aka, shit i laughed, ooh-ed, or ahh-ed at:
Wednesday, April 9, 2003
Working to procure a job you want, while working a job you hate (a lot, to save money to move) is a really fucking hard job.
stinky meat and cheese is for sure for me
Tuesday, April 8, 2003
I just had my first ever muffuletta, and OH MAN. Why didn't you fools tell me about this sandwich before? I think I'll wrap up the other half--savor the flavor for later. How in 25 years was I never privy to the delectable ham, succulent salami, mounds of melted cheese and sounds-gross-but-is-oh-so-good olive spread on a toasted kaiser roll?
(Answer: I wasn't clear how to pronounce it, so I never ordered it.)
Muffuletta, I know you are just a silly sandwich, but will you marry me?
her log does not judge
Log Lady introduction to "Twin Peaks," episode 4:
"Even the ones who laugh are sometimes caught without an answer: these creatures who introduce themselves but we swear we have met them somewhere before.
"Yes, look in the mirror. What do you see? Is it a dream, or a nightmare? Are we being introduced against our will? Are they mirrors?
"I can see the smoke. I can smell the fire. The battle is drawing nigh."
movies and shit
It is short though, just over an hour and a half long, which I must give credit for. Not enough good movies are an hour and a half. At least this shitty one didn't overstay it's welcome.
I really enjoyed seeing Monsters, Inc. for a second time, though. What a delightful film this is! It is a great, "classic" kids movie, that doesn't rely at all (well, barely) on pop culture references and ironic humor. I'm a sucker for both those things, but I think maybe really good children's films are being compromised in order to entertain the parents with sarcastic, self-referential humor, which is mostly lost on young kids. Instead, Monster's Inc. serves up heaping helpings of (gasp!) imagination, for which, of course, there is no substitute. And talk about heart. Been a long time since an animated movie made me cry. (Okay, not so long, probably. More on that soon.) Boo, the little girl at the center of the picture, is so goddamned adorable I just want to squeal. She calls the big, ol' John Goodman character, Sully, "Kitty." Which fucking cracks me up. And Goodman is so badass. He cultivates so much tenderness and kindness out of a blue and pink furry monster thing--when he has to say goodbye to Boo I just die.
Anyway, watch the Pixar flick, not that other craptacular carcass of a movie I mentioned.
Because I said so.
(And I'll be picking up screeners of a few indie films from the Nashville Scene office tomorrow. They want 200 word write-ups for three features--including the devestating [I've heard] "The Day I'll Never Forget"--and some local shorts, all of which will be featured at this year's NIFF. Yay me!)
And another thing, every low-fat bleu cheese dressing I've ever tried tastes precisely like vomit. Surely, we can do better than that.
One of the perks of this new web space is a new e-mail address, which I've need for quite a long time. My hotmail account has become overrun with spam since I was so careless with it initially. The hotmail email address is still active, and will remain so, but please direct all future mail to me to miscetc (at) brittney (dot) f2o (dot) org. Actually, it can be anythingatall (at) brittney (dot) f2o (dot) org--the more creative the better. Make me laugh. Call me names.
Also, I finally put some photos back up. I created a sort of Best Of gallery (here), so if there is any photo in particular you would like for any reason, and it isn't featured here, just let me know and I might can get it for you.
spunky brewster loves purple hearts
Jessica Lynch has enormous bravery, perserverence, knife and gunshot wounds, and broken limbs, not fucking pigtails and sassy rainbow shoelaces.
It's fun, fun friday!
Hooray for strawberries in season! I'm having ripe, sweet berries the size of a child's fist as I blog.
My friend Sammy had to go to the emergency room last weekend because a moth flew in his ear. Like, way down in it. His drunk friends tried to convince him that he didn't need to go to the hospital, that that would be the most expensive moth in Tennessee, but Sam told them he had a insect in his head, flitting around, and he wasn't thinking straight--look at him, he had tweezers jammed into his ear hole. I'd have clawed my eyed out by then. He sat in the ER waiting room, no apparent signs of illness, occassionally twitching and digging at his ear. The doctor tried to smother it with some sort of gel. Which failed. So they flushed his ear with warm, streaming water, which he says, is very pleasant and should be offered at spas or at the Y. The nurse told him that there was still a bug leg in his ear, she just couldn't get it out. Poor Sammy, that bug will be with him, in him, always. Or until it decays. Ewwwwwwwww.
If you care.
have you forgotten?
It's this awful, super-slick, country, patriot ballad. And oh my God, it's so bad I can't entirely verbalize it. First of all, the sheer stupidity of the shit is beyond comprehension. Even like, my mom knows that Iraq isn't directly responsible for the events that occured on September 11. Yet this is the entire premise of this ri-fucking-diculous song. The motherfucker rhymes Bin Laden with forgotten! You can't fucking do that.
He goes on to talk about how if it were up to him, Freedom-Loving Daryl Worely, he'd show footage of the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center every day. He wants to see it every day.
I sound pissed because I am. This song was created to make money--an exploitation of the victims of 9/11 if there ever was one, but no one cares since it's all cleverly packaged in the pretty lies they are all so accustumed to being handed. This song sickens me, and I'll bet you my Dad fucking loves it. (No offense, Dad. That is, if you ever made your way off the AOL front page. I respect your right to listen to completely infactual and manipulative music if you want. And if you don't like this song, I'm so buying you a beer.)
i disgust me
This is because, seriously (seriously), I am the world's biggest procrastinator. I was supposed to begin a writing project this morning. I set my alarm for 9 a.m. I rolled out of bed sometime after 10:30. I've since made coffee, peed like 8 times, dusted the bookshelf, reloaded my web haunts dozens of times and painted my toenails.
Word count at 12:50 p.m.: 0
Hard to stay angry very long when you've got 19" of Ralph with his finger jammed up his nose staring back at you. He has no sympathy for my trivial problems and aggrevations. He's utterly oblivious--not a bad lesson at times.
I am, apparently, a living fable. (The broken arm was taped into a make-shift splint once at the emergency room made from a rolled up magazine. Such were the superb medical facilites in Small Town, Tennessee.
-Airplanes, their white tails creating smoky fireworks in the sky.
-A robin, busily building a nest of twigs and shiny, pastel-colored string confetti. I imagine the nest filled with Cadburry Creme Eggs.*
-While jogging, a black Corvette, new, peels into the gravel, stopping short. I continue forward and smile and nod to two young construction workers on the sidewalk. After I pass I hear, "Hey, girl! He wants to holler at you." I yell back, "That's okay!," and run further than I'd planned in efforts to lose the man in the car.
-Three children, playing a game of intricacies and importance. They are trying to hash out the rules. A ball is being thrown high into the air as voices raise. Seems as though, "I'm telling Mama" still trumps all.
-Jog past a man in a chair in a suit and tie, playing an electric guitar with no strings. He tells me that running is bad for my knees.
-A family of five and two dogs walk, without speaking. The husband and wife are exactly the same height.
-A house three streets over looks as though the Easter bunny has taken a large shit on it. The tree branches hold hundreds of empty, plastic eggs. I wonder if there will be a hunt, and if so I want to go, since maybe this year I could win one. As a child our Easter egg hunts were rigged, my aunts always helping their children cheat. The golden egg was a wadded up piece of aluminum foil, the prize twenty dollars or a kiss from my father. Winner's choice.
*Foulest excuse for candy ever.
nah-nah, nah boo-boo
losing: par for the course
I'd been digging on Ernie's site for some time and noticed the call for Puppetmaster II applications and figured why the hell not. I filled it out, kissed a little ass and lo and behold, I got picked. I hadn't viewed the original game, and so went into it blindly.
What transpired from there was some faux-cattiness, many a drunkin' post and a pretty good amount of fun. I got into trying to discover the puppet (Seriously, hats off to the Puppetmaster. You are doing a hell of a job writing a puppet. That, or I'm just dim.), but sadly, had not near the amount of time I needed to particpate to the best of my abilities. In fact, I kind of should apologize to Ernie for a lack of participation compared to the others--the man runs a good game (And hard! That last exemption game was a bitch.); I shoulda done better.
Anyhow, you now have my full attention. My new buddies were cool and all. But, while you all have your serious defecits, you all, at least, are real.
*Kicked off sounds cooler. Like maybe I bitch slapped somebody and couldn't cry my way out of getting sent home.
[Also, I should thank mikrophon, the Diane to my Agent Cooper, my partner in sleuth over the past couple of weeks. I went with Jenny, buddy. I should have gone with your Ariel hunch.]
if you see the cuss, then okay
Had to ask out loud. It's keeping me from sleep.
from whence I came
My mother tells me that for a time she wouldn't go to lunch with her co-workers for fear of running into him while out and about downtown. A move she now deeply regrets.
I hardly ever think about my grandfather, as you might imagine. He's such a sketch in my head. Just the hollow-faced man I've seen in that one picture. Today, though, I read this piece by Sarah Hepola. And now I'm sort of sad. I hope my grandfather was even a tiny little bit like William--I hope had I been around he might have shared a corner with me.
i hate this girl
Diary entry, 3/29/94:
C--hi. I have to talk to you. I don't know what about. I just hurt. Are you sad? Too? Did you cry today, like me? Of course you didn't--you're too old for that. I always think it's not going to work. I'll die--I swear.
You hurt me (no, I hurt me) so much today. You took my arms and told me to "shut up" and "get out" and "I don't like you" and oh god... Your lessons are so painful. And I can't call and why did you have to wait for the morning of my test? You weren't tired last night--you were loathing me--me and my baby talk.
I never, ever, ever, ever, never know how to please you like I wish I could.
Everything is so far away, our age, our bodies, our souls right now. And I'm writing shit on a page you'll never see.
* * *
Ha! And this dude was such a total tool.
that so does not belong to me
more than munchies
I always go from perfectly satiated to MUST EAT OR I'LL IMPLODE! There is no gradual, mounting hunger. All of the sudden I'm doubled over with hunger and it actually hurts until I stick some food in me. And it isn't as though I don't have plenty of reserves. Why can't my body gnaw on my excess thigh-age for a little bit? Always needing sustenance. Hey body: Eat my ass!
an outrage, an obscenity
ridiculous shit I've seen on tv so far today
On Jenny Jones, these teenaged girls were listing the things they played older men for. Some of these things were weaves, "thugged-out baby clothes," Baby Ruths and Snickers and "meals at IHOP, Denny's, Waffle Hose and Ponderosa."
Some blonde lady stroking Elmo's head in a distinctly sexy manner.
Starr Jones said, on The View, "I am so totally high right now." (She had just hours before had a tooth pulled.)
A segment on local news entitled War Decorations. A spot on how homes around Middle Tennessee are decorating for the war. One man had a statue of a pit-bull with red, glaring eyes, wearing an American flag sash around its neck. The anchor said, "Think this would scare Saddam Hussein?"
Some asshole set up cameras around his home, taping his wife naked without her knowledge, then sold them on the internet. Then he took her on Montel to reveal this, and apologize.
How did I go without television for so long?
oh for fuck's fucking sake
JC or KR?
guest: If you could spend 24 hours with any person, dead or alive, who would it be?
me: -after careful consideration- Probably the Buddha. What about you?
guest: Christ. I'd ask him a few questions, all bullshitting aside. Him. Or Kid Rock.
Dear Oscar attendees,
Nick Cage, why do you always look constipated? Why the fuck did you leave your gorgeous wife of many years to marry a woman who has also been married to Michael Jackson? Why did we realize you actually really suck at your trade only after you won your industry's highest honor?
Adrien Brody, be my boyfriend. Please?
Jack Palance, way to be still alive!
Salma Hayek, I covet thy body and thy extra-cute boyfriend.
Renee Zellweger, why did you melt away? Your pruny face looks much better with a little softness to it. Trust me. Have a slice of cheesecake, lest you grow a thick layer of down on your body to replace the warmth typically provided by a normal amount of body fat. Not everybody likes a Fatty, but honey, far less enjoy a Hairy.
Queen Latifa, explain to me what the hell you were doing there again.
Pedro Almodóvar, you rock my face.
Roman Polanski (even though you weren't allowed to attend due to previous Bad Act), YAY FOR YOU!!
lists I can do
-Foo Fighters (except that one song, something about "I'm on your back.")
They were in her den, four of them, tipsy on white whine and whisky. The brunette wore a sharp, new skirt and everyone noticed. All were comfortable, laughing, but Paul. The guy Lara invited over. They'd only been dating a couple of weeks, and while there wasn't a chemically-based attraction between them she kept seeing him because he smelled very, very clean and he really became hilarious after a few drinks. Paul liked her pretty okay, too. She had amazing breasts and this rubber face that he found endearing. And she wasn't needy like other girls, which was refreshing.
He liked to watch her with her friends, slipping into old routines, quoting television shows they all adored. She wished he would speak up, and maybe sneak a hand through her hair. He eyed her shoulders as they rose and fell, safely from the bean bag across the room.
Her brother flipped through albums, deciding on an appropriate selection. From the bean bag he watched the blurred faces of Michael Jackson and Carole King and Fleetwood Mac, as her brother sped through the records. Then an album bearing a name they all knew surfaced, and there was a snag in time, and Paul watched Lara's brother watch her as she swallowed, bit her cheek and grabbed her cigarettes. She made for the door, and Paul couldn't place just where he'd heard that name before.
And he suddenly, without reason, Paul grew to like Lara a whole lot more.
time to fight
And another thing, so excited about trying my new Dr. Scholl's inserts at work tonight.
things that matter
springtime is bomb time
I took a few photographs on what was a most strange and paradoxical day. The air was crisp, moving fast, pushing in the springtime. It felt like, for the first time in a long time, a day of renewal.
Night fell, and missiles, and now all I can think of is suffering. And let's face it, suffering is the same ol' shit.
this is for tim
So, Tim I suggest you go ahead and watch the film. Seeing FWWM is going to heavily enrich your TP experience. The Black and White Lodges are covered heavily, though as obtusely as you might imagine. However, if you really want to know, it will not ruin anything for you plot-wise, so here is what I know about garmonbozia. Those of you who haven't seen the entire series should stop reading. Seriously. Stop it.
Simply put, garmonbozia is pain and suffering. We get this literal definition from one of the final Red Room scenes in Fire Walk With Me. Creamed corn seems to be the physical manifestation of garmonbozia. There is speculation that the word is derived from "ambrosia," the food of the gods. Others speculate that the word, when played backwards, has various meanings. The most widely held backward meaning of the word is "I am/was/saw Windham Earle."
It seems as though garmonbozia is nourishment for the dwellers of the Black Lodge, which makes sense since BOB feeds on fear.
And that, my friend, is all I can tell you about garmonbozia. Once you see the film you will gain a wider understanding of its role in the series as a whole. Watch it alone amped up on lots and lots of coffee.
I weep for the world in these our darkest of days.
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