Thursday, June 30, 2005

DVDs I Got from Netflix

I've decided to start the movie review blog again. "What movie review blog?" you ask. I have one, called "Obtuse Reviews." This week I received "Love Song for Bobby Long" and "Rocco and His Brothers."

I joined Netflix months ago because there were certain movies I wanted to see and they weren't available around here for sale or rental. And I'm not too keen on paying $20-$30 for movie I've never seen. I first heard of "Rocco" six months ago. Netflix made it available two months ago. After that, I had a waiting time of 8 weeks while it sat at the top of my queue. After all that anticipation, I was almost afraid the movie would turn out to be a disappointment.

I didn't need to worry. The movie was great.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Astrology Light Bulb Joke

My DSL is fixed, but now my brain is on the fritz!

So I'm posting this joke, which I thought was cute...especially Scorpio. It sounds just like a certain Scorpio I know. (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)

How many members of your sign does it take to change a light bulb?
ARIES:
Just one. You want to make something of it?
TAURUS:
One, but just try to convince them that the burned-out bulb is useless and should be thrown away.
GEMINI:
Two, but the job never gets done-they just keep discussing who is supposed to do it and how it's supposed to be done!
CANCER:
Just one. But it takes a therapist three years to help them through the grieving process.
LEO:
Leos don't change light bulbs, although sometimes their agent will get a Virgo in to do the job for them while they're out.
VIRGO:
One to clean out the socket, one to dust the bulb, one to install and two engineers to check the work.
LIBRA:
Well gee, I don't know really. I guess it depends on the bulb and where it burned out. It might perhaps take just one if it's just an ordinary bulb, but maybe two if the person doesn't know where to find a new light bulb, or perhaps ...
SCORPIO:
That information is strictly secret. Next question.
SAGITTARIUS:
The sun is shining, the day is young, we've got our whole lives ahead of us, and you're inside worrying about a stupid burned-out light bulb?
CAPRICORN:
I don't waste my time with these childish jokes.
AQUARIUS:
Have you asked the bulb if it WANTS to be changed?
PISCES:
Lightbulb? What lightbulb?

Sunday, June 26, 2005

World Wide Wait


My blogging is being kept at a minimum this weekend since DSL is screwed and I can’t stay on the Internet for very long. I called yesterday, and this is what the message said…

“Customers of (Name of service) Highspeed DSL in (my town) may not be able to access the Internet. Technicians are working on this problem and hopefully will have it resolved by Monday 6 PM. For more information, questions about technical issues, visit our website.”

The irony is obvious here.

Saturday, June 25, 2005

Poster Boy


If I see Brad and Angelina’s name linked together on any headline, or blurb, or crawler I hope there’s a trash can nearby because I am going to vomit profusely. Give it a rest!!!! Who cares???

And to Tom Cruise…could you lay off the Scientology proselytizing just a tad? I mean, John Travolta has been a Scientologist for almost 30 years and we hardly hear him mention it. Well, there was the movie, “Battlefield Earth.” Which I think speaks for itself if you’ve ever seen the movie.

What are you, Tom, their new poster boy? And that “agent” following Katie around is really giving me the creeps. It so reminds me of a Unification Church kidnapping. Someone should intervene to deprogram the poor girl. And is it my imagination, or does she have a sort of “deer-in-the-headlights” look.

I really don’t understand this….why now? Is this just to boost his exposure to promote interest in his new movie, “War of the Worlds?” Or is he in line to become the next president, or whatever they call the head of their church?

Someone should throw a blanket over the poor guy and take him somewhere to get him some help.

A good friend of mine once told me that a celebrity's private life should remain private. I agree. People like Tom Cruise just make it harder for his peers. He's just fanning the flames with more tabloid and tv talk show fodder. I have a feeling one day he'll regret it.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

She Talks to Angels

This is a continuation of a story I started a few weeks ago.

As Tory grew older she eventually stopped hearing the voices, or at the very least, ignored them. But she knew they were still there. How else would she know what people were thinking sometimes before they opened their mouth, or know when to take her umbrella to work even though the sky was clear blue without a cloud?

Once she tried nursing school. She loved studying about the human body, the chemical reactions, and the biological processes. The words were like music to her ears, all Latin-based, like words a sorcerer would use when casting a spell. But when she started clinical practice in a nursing home she realized she had made a mistake. The man they assigned to her was suffering from advanced Parkinson’s and he was forever curled into a fetal position. Mr. Farmer was a black man with big dark green eyes made bigger by the taut skin stretched tight across his cheekbones. There was a picture of the former Mr. Alton Farmer who was a large smiling happy man in a shiny red Cadillac convertible. This man in front of her reminded Tory of an Egyptian mummy come to life, and bore no resemblance to the man in the Polaroid on the wall beside his bed. As she watched him, his eyes traveling over to the window and then to her. His eyes seemed to be pleading with her. What did he want?

She felt a desolation, a desperation, heart-breaking sorrow and depression like she had never felt before when she looked at him. She had seen people in a nursing home before, her grandmother had died in one. She had never felt like this before.

As she fed him, one of the nursing instructors came in. “Hey, Mr. Farmer! How’s your breakfast?”

He half-moaned and muttered something that sounded nothing like human speech.
“He said, ‘not bad,’” Tory said.
The nursing instructor stared at her in disbelief. “He did?”
“Yes, didn’t you hear him?”
The nursing instructor rolled her eyes and walked out of the room.

Later a large man in white, an orderly with the name “John” on his shirt came in to weigh him. As Tory tried to pull Mr. Farmer over on his side so they could get him into the scale harness, he cried out. She stopped what she was doing and let him go. “Oh, he hollers out like that sometimes, he don’t mean nothing by it,” John explained.

She watched as John pulled his body out of its fetal position enough to get the straps on him. Tory helped him as much as she could, trying not to use too much force on the poor man. Mr. Farmer’s eyes grew wide as he looked at Tory with that pleading look again. A feeling of nausea came over her followed by a lightheadedness.

“We’re hurting him!” she cried out suddenly.
“I’ve got to weigh him,” John snapped.

She walked out and stood in the hallway, her hands shaking as she hugged herself.
“Ms. Anderson, why aren’t you in there with your patient?”

She glared at the nursing instructor, then walked out the door to the parking lot, got in her car and left. She never went back.

A few weeks later she ran into John at the mall and asked about Mr. Farmer.
“They found out his hip was fractured. He was in pain the whole time and couldn’t tell anybody.”

Tory walked away quickly before he could see the tears in her eyes.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Paparazzi Justice

I’ve been thinking about that last post about the photographer, and it really bothers me. Maybe the comment about rubbing glass in his eyes was a little too drastic. Instead, I’ve come up with a better plan.

I’ll go to California, find a really nice camera, one of those with the really big telescopic lenses and start looking for places where the celebrities hang out. I guess Starbucks would be a good place to start. Then, when a celebrity comes along, say Britney Spears, I’ll position myself along with the paparazzi and when the shutters start clicking, I jump out and start taking the paparazzi’s picture. I’ll focus on the most annoying, obnoxious one and take pictures of them. I’ll get all in their face and shout things like, “why do you want to act like that? All I want to do is take your picture.” Then when he leaves, I’ll follow him and find out where he lives. I’ll hide in the bushes across the street and snap photos of his wife coming out to get the nwespaper. I’ll get photos of them leaving to take the kids to school. Photos of him grilling in the backyard drinking beer. I’ll find out what his wife does and with whom while he’s off chasing Lindsey Lohan to get pictures of her.

Won’t that be fun?

Monday, June 20, 2005

Fevered Ranting for Monday

To the woman who got in the EXPRESS line with 50 items and then had the unmitigated gall to ask for PAPER....

The EXPRESS check out lane is for 12 items or less. It says so on the sign that hangs from the ceiling at the beginning of the line. I keep suggesting that they hang it low enough so that it hits people in the head when they come up so they can’t miss it, but so far management has ignored me. I may have to go over their heads and take the matter to the division office.

Rule of thumb...if you have more than $30 worth of merchandise, it’s probably too many items for the express lane. It’s called an express lane for a reason. And it’s not because it’s the cashier who can ring up items the fastest. It’s for people who only have a few items and don’t want to stand in line behind someone who has a shopping basket full of items.

To Nichole Kidman....

Bravo to you for putting the rude photographer in his place. It’s not bad enough they get obscene amounts of money to take advantage of celebrities, some of who are nicer than they need to be, this gorilla felt he needed to up the ante by getting a reaction shot. You should have taken the camera, smashed it to pieces, then rubbed the bits of broken glass into his eyes so he’d never be able to take another photograph again.

A fact about the incident lot of the media don't bother to mention is that just hours before walking the red carpet for the premiere of her new movie, “Bewitched” she discovered that her dear friend and personal makeup artist Robert McCann had died of a heart attack.

It’s a double-edged sword when you think about it. The very people who make money for these vultures are the very people they abuse. If it were a fan that Ms. Kidman had done that to, defaming her would have been justified. Did you ever stop and think that maybe the celebrities would be a lot nicer to their fans if they weren’t hounded by the photographers so much? We have a tendency as human beings to treat others the same way we are treated.

Obviously the paparazzi are forgetting on which side their bread is buttered. Celebrities and the law are starting to take action against them and before they know it they are going to be in a class no better than common stalkers. For more about the First Amendment and Laws of Photography check out this site.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Father's Day

For Father's Day, I thought I would do a blog in memory of my father.

Daddy’s middle name was Stephen....for years, I thought it was always supposed to be spelled that way. I don’t know who put it that way on the birth certificate, must have been the doctor, cause Granny couldn’t read or write.
He gave me my love for music, and bought me a guitar when I graduated from high school.

I loved music so much that I would sneak out his guitar and play it when no one was home (I was a “latchkey” kid, since both parents worked). The first song I learned was “Anticipation,” by Carly Simon. When he found out I was playing, he went out and bought me a chord book. I suffered greatly from performance anxiety and could only play and sing in front of a few close friends. This is something I experienced with every school play and piano recital up until this day when someone is watching me do something. He never understood it and I think it drove us apart. Performing was a natural thing for him. Maybe he had dreams of our becoming a musical act, I don’t know.

He encouraged all my interests, including astronomy and writing. For Christmas and birthdays I would get telescopes and microscopes and creative toys along with the obligatory dolls that girls are supposed to get.

He instilled in me a love for nature. It was always his idea to go camping and momma suffered to go along. She hated it, but we went anyway because it was cheaper than staying in a motel...especially after we bought our own camper.

We had a lawn mower that probably lasted twenty years. Daddy didn’t believe in buying anything new if he could help it. That lawn mower had a wheel that would fall off while you were mowing. I’d be mowing the grass and all of a sudden, I’d realize I only had three wheels. I’d look back to see the wheel rolling in the opposite direction behind me.

Daddy had a great sense of humor. He told me some of my best dirty jokes. He loved to watch Road Runner cartoons and the Three Stooges. Peanuts and Tumbleweeds comic strips would send him into fits of convulsive laughter. He always had a positive outlook and a ready smile for everyone. I like to think that was my legacy from him.
I think that’s what I miss most about him.

But I think the best thing I got from him is the love of his family...my aunt and grandmother...who loved me for myself and taught me faith, hope, and wisdom.




Leader of the Band

I thank you for the music
And your stories of the road
I thank you for the freedom
When it came my time to go
I thank you for the kindness
And the times when you got tough
And, papa, I don’t think I
Said ’I love you’ near enough

~Dan Fogelberg~

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Odd Things

The one odd thing that happened to me last night....
Earlier today I was watching that show 100 Top Kid Stars on VH1 and there was this scene with Elijah Wood from the 90’s. He is sitting in a class room and he asks the teacher, “Can I go to the bathroom?”
The teacher looks at him sternly. “You can go to the bathroom. But you may not. Please rephrase your question.”
“Can I please go to the bathroom?”
Later, I thought about that scene when I asked a customer “can I see your drivers license?” Then I said, “ I mean, may I see your drivers license?”
She laughed and said, “that’s okay. I’m an English teacher.”
She was the first and last person I said that to. I thought it was weird that I rephrased the question properly for her and she happened to be an English teacher.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Veg For Life

I got my first issue of Veg For Life today. It was quite an eye-opener for me. I did not know that the male chicks were killed because they are of no use to the chicken farmers that grow layers. They are a different breed that are raised for broilers. They stated in the pamphlet that the chicks were smothered in plastic bags then thrown away. Given my past with chicks, I may have to rethink my position on eggs.

When I was young, I had a fondness for chicks. My aunt used to tell me about the little bantam chick I carried around in my hand as a toddler. They’d take it away from me and the poor thing would be wet from the sweat in my hand. She thought for sure I would kill it. But that bantam grew to be Polly, one of the sweetest birds in the brood. She was friendly to humans and use to ride her chicks on her back.

Later I would get Easter biddies, which were chicks dyed Easter egg colors. They were so funny looking when their feathers grew out. They would still have some of the pink or blue down among the white wings and tail feathers. They grew up into beautiful white birds and died a natural death, never being killed for food.

I grew up taking the slaughter of chickens for granted. Especially after the time I got trapped in the chicken pen. I didn't realize that the only way chickens could look at you was sideways, since their eyes are on the side of their heads. When I went into gather eggs once, the chickens got between me and the gate. I thought they were sizing me up for attack. And when the bantam rooster got into the game, flapping his wings at me, I was ready to get out of there! Granny came to my rescue when I started letting out blood-curdling screams. I'm sure she expected to see a reinactment of Hitchcock's "The Birds."

Looking back, the whole thing seems so ridiculous...the poor dumb birds probably just thought I was going to feed them...

Occurrences

Another year, another family reunion. My vegetarianism was not mentioned. Damn, and I had my speech about not wanting to be a part of the senseless slaughter and mistreatment of animals all ready. Oddly enough I got into a conversation with my cousin about spirits. She was looking at my camera and asked me if I had ever seen anything strange in any of the pictures. I said no, but I had seen pictures on the Internet.

She says she can see orbs. We talked about how things like that were just a natural occurence. Some people are afraid of the “supernatural” but I look at it like this...some people are afraid of snakes, but not all snakes are harmful. Interesting...I was about to discuss my experiences, when my uncle came up and took over the conversation. Suddenly I was invisible...no one seemed to hear a word I was saying. I’m not surprised, this happens every time I try to talk about these things. It's like something (or someone) is stopping me from talking about it.

I plan to walk tomorrow, and I really need it, since I ate too much cake. But chocolate is still my weakness.



Bad Poetry Corner


Occurrences

I cross the river and keep on going,
Always looking back, I search for meaning....
His spirit follows me,
Reminding me
What I’m supposed to do.
If only I knew what it was....

Friday, June 10, 2005

Friday Night

Friday night on the Internet. Sigh.
What a waste of time. Wrote a message to my "Internet Inamorato". No friends online to chat with. Waste my time surfing through Blogspot, Blogexplosion and listening to my angst-ridden rock station. Sitting here thinking about all the movies I have I can’t bear to watch anymore. Still waiting for one from Netflix, a recommendation (sort of) from a friend and they keep skipping over it. Grrrrrr......

Wrote questions for Vince Vaughn and Johnny Depp for the MSN Star page. Just for the hell of it. Wondering what normal people do on Friday night. Took about two dozen pics for my profile and MSN card. Trying to talk myself into doing laundry and not putting it off till next week. Grumble....grumble...Screw it...I think I’ll go watch "Labyrinth" my latest Netflix pick. Maybe there will be some deep insightful meaning that I missed the first time.

Steamed about the Russell Crowe "Leaf" comment...the Joaq fanboards are making more out of it than I am. Why does anyone think he gives a flying fig what Crowe says?

Oh, well, as long as I have Haagan Daz and Zinfandel, then everything is okay.

There it is...the sound of crickets...man, I love the Internet!

Thursday, June 09, 2005

The Sound of One Hand Clapping

Sorry I haven't written lately, I haven't felt very clever lately. Too much on my mind to even chat. And alas, the muse seems to have left me. For now, anyway.
But in the interim these things have come to mind and I have decided to include them...

Everyone should have a blog. Never before in history have so many people written so much content that was ignored by so many readers.

The first time I ever heard about a blog was on the nightly news. Some 12 year old was feature (with her blog) and I'm thinking, isn't she smart? No, she's not smart, she's obsessed!!! She's a borderline obsessive/compulsive who ten years from now will be wallowing in a pile of empty Black Jack bottles mumbling... "I have to find something interesting to write. I don't want my readers to forget me."

I have found some interesting websites. Like this one, called Straightdope, which ponders age-old questions like....

What is the sound of one hand clapping?
In "The Flintstones," what was Barney Rubble's job?
What is Don McLean's song "American Pie" all about?
If all one billion Chinese jumped at once, would the earth be thrown out of its orbit?
Who invented the smiley face?
Is there really such a thing as a pathological liar?
When a woman gives birth in westerns, why do they always boil water?
Is it true what they say about gerbils?

And I also wanted to comment on David Letterman. I watched it last night to see if Russell Crowe was going to comment on his "misbehavior". Did I really hear him comment on his and David's kids not being named "Blue Sky" or "Leaf"? What I was not prepared for was Paul Anka singing "Smells Like Teen Spirit."
I was flipping back after the commercials and caught his song. I was in shock. It was like a Joe Piscopo sketch on SNL. I may need therapy after that surreal experience.

For you readers who were expecting a continuation of my story? Sorry to disappoint you. Maybe next time.




Someone handed me a picture and said, "This is a picture of me when I was younger." Every picture of you is when you were younger. "Here's a picture of me when I'm older." How you'd pull that off? What's that camera look like? ~ Mitch Hedberg

Sunday, June 05, 2005

Love Me Like a Song(2)

She Talks To Angels: Part Two

Tory remembers very well the day she first heard the voices.
Her mother was on the phone. “Mamma, who was that lady?”
“What lady?”
“The lady that said “that Daddy is a drunk.”
Her mother frowned. “Who told you that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The lady on the phone. Who was she?”
“It was Peggy from work. And she never said that. Where did you hear that?”
Tory shrugged again and began to look at the floor. She knew she had done something wrong, but for the life of her, she had no idea what it was.

Her mother was getting angry and it always scared Tory to see her like that. She never knew what she would do when she was angry. She once locked Tory out of the house and wouldn’t let her back in. She cried and beat on the door while her mother looked out the window and laughed at her. Finally she fell into a heap on the porch and sobbed.

Then she heard a sweet calming voice say, “Tory, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.” Tory never questioned the voice or where it came from. All she knew is it made her feel better. She fell asleep in front of the door until her father came home. He picked her up and carried her to her bed. There was never any explanation or apology. Things were the way they were, and that was that. It was part of Tory’s world and it was normal for her. She never told anyone about what went on in her world. What was the point? It would only make them angry and that would make the pain worse. It was best to hide in the background and become as invisible as possible.

(to be continued....)

Friday, June 03, 2005

Love Me Like A Song

I came up with this idea after noticing the emotions that certain songs stirred...the images....the messages they seemed to speak to me. So I’m writing this “story” inspired by song lyrics. I hope it speaks to you as well. This is sort of a prelude to a real story that I’m working on, and hopefully will get enough done to put in a blog. Don’t hold your breath....


Chapter One:The Angels Speak

She talks to angels,
Says they call her out by her name
She wears a cross around her neck
And the cross is someone she has not met, not yet

Now that she's back in the atmosphere
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there's time to change, hey, hey
Since the return of her stay on the moon
She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey

But tell me did you sail across the sun
Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star
One without a permanent scar
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there



She took the crosstown bus to Buena Vista then walked to the Via Cappuccino on River Drive. After ordering a large soy latte with a double shot of espresso, she sat down and started sketching in her journal. Suddenly she felt a humming, a vibration in her chest that traveled to the back of her neck, down her arms, then down to the souls of her feet. She looked up and saw him staring at her. His ocean green eyes were staring through her and she felt as if her heart were breaking. She knew the intense sadness was coming from him.

(to be continued....)

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Shooting Stars

Invasion of Privacy – the publicizing of another’s private affairs with which the public has no legitimate concern, or wrongful intrusion into another’s private affairs, or wrongful intrusion into another’s private affairs in such a manner as to cause a person shame, embarrassment, or mental suffering.

I read this definition after seeing all the Brad & Angie updates, and their faces plastered on every celebrity-based mag in the checkouts. I’ve often heard it said that being in the spotlight is part of their job as actors and celebrities. But frankly, I know when I’m working I consider what I do on my own time to be my own business. There are a few jobs, like clergy, law enforcement, and possibly the health care industry where it matters how you appear in the public eye.

Being a celebrity should not mean losing a right to privacy. These people have rights too. The freedom of the press is no excuse for hounding a person. It is true, there are a few that have based their fame on having no other talent other than showing up scantily clad and posing for the cameras, with their dogs and other co-stars.

And this always brings me to the subject of paparazzi...
The freedom of the press is no excuse for hounding a person. Within the space of two weeks, there have been two cases of actresses being endangered by the actions of paparazzi. Last month Reese Witherspoon was chased to her gated community as she left the gym and had to call police to intervene. Yesterday Lindsay Lohan’s car was involved in an accident when a paparazzi rammed into her. He was charged with probable assault with a deadly weapon and held under a $35,000 bond. I wonder which gossip rag paid his bail???

When is this going to stop? Are we going to experience an American equivalent of Princess Di’s fate before something is done to curtail these leeches? They aren’t even deserving of the title “photographer” and should be treated as criminals. There should be a law making it illegal to approach anyone with a camera within 50-feet without their permission. If a picture of an average citizen is published, the photographer must obtain a signed consent form. Why should it be different for celebrities?

As long as there is a market for the pictures, the paparazzi will be there. As long as people buy the magazines and newspapers, there were continue to be a market. Is that really where the consumers money should go? Next time, instead of buying the one of the tabloids, save the money for charity. Give it to the ASPCA. The local animal shelter. The Red Cross. Amnesty International. Save the money, put it in a jar and save it to send a child, or yourself to college. $3 a week adds up to $156 a year. Multiply that buy the number of celebrity magazines and tabloids you buy and see how much money that would be. Here's a place to check it out.



People ask me for my autograph after a show. I'm not famous, I think they're messing with me. I think they're trying to make me late for something. ~ Mitch Hedberg