Daily Haiku for February 7, 2008

Definitely NOT Steve.

Saw my new workspace,

I shall now craft a password.

Few will be welcome.

Word of the Day

susurrus- (n.) A soft, whispering or rustling sound; a murmur.

"Celine sighed softly shuttering a soft susurrical sound satisfactorily."

Daily Haiku for February 6, 2008

Another one?!!?

People come and go

So very quickly round here

Goodbye, Melissa :(

Word of the Day

perfidious- (adj.) deliberately faithless; treacherous; deceitful.

"Piolonius' pathetic perfidiousness pre-empted Pandora's proudly preening pretention of Piolonius' palatable perfection."

Daily Haiku for February 5, 2008

Perhaps It's The Awesome Tights I'm Wearing

For some weird reason

Wearing a skirt and knee boots

Makes me smile today.

Word of the Day

apocryphal- (adj.) of doubtful authorship or authenticity.

"Ahab's apocryphal addendum's added amusing alibis to Alexandre's altruistic appedices."

"Reviews of Movies You've Already Seen"

No. 1: Shoot 'Em Up

By: Everyman

“Holy fuckin’ fuck, dude. Did you see that shit? First, that guy’s just sittin’, hangin’ out. No big deal right? Then this hot ass pregnant chick comes runnin’ down the street and DUDE, I’m tellin’ you, for a knocked-up chick, she was fuckin’ HAWT. Like that bitch from Gay’s Anatomy but, like, totally hotter. And then bad-ass Owen, man he just sits there till some skinny-ass fuck comes runnin’ after the knocked up chick. Game over, man. That dude is fuckin’ ended.

So that Owen dude, man, he just strolls right in after the skinny-fuck, and shoves a god-damned carrot into his fuckin’ eye. Shit! The he takes the gun from the pregnant bitch as all these Black Ops fucks start shooting up the place. Next thing you know Owen and the chick are running like crazy, shooting everything in sight, and she fuckin’ pops the kid out all before getting shot in the head. So Owen, he, like, takes the kid. What the fuck!? Leave that shit and run, dude! But no, takes the kid and fuckin’ jets. So that fat guy from Sideways (shuddup man, my girlfriend made me watch it. Fuck wine!) gets all pissed off and starts chasing down Clive Owen. Now, seriously? Owen is a scary fucker, all carrots and accent and fucking guns out the ASS. Why the fuck anyone would chase him, fucked if I know. BUT GET THIS. Owen goes to a whore house and starts hangin’ out with that chick from the Matrix movies. No, asshat, not Trinity. Skinny ass dyke. The chick from the second one, with the tits. Yeah, Monica Bellwhatshername. Fuckin’ HAWT, dude. Owen’s all, ‘Take the kid,’ but her fine ass won’t, so then the fat fuck comes in and starts shootin’ up the place and burning her with the barrel of his gun. DUDE, so freakin’ close to a crotch shot. Fuck yeah!

Oh man, and the cars! Fuckin’ Owen keeps stealing cars, yeah? Nothing but BMWs. Nice as hell and he destroys the FUCK outta them.

But yeah, shit goes down and they end up fucking DURING a shoot-out. Like, Big Titties is all, 'Yes! yes!' while homeboy is all, 'No you don't, fuckers!' shooting up the joint and makin' her scream. Dude is a fucking MAN's man. And I SWEAR I saw nipple, dude. Swear to effin' GAWD. Dude, fuckin' awesome movie."

Daily Haiku for February 1, 2008

Tonight, I will dine

in Hell! Well, not really, no.

Rather, my kitchen.

Word of the Day

cloyed- (v.) To cause distaste or disgust by supplying with too much of something originally pleasant, especially something rich or sweet; surfeit.

"Claudia's cloistered class crassly cloyed caffienated coffees causing caustic candors."

Oh Yes, One More Thing...

Star Wars Edition
"That's What She Said!"

clickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelink
clickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelink
clickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelink
clickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelinkclickthelink.

That's One Way To Start Your Friday

For the last year (almost exactly) I have started my Friday mornings by listening to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" as a way to stave off the end of the week malaise caused by a soul crushing job. Granted that this time last year I was working in a job I absolutely LOVED, hanging out with asshole teenagers all day and making the most obscure references possible whilst re-enacting trench and/or guerrilla warfare, but that's besides the point.

I still follow this strict Friday morning ritual, having added to the playlist the following tunes:

"Lady" by Styx
"Final Countdown" by Europe
"Any Way You Want It" by Journey
"Mr. Blue Sky" by ELO
"Come Sail Away" by Styx
and
"Cold As Ice" by Foreigner

I have also added to the mix two roommates who seem to enjoy these fist-pumping songs almost as much as I do. In fact, I find it hard to imagine any Friday morning without the scrubs laden ER Nurse and X-Ray Tech air-guitaring and jump kicking their way through the house along with my high-heeled Legal Assistant self, all of us using various kitchen utensils as microphones (I myself tend to favor the pancake spatula as I find it offers an excellent rotund shape reminiscent of the olde-timey microphones the likes of which Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday once crooned their lovelies into).

This ritual, as odd as it may seem, has replaced the Early Morning Shower Concerto (See: Ferris Bueller's Day Off) and is followed by the A.M. Commute Symphony in G(as) in order to guarantee an excellent start to my Friday mornings sitting in the corner of my vanilla colored office where my co-workers seem to think I am either a) deaf, b) nonchalant and as thick-skinned as a rhinoceros, or c) so absolutely retarded that I don't know what it means when their voices drop as I enter a room and the guilty stares begin darting everywhere but to my face.

Oh yes, and things like this make my Fridays bearable as well:

That's What She Thinks or A Short Musing on Building Design in Relation To the Probability of Their Being Struck by an Aeroplane

In discussing the fact that the office of the Garcia Law Firm is located at 1 World Trade Center in Long Beach, my coworker regaled us with a story about a man who refused to deliver things to this building, requiring her to meet him at the Starbucks down the street. Now, I must admit I see the obscure reasoning behind this as since the infamous 9/11 the words "world” “trade” and “center" have struck fear into the most paranoid of hearts in these great United States of ‘Merica; what logic I find more difficult to follow is this:

“It’s not like our building is tall enough to even get struck by an airplane.”

Let us think about that statement for a moment while allowing the various images of airplanes striking low lying buildings such as tumble down shacks in Tennessee badlands, hangars in Taiwan, and four-storey government buildings in Virginia. Got those in your mind, now permanently seared into your retina? Good, so I repeat:

“It’s not like our building is tall enough to even get struck by an airplane.”

Apparently, and until now unknown to me, there exists a magical height, an optimal elevation if you will, for buildings that wish to “fly under the radar” (forgive the awfulness) of passing aeroplanes. Also, apparently, this optimal level of stories wherein a building is sure not to be struck by a mass of steel and gasoline propelling towards them at ungodly speeds is somewhere between five (the level of above ground floors of the Pentagon) and twenty-seven (the topmost floor of the Long Beach World Trade Center). According to the logic of my coworker, buildings within this range are sure never to be struck by the aforementioned mass of metal and flammable substances hurling towards them at ungodly speeds.

Therefore, the safest building height to ensure one is not brought to an early demise by a carelessly gone astray TWA flight is that of sixteen floors. Those of you working in buildings that rest below or above this limit line must forthwith begin a move towards more appropriate structures to ensure a long lived life in this wonderful country of ours. Remember, masses of metal and flammable substances hurling towards buildings are truly fickle creatures who cannot be bothered with mid-height run-of-the-mill structures. They either go for the gold of the low-lying, or the easily attainable Babellian Towers mocking the skies.

Daily Haiku for January 31, 2008

It slaughters the kidneys, Ma.

Why is it every

lady in this office likes

to eat Super Mex?

Word of the Day

opuscle- (n.) a small or minor work; a literary or musical work of small size.

"Orlando's oppressions observed obsequious ostracizations opposing opuscular orchestrations."

Daily Haiku for January 30, 2008

You know, this just puts

a big sinking feeling in

the pit of my tum.

LINK

Word of the Day

expatriate- (v.)

1.	to banish (a person) from his or her native country.

2.	to withdraw (oneself) from residence in one's native country.

3.	to withdraw (oneself) from allegiance to one's country.

"I find myself wanting to expatriate once again until this muddled mess is worked out."

Oh, CNN...

Every now and then I am happy to traipse across the frontpage of of CNN.com- on those rare days where Britney does not make the headlines, one is almost guaranteed a clever report on the balance of the international economics system, a witty tirade against a leading academic institution, or perhaps, an intelligent commentary on the current political schema of the United States:




"The Clinton's Double-Team Obama". I didn't know the Littlerock Slammer required a bonafide safety words these days. Touche, Bill. Accolades, Hillary.

CNN, you make me proud to be an American who wishes to expatriate once again. Spiegel.de, here I come.

Daily Haiku for January 25, 2008

I am not at work
today, suckers! Ha ha ha
Ha ha ha ha ha!!!

Word of the Day
proclivity- (n.) natural or habitual inclination or tendency; propensity; predisposition
"Petraus' proclivitous proclamations propounded previously proven properties."

Stick is a Dirty Rat Bastard

Daily Haiku for January 24, 2008

Mmmm...CPK

Today I choose lunch.
We shall have true wonderness.
I shall not share mine.

Word of the Day
abstemious- (adj.) sparing or moderate in eating and drinking; temperate in diet.
"Abigail's addiction to adverse abbreviates allowed for abstemiously alotted abstractions."

Jedi PostMaster

For those of you who are unawares, this year marks the 30th Anniversary of a film that took the world by storm. Star Wars, that mighty behemoth of science ficton perfection, celebrates its birthday. As such, the United States Postal Service has seen fit to ceremonialize this mighty milestone. They have scattered about the nation, in 200 cities, a tribute which will, I am sure, ignite the joys and loves of Star Wars and Post loving souls alike. Look carefully readers, for if you do, you too will see one of the 400 R2D2 mailboxes gracing corners and post offices throughout this free-loving land of ours, ever ready to receive your messages and deliver them with a care equal to that exacted upon delivering Leia's message to Obi Wan.



For those of you who choose to undertake the Quest For R2D2, here is a handy-dandy map I located on the mighty Interweb for your aid. That having been said, fare thee well Star Tourists! Go out in search of R2D2! Find him, and give him a hug to show your love and solidarity with the Rebel Alliance!

Braaaaaiiiinnnnssssss....

As I was (edit: AM) a huge fan of Danny Boyles 2002 Zombie venture, 28 Days Later, I was noticeably excited when heresay of a sequel began to rumble about a year or so ago. Well, the first trailer is up, and while it looks like the same old same old Zombie fare, I must say, I'll pay by $8.00 for this one. Maybe its merely the Zombies, maybe its the cast inclusion of Robert Carlyle and what sounds like the dulcet tones of Kelly McDonald in a VO, or maybe it's simply the beautiful use of the bombastic MUSE in the bombastic trailer. Who really knows. For those of you who are lazy, here's the trailer spot for 28 Weeks Later (oh how I love YouTube):

OkieQuest 2K7: Day One

OkieQuest 2K7: Day One
The Crusade For The Plains

8:22- We leave the house.
8:45- Stuck under the 55/5 Interchange.
8:51- See upside down car and possible death.
8:52- Finally going more than .05mph.

Our California Escape Route: 55 north-> 91 east-> 15 east-> 40 east.

9:06- Enter Riverside County. Abandon all hope.
9:21- Frau nails her funny bone on a box of Kleenex and is temporarily incapacitated.
9:35- Britta's ears pop; we enter the dreaded Cajon Pass (sadly, we are girl and have no Cajones).

9:45- PEEING. Postcard purchase #1. Gas up: $32.41
9:50- Roll out schon wieder!
9:55- Elevation 4000ft.
9:59- Elevation 4190ft.
10:24- Talk about boys. Discuss their dumbness.
10:31- Reach genesis of I-40. Officially on our way through the vast empitness of the Southwest.

10:35- Hearse.

10:37- Car Rave! Essential to desert travel.
11:02- Star Wars Disco. The desert is hot. Nothing but dirt and rocks surround us.

11:32- Still hot. Still nothing but dirt and rocks.
11:53- Talk about boys, again.
12:04- Big Eff-Off hill to the Colorado River Valley. Frau's ears pop.
12:08- We beak out the (Cheese) Nips!
12:14- Needles, CA. Britta shares a deep dark family story. We are afraid. Radio plays Bittersweet Symphony. Hurrah! Richard Ashcroft!

12:29- ARIZONA!!!



12:41- PEEING
12:58- Souixsie & The Banshees Sing-a-Long
13:30- Subway Samwiches in Kingman. Britta gets an extra cookie for FREE because she is the awesome. Frau forgets the word for "M&M" and gets an Oatmeal Raisin cookie instead.
-Pass the last In 'n' Out. We have truly left civilization for the time being until the first Sonic is sighted.
-Frau impaled by the passenger seat.

13:49- Subway had said they were out of White Chocolate Chip cookies. We realize Britta's free cookie is indeed White Chocolate Chip. Ego Boost= 10 pts.

13:56- 4000ft!
14:03- 5000ft!
14:55- Call Graham and ask which city, exactly, was built on rock 'n' roll. He decrees said metropolis is indeed Seattle.

15:35- 6000ft!
15:39- Slow Okie drivers anger us.
16:15- Scary Arizona power plant. Somewhere, Wolverine is pondering his own existence in an existential manner. Verily.

16:35- Gas, PEEING.
16:40- Roadside Dinosaurs. AWESOME!!!


16:41- We believe we have 3hrs. left until Albuquerque.
16:57- Frau "Coog'd" herself. (see: Tristram Shandy, a Cock and Bull Story)
16:58- Ash (!!) on a random CD
17:18- Horse on the roadside taking a poo.
17:28- Flaming Lips play on CD. Frau dances and claps her hands happily. Red Cliffs appear.
17:37- NEW MEXICO!!!


17:38- Train blows his whistle at us in a jovial greeting. New Mexico= Friendliest State EVAR!!!
17:42- 19:03- Talk about boys.
19:03- Road makes our bums tickle.
19:05- Almost die.
20:07- Arrive in Albuquerque.
20:21- Walk to Target. Car is overrated as of right now.
20:33- Photograph storefronts.


21:01- Return to Quality Inn & Suites to dine on Lean Cuisine.
22:33- Britta realizes she may have contracted fleas from Aubrey's cats. Pussies.
22:55- Typing.
21:00- Sleeping as if dead.

This... Is...SPAR-TAAAAAAAAAAAAARD!!

Perhaps it is because I do not find overly adorned, lean, glimmering Tranny men to be intimidating. Perhaps it is because overly CG'd movies leave me thinking, "...and?" Maybe it's because I am a girl and thus cannot possibly "get" war movies. Perhaps it's because I have yet to read Miller/Snyder's 300, thus rounding out my knowledge of all things Graphic Novel God-like-ish that is the offspring of Frank Miller.

Now let me discount a few things. I am wary of war movies after the viewing fiasco that was Gladiator. Yeah, awesome movie, blood, guts and gore abound. But what else? I am a girl, it's true, but I am also a highly critical and well versed girl who prides herself on having seen a wide multitude of films ranging from the sugary sweet cookie cutter RomComs, to the gritty Asian imports from where our current torture-porn fetish stems (The Audition, anyone?). Therefore, as a girl, I feel I actually do "get" war movies. They may not be my favorite genre as I tend towards dark humor, philosophical pieces, 80's B-movies and zombies, but I feel I have a good "judge-o-meter" if you will.

Thus, I have to say, 300 left something to be desired. It was most definitely a lot of flash and bang for my buck (or seven bucks, if we must be efficient), and it fulfilled my girlish desires to see hundreds of washboard abs running my way in tight little hot-pants continuing the wonderful sight with phallic spear thrusts. As for content, however, I felt as if the style superceded this most basic of plot motivating needs. Before you get all snippity, I realize the plot is very basic. Here it is, for those of you in the back (SPOILER ALERT. Why? Cuz I'm a jerk.):

Act I
Xerxes is a jerk. He wants Sparta because it's full of hot men and scantily clad women plucked from the premium crop of the gene pool. King Leonidus wants to fight him. He asks creepy Hills Have Eyes/Lepers from a Mel Gibson Nightmare Priests. Gratuitous soft core scene involving a pale oracle. They say no. He leaves. That dude from Mona Lisa Smile shows us he's evil. Enter dramatic irony.

Act II
Leonidus goes "walking" with 300 of the best soldiers. The Mona Lisa Dude is angry. Rawr. They meet the Acadians, who suck at war, but are good cannon fodder, to use an anachronistic phrase. Queen Gorgo is sad. She doesn't show it. Soldiers are angry when they see a body tree. They head to the Hot Gates. Enter prideful boasts on either side. Didn't these people ever read Oedipus? Agamemnon? Medea? Here's a hint: Hubris? BAD IDEA PAL. Little spat, enter King Xerxes, the kind of guy every Judith Butler reading transvestite in Manhattan aspires to be. Hubris, hubris, hubris, hubris... fight fight fight, death death death. Gorgo gets raped.

Act III
At this point is anyone really even paying attention anymore? It's one mute colored scene after another, and my eyes can only handle so much brown, gold, bronze, and scarlet before I begin to think I need to see an optometrist. Gorgo goes to the Senate and begs for troops to help. Cut back to battle and we have a highly predictable death (seriously, the youngest guy on the squad? Was that supposed to be a surprise? Maybe y'all shouldnt focus on him too much throughout the whole damn move. AND WHAT THE HELL was with the whole Gimli/Legolas report between those guys?) that incenses the men to keep fighting, but this time to take it seriously. Back at the Spartan Ranch, Whats-His-Nuts announces Gorgo is an adultress. She gets pissed and FINALLY we see what the Spartan women are so famous for. She runs him through with a thrust that would make Blackbeard squeal like an excited 13 yr old who just saw Justin Timberlake waving in the TRL window. Coins fly out of his bedsheet outfit covered in Xerxes' face. The traitorous fiend.

Meanwhile, back in the beach, the Spartans attempt one last unleashing of hell (wait... that was Gladiator...not 300. Silly me). They die an honorable death. Ho-hum.

The End.

So now that I've torn the movie apart, let me say a few more things.
1. It's not a bad movie. Not at all. It's simply that one spends the entire 117min. thinking to themself, "haven't I seen this before?"
2. I still have yet to read the graphic novel, and as is usually the case, my opinion will change upon reading it. From what I understand it was mostly taken word for word from Miller's original book and scenes.
3. I didn't care about any of the characters, or know their names, which is a major downside. If you don't care about the characters, how can you care about the plot? The Events? The Outcome?
3. Gerard Butler has definetly created a nice niche for himself in Hollywood: He goes from one homicidal cape wearing maniac in a mask to playing a homicidal cape wearing maniac in a helmet.
4. Those men had more MAC make-up on their stomachs than a Tyra Banks photo shoot.
5. This is my opinion, allow me to have it. I'll glady listen to yours.

The Top Ten List (#1)

As we were discussing the awesomely Broadway-tastic GAP commercial starring Claire Danes and Patrick Wilson, the following exchange occurred:

Me (7:51:42 PM): CURLY!!!
Me (7:51:46 PM): on broadway!!!
Frau (7:52:11 PM): oh the curly
Frau (7:53:10 PM): would you say he's the best musical romantic hero?

Which got us thinking. Who are the Top Ten Musical Romantic Heroes? Being the absolute nerd I am, I perused the annals of musical theatre and composed the following list. A few requirements:

-Romance must be involved, whether it's a happy ending or not.
-Exceptionally selfish reasons get you kicked off the list (ie. Sir Percy Blakeney)
-The musical must have been performed on Broadway (my regrets to Newsies,
State Fair and Daddy Long Legs).
- The actions of the Romantic Male Lead must fulfill the "awwwww" factor.

The Top Ten Musical Romantic Heroes

1. Curly- Oklahoma
2. Seymour- Little Shop Of Horrors
3. Tommy- Brigadoon
4. Sky Masterson- Guys 'n' Dolls
5. Arthur, Lancelot- Camelot
6. Caracatus Potts- Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
7. Petruchio- Kiss Me, Kate!
8. Oscar Lindquist- Sweet Charity
9. Sir Harry- Once Upon A Mattress
10. J. Bowden Hapgood- Anyone Can Whistle

any thoughts? nominees?

No Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!

I understand the topic surrounding this picture is serious and somber, and the mistreatment of anyone who has been hospitalized is a heinous act, but seriously, when your defendant looks like a Bond Villian from Thunderball...or Danger Mouse, I simply cannot take you seriously.





HE'S TERRIFIC,
HE'S MAGNIFIC,
HE'S THE GREATEST SECRET AGENT IN THE WORLD. DANGERMOUSE, POWER HOUSE.