Category — Mediated

I was not drunk at all, and I don’t recall any part of it, save Scarlett Johansson vanquishing an entire army of security agents with her thighs and hips. Oh, and I’ve had an increased thirst for Dr. Pepper, which I hate. My absolute favorite product tie-in to this movie, however, has to be for (I sh*t you not) Land O’Frost lunch meats…

Okay. To be fair, it wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity of Transformers 2. It’s biggest problem was that it just wasn’t in the vicinity of the first Iron Man. Still: ’splosions, a$$ kicking, one-liners, Scarlett Johansson and her thigh-fu, which I didn’t even know existed as a martial art form, popcorn, soda, and an unrelenting sense of “it feels like midnight” after leaving the theatre at about 9 p.m…

There you have it…

Things that I’ve been doing lately instead of maintaining the blog:

Hand-crafting metallic flowers with my lobster claw

Reading stuff

Writing stuff, old-school, with my new writin’ pen–have exhausted 1.5 ink cartridges and 1 full notebook’s worth of material

Listening to stuff

Watching stuff–couldn’t turn away while watching this last night. Oliver Stone’s version is so embarrassing now that you look back on it, isn’t it?

Avoiding stuff

Attempting to fix stuff (and failing, I might add–anyone know basic html stuff?)

Sipping stuff

And there’s probably more, but you get the idea…

I spent some of today wondering why the tip of my right thumb felt vaguely like it had been burned. I considered the usual suspects: thumb-tip cancer, MRSA, and possible early warning sign of Alzheimer’s. Then it dawned on me that Z and I had the Wii with us this weekend, and spent way too much of it doing battle on Mario Kart. So much so that on Friday night when I finally went to bed, I closed my eyes and saw the entire Moo Moo Meadows track flashing against my eyelids…

When I took Z to swim class at the Y this weekend, I noticed a makeshift memorial in the hallway near the locker rooms. It was for one of the teen swim instructors–this kid who helped out a couple times w/Z’s class. I asked the lady at the desk what happened, and she kind of brushed off the question. I went to my Super Phone, and found this article. Just heartbreaking, all around…

Finally, there is this: A brief history of the “ctrl + alt + delete” button, and a zzzzzzing at Bill Gates at the very end. It’s worth the minute:

This was the wrong week for me to watch this movie. But still. I ordered on PPV, and am happily conflicted that I did. Here’s what The Hurt Locker represents–the tip of an iceberg that will be realized perhaps ten or so years down the road. I’ve seen this waiting to happen in the classes I teach. There’s a trickling of students who are returning from Iraq/Afghanistan, and like the Vietnam war, you are going to start seeing more films/books about their experiences. Last semester, I had a student write one of the most poignant essays I’ve read to date about the minutiae of life at a camp in Iraq, which ended with the only explosion coming in the last line of the essay. It was brilliant. It was everything I’ve never read in Rolling Stone, the New Yorker, or whatever about being a soldier, and it came only a week before I showed the f-ing Kid Rock video about citizen soldiers at the beginning of our unit on rhetoric. So but anyway. The Hurt Locker might, might, might win Best Picture, though Jeremy Renner won’t likely win Best Actor (either may happen on the “sentimentality vote,” I suppose). The reason is that the characters in The Hurt Locker are more or less incidental to the action, which is a shame, but, again, we’re in for much more as shit unfolds. The subject matter alone is fairly strong–and brutally tense, heart-wrenching. I’ll be honest–in the hands of another director, you may have had a “best picture.” But to be even more honest, I don’t think this movie called for that. This is not a Spielbergian realism look at Iraq–he doesn’t have that in him for this war anyway. It was a fairly narrowly focused look at Iraq, and in the canon of what will become the “Iraq/Afghanistan War” movies, it will have its place near the top… Thoughts?

I saw this when I was in Indy last weekend. Truly, truly awful:

I was horrified to hear Z tell me that she has not one, but two loose teeth–her first loose baby teeth. It made me realize exactly how not a baby she is now. Then I got sad. Then I smiled thinking of how cute she’ll look w/a few missing teeth. Then I wondered what the going rate for the first missing tooth is these days? Like is there some kind of 1979-to-2010 conversion table, adjusted of course for inflation and market fluctuation? If we go based on what college costs now vs. just 15 years ago, she’s looking at about a 80-lb brick of solid gold bouillon valued at a few grand under her pillow. Wouldn’t that be nice? I did find this from PBS Parents, but didn’t think it was that helpful. Anyway, what if she swallows her first tooth, should she get more? Or maybe less because it’s considered a “tooth foul”? Either way, I’m sure the TF will be kind…

I lost my first tooth in first grade some time, and still remember the squeaking/sucking sound it made when I wiggled it back and forth with my tongue before I took a wadded up piece of tissue and yanked it out…

Other related links: Missing Toof–an electro-/urban music blog…
Dentistry.com–find a dentist in your area…
The Tooth Fairy movie reviews & show times…
The clip from The Hangover where Stu realizes he’s missing a tooth…
A picture of Mike Tyson, smiling…

#90 (!!!!)…

If ever there were a weekend to be snowbound in Indy, this would be the one. Among the dozens of cars spun out in ditches or in the medians on the way here, almost all sported those window flags with the Colts horseshoe. Z and I are here to celebrate the cousin’s b-day…

I loved last night’s Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger. In case you missed it:

I’m no survival expert, but even I know that leaping 100 feet into a pool of water, the depth of which you tested with a rock/vine apparatus, is a poor plan. Further, I cannot trust you because you insist on adding an extra “-tated” at the end of “disorient” and “orient.” That’s just poor grammar, sir, your place of birth aside. How can I trust that you know what you’re doing when you say that “we need to get orientated.” Perhaps we need to get “oriented?” Is that what you meant? And then there’s your pole-vaulting technique for getting down a mountain. Surely walking poses less of a threat to your ankles? I don’t know. It’s just that in every episode, you insist on getting naked and/or drinking your own pee in the name of “survival.” Well, sir, we have a name for people like that around here–all of whom are registered with the local authorities and cannot step w/in 100 yards of any schools…

Z passed her swim test this morning, and officially graduated to Starfish A–a more advanced (and expensive) set of classes. We celebrated this victory–borne of at least a dozen “bobs” (head all the way under the water, then back up), a couple of hard-fought circuits with the foam bubble on, and at least three solo jumps into the water–with a pajama party at home. She created invitations, a menu, a series of games. PJs were required, so I did as I was told. By 3:30 this afternoon, it was clear that we weren’t going to change out of our pajamas, and after a couple of rounds of SpongeBob Sorry, Z said, “Daddy, can we just stay in pajamas all day today? This is really comfy.” Of course! If I could, I’d wear jammies all day, every day. To work. Meetings. Presentations. Honestly, I think the world would be a much better place if we all donned loungewear all day…

Anyway, part of the day was interrupted by a Phineas & Ferb marathon. I love this cartoon. One of my favorite characters is the doe-eyed Isabella Garcia-Shapiro, a Mexican Jewish girl, as her name would suggest. Today, one of the episodes had this bit about Mrs. Garcia-Shapiro going to the Mexican-Jewish Cultural Festival, and it contained this number. Oy-lay:

#81

in my building. It was very nice of them, I thought… This is my new TV night, since I’m teaching on Tuesdays. So… Gotta run…

#79