Saturday, April 30, 2011


Wednesday, April 27, 2011

It's the I-Can't-Believe-I-Just-Wrote-a-Whole-Post-on-Greg-Kinnear Post

Greg Kinnear.  He recently has been in my thoughts.  And those thoughts have been, he's a very strange bird.  A bird who isn't actually a bird at all. But can go from a hit movie to another and then to real stinkbombs without really ever having to take the blame or credit for anything.  It's kind of amazing.

I first personally became aware of him in a little movie that nobody really knows about - called As Good As it Gets.  Greg played back up and supporting fiddles and tambourines to tubbybear Jack Nicholson and shebeast Helen Hunt.
Greg put in a solid effort, but I know I would be quicker to talk about Verdell the dog than Greg Kinnear if I was talking about that movie.  Indeed, a quick "Google" of Verdell brings about endless photos and pages dedicated to that wily little dog.  But I can't even remember Greg Kinnear's character's name.  Not that I can remember anyone else's either - but I really couldn't remember his name if I tried.  

He was even nominated for an Oscar for that movie, apparently, for poop's sake!  Yet I would be quicker to talk about the fact that the voice of Lisa Simpson plays Greg Kinnear's assistant in that movie than I would to talk about Greg at all.  So, he really can't get too much of the credit for my enjoyment of that film.  Sure, some might say Jack's overwhelming starpower is to blame - but if all someone has to do to steal some of his attention is be a little boy who wears amazing sweaters -
I'd say Greg fell a touch short.

Greg also appeared in Sabrina.  Again, not playing a leading role.  And obviously unable to take any credit for any of my enjoyment when my favorite man in the world is present.  Wearing silly glasses and bow ties no less!
Greg's not really a leading man type, I suppose.  He appears in You've Got Mail.  A non-creepy Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan movie.  I could never get on board with Sleepless in Seattle.  I don't even think I've ever seen the whole thing, but the whole idea just creeps me the farts out.  It seems like a scary stalker movie where a murder should've happened to make it watchable.  I don't get the hoo ha.  But You've Got Mail??  Well, there's a hoo ha worth throwing a ticker tape parade for.  But Greg, once again, shines but cannot take credit.  He tries to do the whole silly glasses and hobby equivalent of a bow tie (collecting typewriters) but doesn't measure up in either department.
But at the end of the day, he's doing his supporting job - making wonderful movies not less wonderful with his acting and appearance.  He fits in nicely, like a cute little vase or a doorstop.

Then Greg made it to modern times with another hit, in which he almost had a leading role.
But here he never stood a chance.  Because of this:
So I would think of that before saying, "WOOWEE check out Greg Kinnear's awesome performance!"  He does lots of quality work in quality movies.  But he also does the aforementioned Stinkbombs.

These include appearances such as The Last Song, Bad News Bears, Stuck On You, Someone Like You, and Flash of Genius.  Flash of Genius is a a movie about windshield wipers.  Yup.  Windshield wipers.  He was probably pretty good in it.  He was probably pretty good in all these suckbutt movies.  And the best part is that I really only think the movies were awful, not Greg!  Like, The Last Song was totally Miley Cyrus' fault.  And the fact that it existed.  But I can't even really blame Greg for making the awful decision to do it.  Because he's just doing his job!  Trying to prop up stinkbag movies with his wonderful support.

I can blame Miley for everything, since trying to find a photo of her yielded the fact that she tweeted a photo of her tampons.  To quote Valerie Cherish, 
"I don't wanna see that!"  I blame myself for innocently trying to visually accent my words.  I should've known better if Miley was involved.

Anyway.  Greg Kinnear - I can't blame you and I can't give you any credit.  Especially not lately.  But goshblarnit, I think I almost like you.  So, here's to you -
Let Paula ride.  Let all the Paulas ride.  We thank you.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

from the doodlebooks - definition

"from the doodlebooks" will be posts I wrote but never published for sometimes obvious reasons.  Until now.  This is the first -

from the doodlebooks

sleep diarrhea - 1: not what you would think.  but.  rather.  when you start sleeping and you wake up and you're so sleepy that you want to keep sleeping even though you've already slept 8 hours so instead of ripping yourself awake you slip back into sleep for even more hours.  then you wake up a couple hours later really hot and unhappy and maybe with a headache, so even though you should definitely get up, you decide more sleep would make you happier so you fall in even more deeply.  not fall in love, but asleep.  so you wake up an hour later, but this time you're really cold and you manage to be able to open one eye, but not the smooshed one you were sleeping on that now has a pillow line across through it.  there's a cold puddle on the pillowside of your face where you drooled and on the other corner of your mouth there's some sort of horrible crust.  again, this is too hard to deal with so you go back asleep.  you wake up another hour later because there is loud music or television coming from another room or loud horrible people outside somewhere.  this makes you mad so you decide to fall even harder asleep in anger.  you wake up later, but it's starting to get dark but you're also really hungry.  you weigh the idea of eating and of just going to sleep and waking up in the morning starving.  the weight presses on you so you go to more sleeps.  you wake up in the middle of the night, which is actually only ten o'clock.  and you feel horrible. 2 : when you diarrhea when you're sleeping

Sunday, April 17, 2011

netflix, i hardly know ye

Netflix.  Is kind of a devil.  It is red and pointy.  I know I previously extrapolated on why facebook Is the devil but I believe there can be more than one devil.  Who doesn't??  How else do we account for things like Apples to Apples, "chick lit," the phrase "chick lit," and the continuing careers of Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson?
But Netflix is what we're talking about here and today.  To reiterate - it's a kind of devil.  I feel like it is sticking me with a trident sometimes.  Or whatever.  A pitchfork is what I meant.  I could erase saying trident but I'm an honest person.  And so I can honestly say that right after writing trident I knew it was wrong.  Because I immediately thought of Ariel's father.
Anyway.  So.  I love movies and watching them.  I want to watch all sorts of different movies starring all sorts of different people sometimes acting, sometimes singing, sometimes dancing, sometimes animated, sometimes.  And so Netflix seems like it should be one of the best things in the world.  And it is.  You can watch a ton of movies whenever you feel like it right on your computer.  It's like the future is here or's pretty darn tootin' cool.


Sometimes.  I cannot make a decision to save my life.  Instant Watch ends up taking up all my time.  But most of that, sadly, is not spent watching movies.  It is perusing the hundreds of options available trying to decide what to watch.  I know you may be thinking this is why there is a Queue.  It has a numbered order that lets you set up what movie you want to watch and when.  This was true in the days when Netflix only mailed me my movies.  Alas and joyous raptures, that day is gone.  Now the Queue simply a means for me to stick every movie I might ever possibly maybe want to watch in a place so I don't forget about it.

Then I feel like watching a movie and I have the time.  So what do I do?  I go to my little Queue.  Which is enormous.  And start trying to pick something to watch.  Do I want comedy?  Tragedy?  Musical?  Animation?  Documentary?  Mockumentary?  Comedrama?  Mockutragimusimation?  I know - I do go on!  Some of those aren't even genres.  But, oh wait!  They probably are in Netflix.  Because if  Classic Witty Spy Movies and Cerebral Romantic Dramas can be a things, I think anything can be a thing.  Anyway.

I start flipping from movie to movie, thinking I need to watch that movie right now!  But I want to watch something sad - but wait, that television show I've seen a thousand times is so funny!  OH - but that movie is famous and I've told people I've seen so I should probably watch it.  OOH - NO - this movie is supposed to be just divine - decision made.  WAIT - it has subtitles and I'm sleepy.  This movie could be the one - it has a young Angela Lansbury in it!  YES.  Wait - it sounds scary and I don't want to be scared at night time.  OMGZ - New movies to watch instantly - I have to see what's new before I make any decisions!!!!  NO - STOP IT!  I will watch everything in my Queue in order.  Because I really should watch Auntie Mame, it's only been at the top for 18 months...

It's like letting a kid in the candy store and saying - you're going to get to eat all of this at some point for a very low price - now choose what candy you want to eat RIGHT NOW.  And that would be way easier, since the obvious answer would be a fistful of Charms lollipops and then a Butterfinger.  Then a Crunchie bar and next some Red Vines.  Then a Nutrageous and on to some Starburst.

The point of this whole ramble is that eating candy is a buttload of a lot more easy than watching movies.  And both activities have equally challenging processes of selection.  I hope you've all learned something here today.

Friday, April 8, 2011

for hobbes

I MISS MY DOG!  He is far away in Los Angeles.  Here are some of our moments. Because I know you're all very interested.

One of his tear ducts is stuck outside of his eyeball. 
I think he is still adorable!
He is very fat.
He likes to go to the bathroom indoors.
He loves bananas and avocados and doing the splits.
He hates being in the pool but loves being sprayed with a hose.  But only if it is for play.  Not if it is for cleaning him.

OH, HOBBES!  If only you could use the internet and see you now.
Let's all take a moment to remember one of our finer moments together

Thursday, April 7, 2011

it's (not) okay

Sometimes I get so mad.  I could just slap Sally Draper.

So, after reading Almie's post it got me to thinking of whether I apologize all the time.  And then I got sleepy and found some sweet corn cakes so the thinking about it kind of escaped me.  But other thinking sprang to mind!  I fall victim to another different yet similar pratfall - the "It's okay" or "No problem" or "Don't worry about it" or other similar phrasings.

This is perhaps equally as bad as apologizing.  As it is utilized when something has been done that is not okay or is a problem or is something people should worry about.  Be it a large problem or a small, I tend to forgive and excuse people's moronic actions.  Which is funny, because I will then sit on the unhappiness that was caused by it and let it fester OR, perhaps worse, will let people think what they're doing is okay and they get to feel fine about being inconsiderate turdlings.

For a small instance - I go into a nail place today without an appointment and they claim they can paint my nails right away.  I sit down and the lady then tells me it'll be about 5 minutes.  Five minutes pass and I ask what the deal is and they say it will just be a little longer.  Fifteen minutes later I sit there, pretending to have things to look at on my phone.  And as fascinating as it is for me to read about Icelandic hot dogs or pylsurs - and I'm not being sarcastic here because I really love hot dogs -
that's not what I go to a nail place for.  Reading about the world's hot dogs is an activity for a library or for while sitting on the toilet.  Not for a nail salon.  No, sir.  So anyway.  

The nail lady comes over to me with the basket of things they use to widdle away at and shine up the keratin on my phalanges.  And she says, "I'm sorry."  And I say, "It's okay."  And it's not okay!  I sat for 15-20 minutes like a boob!  Like a big old boob!  Like a droopy, low-hanging, crepey-textured boob!  I have things to do and can't just sit around all day waiting for people to do their jobs!  But I say it's okay because otherwise I just have to nod or something?  Which seems totally rude somehow.

Perhaps I am an "I'm sorry"-enabler.  People would stop apologizing for trivial things if other people stopped excusing them.  Like if that lady had just plopped her big ole butt down and said, "LET'S DO THIS!"  I would have said, "FINE."  Or if she hadn't apologized I wouldn't have had to pretend I wasn't irritated.  I know I don't have to say, "It's okay" but then what does one do??

I'm sorry for keeping you waiting.
You should be sorry!  Now wash and pretty my feet!

That's probably not an alright thing to say.  Maybe something more like

I'm sorry I lied and made you wait 20 minutes.
I'm sorry you weren't sorry 20 minutes ago!  Now PUMICE MY HEELS!

That somehow seems wrong to...what's a girl to do?  Because I'm a classy lady.  And I can't just snap at people?  Or say something like -

I'm sorry your feet have been pruning in lukewarm water for 15 minutes because we told you to stick them in there and you thought we'd actually do our job when we told you we would.
I appreciate your apology but you've totally ruined my ~*experience*~ but I'm too nice to just leave and/or give you a poopy tip for being a jerk liar.

So in that way, it is similar to an "I'm sorry" as it is possibly some sort of programmed lady-response.  Like we're supposed to be agreeable and compromising and kind about all sorts of crap.  And that was just my response in a low-stakes nail situation!  

I say "It's okay" to all kinds of apologies.  Like when people are a half hour late to meet me places or when a date "forgot" his credit card or when people say they'll do things that are important and then they don't.  And there is more!

And none of these were inconsequential.  They were consequential!  But I guess there's nothing else to do but say it's okay, is there?  I mean, am I gonna stay all angry and grudge-holding even if I don't say it's okay?  If I could come up with something else that would allow me to express and somehow release my anger... perhaps, "It's not okay, but if you bought me a cookie or baked me a cake in the image of myself that would start to make up for it."  Or, "That's fine that you're sorry but it's still a problem.  Invent a time machine and un-do you being so dumb.  Or just give me five bucks."

Or.  Perhaps:

"It's not okay, it is a problem and you should continue to worry about being rude.  You stink worse than a dirty dog that stinks of chicken soup and Doritos sitting in an old boot.  And you should know, that old boot was dredged from the LA River and then sat in a hot stew of old Indian food and rancid eggs for two weeks before being gummily mouthed by a mean hobo and then passed into the hands of a horribly sticky-handed child.  And I hate you."

Sometimes I just get mad.  And I stay mad.  I stay so mad I could just stuff Sally Draper in my plastic dry-cleaning bag.
I think that's okay.