Well, more accurately, we weren't really wondering where xe was but why xe was not where xe was supposed to be, which was picking us up.

I can't remember why we decided to check outside, but we did. And to what did our wandering eyes appear (yep, stole that too)? The very person we were waiting for, sitting there in her car. WTF?

We are puzzled. We walk up to the car, the woman looks rather cranky, and as we ask, "why didn't you ring the doorbell?!?" she blurts out, "well I kept coming up to the door to do so, then you'd flash the light to signal me so I'd get back in the car, and then you buggers kept doing it to me over and over!" She announces this is an immensely frustrated tone. We are flabbergasted. Flashing the light at you! Oh dear. We then had to explain that the 'light we were flashing' is this new fangled technology, something called a sen-sor light (we couldn't help but be sarcastic now could we - notice how I didn't put a question mark at the end of that, obviously we couldn't, that was rhetorical, I mean come on).

Ah, I laugh even now thinking about it.

"The Pedestrian, 2003"

I watched a strange movie recently. The Pedestrian.
The description I saw before watching said something about a traffic light controller searching for love through looking at people's feet. Something like that. It sounded quirky.

So it turns out that the main character has a serious foot fetish. He goes to the mall and pretends to be a researcher so he can ask "survey" questions to women about their feet and shoes. I almost stopped watching at that point. No offense foot fetishists.

But I didn't stop watching and it got worse from there. Yes, be warned, there was a gratuitous 'masturbation to his shoe altar' scene. ***Breaking Great Blogspectations Programming Note*** It is at this moment that I suddenly thought to myself, holy freakin' crap, this is &^%$&*# about shoes again! This is ceasing to be a "oh ha ha, what a coincidence" thing and turning into a "how come shoes keep cropping up into everything i'm starting to really get scared oh but that's silly you're overreacting it's nothing but ohmigod why" thing. ARGH.

So where was I? Right, the shoe freak. OH HELL, I meant the guy in the movie. This is just creepy now. So I was going to continue on with describing the plot of the movie but I just don't even want to now. Stupid shoes. (Stomps off, muttering to self....)

The Elastic Oh-no Band

So I'm putting my hair into a ponytail. I reach for an elastic band and it's a real old one, all stretched out. I think to myself, you should just throw this one out, use a newer one. Then some other part of myself (the cheap part? the lazy part? the part that does not want to be labelled, so quit it!) argues the first part out of it. So with one hand I have my hair gathered and I go to affix the elastic (fascinating detail about putting your hair up, thanks so much - eye roll) and it SNAPS. I was already in a bit of a cranky mood, so I didn't think too much about it, but it seemed to me there was some sort of life lesson there.

Shoe-na-bomber

This is pretty random. I got to thinking about some things that I don't like. Silly things that can be annoying. I should probably have a Top 10 list or something, but all I have are 2 1/2 things. Yeah, that's right, 2 1/2.

1) I'm not cool enough (or lame enough, take your pick) to know what these shoes are called, but I've been seeing a plethora of them and I just don't see the attraction. Please see exhibit A (I found the picture on the internet, I apologize profusely if I have violated any copyright laws or anything like that).



Exhibit A


2) F-bombs. I don't know why, but this one just aggravates me. "He was peppering the conversation with F-bombs..." "This guy drops enough F-bombs..." Stop it. LAME.

1/2) That I have somehow managed YET AGAIN to talk about shoes. How?!? Whyyyyyyyyy?!?

Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

Don't worry, despite what the title might imply I haven't gotten in a lover's spat and killed said lover.

Nor am I writing this posthoumously because of being the one killed in a spat by said lover.

And no, I wasn't summing up quick foreplay followed by quick sex in 2 words x 2 with a comma in between either.

And no, this isn't a review of a recent adult film. I mean, yes, it is, keep reading!

In fact, the title refers to a television program featuring short films. I watched 3.

First one was called, 'How To Tell A Relationship is Over'. I put that title in single quotes because I later saw it listed as 'How To Tell A Relationship is Over in 90 Seconds'. But I think we can all rest assured that the film is about the signs that a relationship is over. Moving on (ha ha). This one was very short (but more than 90 seconds unless my sense of time is really skewed - maybe the film shows that the relationship is actually over after only 90 seconds and the rest is just showing the...what's the word I'm looking for here...the beating of a dead horse). Quick vignettes of a couple in a kitchen interspersed with black screen shots with phrases such as "Now It's War." (I'm not sure I should have quoted that either, it may not be 100% accurate. But you get the drift.) [Where does the punctuation go, in the bracket? Outside of it? I don't care to be honest, deal with it]. It kind of reminded me of that Pina Colada song but without the happy ending. This couples personal's ads didn't rekindle the magic as far as I could tell. Oh, one of the phrases featured on the black screen shot was something like, "Finding The Dead Pigeon" (oh bloody hell, that should be in single quotes I suppose but screw it - the punctuation/quotation I mean, not the dead pigeon, what kind of freak are you?? Sheesh). It then flashed to the couple in the kitchen staring at a dead pigeon, poking it (with a pencil I think it was) and declaring that it was dead. I suppose that was put in to illustrate some sort of symbiosis with their relationship but whatever. I kind of like thinking of it as random, because inserting the dead pigeon bit into any film surely makes for great comedy. (And I dislike when people overanalyze novels or movies, making every little thing into some grand theme - I am struck by the way the author of this post's use of single quotes mirrors the breakdown of the couple -the double quotes-....yeah, I'm kidding).

Second short was called "The Silent Treatment". Begins with someone lying in bed, camera pans over to the phone which begins to ring. Hungover man answers, his girlfriend has already picked up to take the call from her friend. He goes downstairs and tries to figure out why his gf is mad at him. She doesn't say a word throughout the short. Like a woman could keep quiet for that long! Whoops, was that out loud? Shit. Um, anyway, the gf is cleaning up after a dinner party and the bf just keeps talking to try and find out what he did wrong. He thinks the friend on the phone told his gf something so he is going through some possibilities. In doing so he ends up confessing to various things and of course it turns out each time that what he has confessed is not what the gf was mad at but I'm sure the additional material did not make it any more likely that the magic would be rekindled. (I got tired of trying to describe this crap and just used something from the paragraph on the 1st short, yeah, that's right, take that).

Third, and perhaps the most interesting, this short film was in Spanish (I think) but subtitled. Called 10 Minutes. Man calls his cellphone customer service line to try and find out what # his phone called at 7:35 that day. Soon why he wants to know is revealed and the film revolves around his interaction with the customer service agent. The title refers to the fact that customer service calls are cut off after 10 minutes.

Abandon Ship! Er..I Mean, Shoes

So something fairly insignificant happened the other day that I thought I might blog about. Thought about it a couple times since, and was about to start writing tonight, when I realized something.
You know that stereotype about women and shoes? I don't really know how to put it in one sentence form, but, in a nutshell, it might be "women are gaga over shoes". Well, I am not one of those women. Why do I bring this up? Because I realized that I recently did blog about shoes, and this blog I was beginning tonight also features shoes. Isn't that ironic? (Is it ironic? That irony can be a tricky thing, just ask Alanis Morissette - sorry, not sure if that's spelled right. Although, when people get on their high horse and point out that her song Ironic isn't actually about irony, hence what a fuck up she is - I thought, hey, maybe that's part of the shtick..'hey, I'll write a song about irony, but the instances I detail won't actually be examples of irony, that would be ironic!' Man, I've forgotten what irony is at this point. That was quite the digression.)

So anyway, the other day I was walking down the street approaching an intersection. Being the conscientious girl that I am, I stopped at the light and pressed the button to trigger the walk signal at the crosswalk. It was then that I noticed a pair of shoes. Abandoned it seemed. Not directly at the edge of the sidewalk (that would have been kind of cool, like someone just vanished right as they were about to cross the street, swept right up and out of their shoes - ok, I'm scaring myself now, ack) but a bit off to the side, near the post with the crossing signal on it. The heels of said shoes were pushed down, and I could see those Dr. Scholls insoles (just the few $ ones, nothing extravagant). The insoles looked pretty new. So as I said at the start, one would likely say this is pretty insignificant. But I found it kind of interesting. I found myself musing over the story behind the abandoned shoes as I waited to cross the street. Maybe that's what I should blog about. Or maybe that would make a cool story idea. Hmmm.

FUCK. I was considering adding a picture to this, you know, help with the mood of the piece, when I realized that the picture on my blog page is of shoes! Holy shit, what is with this shoe thing! Is it my biological destiny? I don't have that stereotypical gaga for shoes thing but it cannot be fully repressed so it expressed itself unconsciously? I do like running shoes. Getting new running shoes... well, not the getting, that sucks ass, but wearing new running shoes rocks.

Anything But Be

So at this point you may be wondering, has GB taken to channeling Yoda? (Anything but be, yesssss). The answer is no, that is not what the title refers to. I think at this point you should proceed immediately to the comments section, do not read the rest of the blog yet, and do not collect $200 until you get your "get out of the comments section" free card. Go there and tell me what you think the title might refer to. It'll be fun, really. Then you can read the rest of the post - but not before. Go. Now.

Welcome back.
Awhile ago I purchased a Supertramp greatest hits CD. I then used this great free program called Quintessential Player http://www.quinnware.com/ to convert the songs to mp3's so that I can listen to them along with the rest of my computer collection on my mp3 player. Yeah, that's right, I'm not cool enough to own an iPod. So anyway, I like some Supertramp songs but I wouldn't say I'm a fan or know that much about the band or anything. But one day I'm listening to my mp3 player while I plod along (I plod, it's almost like iPod you see) and I hear a Supertramp song and I check the title of said song scrolling across the display of my player. It says "Anything But Be". And I think, hmm, that's odd. And then I thought a bit about how that would be funny if that wasn't the real title yada yada (zzzzz) and then promptly forgot about it. However, I recently was removing that song from my player and so I Googled it and found that indeed, as one would expect, the song is entitled "Anything But Me". And I thought, wow, this would make a good blog post! Boy was I wrong, huh. It was Anything But.

< Insert Clever Title Here >

So CNN is showing a story on a certain someone going to jail. (You know who I mean, I refuse to type her name in this blog, it would be forever tainted. Ick.)
There was no volume, but it generated a discussion about troubled celebs (e.g. LL & BS).
So I find myself involved in this useless discussion. Me. (Shakes head). It's truly a miracle that I didn't slit my wrists right then and there and that I'm here writing this blog now.

Fortunately, the discussion quickly turned to the infamous shots of a couple of these celebs' crotches. One of the discussants stated firmly and in a somewhat judgmental tone that there was simply no excuse for these people not wearing underwear. Rather quickly (if I do say so myself) I managed the following rejoinder:

"She wanted to support the troops so she thought she should go commando."

This resulted in peals of laughter and questions as to whether I had made that up myself right on the spot. Indeed I had. (Yeah, I'm pretty proud).

Yeah, it might not be that great but what do you want from me - there was already one miracle here today, don't push it.

Wok With GB

First off, sorry about the title.

So tonight had all the drama of Iron Chef, but in my very own kitchen.
Really, you ask? Who'd you take on, Iron Chef Japan?

Well, um, no, not...exactly. But what I did do was make a stirfry. And the secret ingredient was (drumroll please)... various vegetables. And the competition was... none other than myself.

Now I know you're probably thinking at this point, Iron Chef this is not. However, I did use a cast IRON frying pan for some of it and I CHEFfed. I rest my case. And I did all that without wearing a stupid hat. So there.

So it actually started out innocently enough as a regular old exercise in cooking dinner. Yawn. But obviously some kind of frenzy must have overtaken me, because I crammed so many vegetables (yes, various ones) into that stir fry...

Let's count, shall we? (That was a rhetorical question, get counting you lazy asses! NOW!!)

1. Carrots
2. Cauliflower
3. Parsnip
4. Leeks
5. Red Pepper
(Don't panic, just continue counting using your other hand. If you only have one hand, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to poke fun at you or anything, sorry about the tragic loss of your hand. If it wasn't tragic, make something up.)
6. Yellow Pepper
7. Broccoli
8. Snow Peas
9. Zucchini
10. Bean Sprouts

Damn, is that it? This is the first time I counted so I really had no idea how this was going to go. Yeah, that's right, I just blog on the fly like that, I'm crazy that way. WILD!

A ha! I just remembered! You'd better pull out your toes now. Not literally for the love of god! I just meant to count on! (I'll have to remember that as a line though, "your blog makes me want to pull out my own toes").

11. Asparagus

I also used tofu, but I don't think one can count that as a vegetable. And yes, I know, ewww, tofu, but relax, I know how to cook - the tofu was just fine. I also used a hoisin sauce. And it was all served over fresh chinese noodles. One of the people who I deigned to share with started making cracks about how I knew they were chinese noodles. I bet you think I then beat him repeatedly with said noodles, but no, I did not. As John Cusack's character in Grosse Pointe Blank said, "I don't want to get into a big semantic argument about it, I just want the protein." Except in this case perhaps it's the carbs. But I think you smart readers get the gist.

And yes, in case you're wondering, I am still sitting here going, 'hmm, was that really all the vegetables? Surely there was something else...'

Of Dogs and Men

So recently a female acquaintance says to me, "hey, I don't know if you're in the available dating pool or not, but if you're into it, I know this guy named _____ (whatever it was) who has a great dog named _____ (Cisco?) and he's single!"

I reply, "who is, the dog or the guy?"

I mean really, I've heard women complain about having dated some dogs, but getting set up with an actual canine is pushing it.

On a secondary note, you gotta love the high-tech matching system she's utilizing. This guy (yes, in case you hadn't figured it out, it was the guy she was trying to set me up with - well him with his dog thrown in as a bonus prize) is single - wow, what a qualification. Really? A single guy? I had no idea they existed! I can't believe you found one - set me up! (Now you should picture that "so happy together" song playing with a slow-mo video of me and this guy holding hands running through a field of flowers while the dog romps nearby - don't forget to picture the big idiotic grins we're sporting - and by we I mean all 3 of us).