So you can tell I'm stressing because I have not been going ON AND ON about the new Star Trek movie coming out this week. But it is! And I am SO EXCITED. The only reason I can deduce that I'm excited is that most of the cool dorks in the geek world who have already seen it seem to love it.
Because with trailers like this:
I should be appalled. But instead, I totally cannot wait. Tomorrow night. 7pm, it's on. Oh yes.
And we're hitting the chain in town with the best sound and pic--I'm expecting to be blown away and will accept nothing less.
Jesus, I can't believe I'm exited about something J.J. Abrams is associated with. Not to mention someone let him put his hands on Star Trek--maybe multiple wrongs can somehow make a right? We shall see...
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
He's so far in the closet he's in Narnia.
Oh. My. God. I just...um...bought an apartment online. It's on the eighth floor of a twelve-story building (I'm pretty sure they have an elevator, ha ha) and is one of the units with a view of the Boston skyline.
I really, really hope this turns out to be one of those bold, impulsive decisions you're really glad you made and not the kind where all you do is think, "The HELL was I smoking?" Buying an apartment sight unseen? But much research and comparative shopping later, this is the place for me.
The train station directly across the street was a pretty major selling point as well.
But mostly, I was imagining that when I'm eating beans and dust bunnies, I'd have a really great view.
I really, really hope this turns out to be one of those bold, impulsive decisions you're really glad you made and not the kind where all you do is think, "The HELL was I smoking?" Buying an apartment sight unseen? But much research and comparative shopping later, this is the place for me.
The train station directly across the street was a pretty major selling point as well.
But mostly, I was imagining that when I'm eating beans and dust bunnies, I'd have a really great view.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
I don't believe in a God but I'm almost positive I just shit out the devil.
This Texts From Last Night site is hysterical, it is really making my night.
I'm actually researching where to live in Boston, so this is a fabulous distraction.
I'm actually researching where to live in Boston, so this is a fabulous distraction.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Yes we McCann
Some years ago, I remember seeing an artist's representation of all those too-fast-to-live rock stars, and how they’d look if they’d made it into their 50s and 60s. I was particularly taken by Jimi Hendrix who, had he lived to take part the Miles Davis collaboration that still captures the imagination of people who like noodly jazz-funk-rock fusion with occasional loud bits, would now look like Lester Freamon from The Wire. Apparently.
Of course, these reconstructions can have a practical benefit, especially when it comes to working out what missing children might look like. If Madeleine McCann is still alive she will now be six years old, and her parents have released an image depicting what she might look like. Of course, what they’re really doing is acknowledging that, what with the credit crunch and Jade Goody and swine flu and Susan Boyle and everything, even the mid-market tabloids had completely forgotten about her, so they needed a useful gimmick to get her back on our radar, if not to the days when her fate was so central to our very existence.
In the absence of anything approaching solid evidence, I guess they’ll be commissioning similar images every couple of years, and the media will feel duty bound to publish them. They know what sells.
So, in 12 years’ time, will we be able to enjoy reconstructions of what Madeleine McCann might look like, pissed and bleary, snapped from the gutter, as she stumbles out of a nightclub with her knickers on display?
Of course, these reconstructions can have a practical benefit, especially when it comes to working out what missing children might look like. If Madeleine McCann is still alive she will now be six years old, and her parents have released an image depicting what she might look like. Of course, what they’re really doing is acknowledging that, what with the credit crunch and Jade Goody and swine flu and Susan Boyle and everything, even the mid-market tabloids had completely forgotten about her, so they needed a useful gimmick to get her back on our radar, if not to the days when her fate was so central to our very existence.
In the absence of anything approaching solid evidence, I guess they’ll be commissioning similar images every couple of years, and the media will feel duty bound to publish them. They know what sells.
So, in 12 years’ time, will we be able to enjoy reconstructions of what Madeleine McCann might look like, pissed and bleary, snapped from the gutter, as she stumbles out of a nightclub with her knickers on display?
Friday, May 1, 2009
Here I am, the victim of my own choices. And I'm just starting.
Boston it is!
And I mean it this time! I think.
If I get angsty, I'll just scroll down and look at that River Phoenix shot...
I didn't feel like having my picture taken with those sub-humans.
So the bonus to being out sick for a day is getting to catch up on movie-watching. I've been watching TV shows lately, due to packing and whatnot. So yesterday I got home, curled up and watched Running On Empty, which I'd never seen and really knew nothing about, except that it was River Phoenix's sole Oscar nomination (for Best Supporting Actor, which he lost to Kevin Kline in A Fish Called Wanda. Phoenix was great in the film, but nothing tops Otto.)
Ok, first of all, there should have been some sort of warning that Running On Empty features River Phoenix with longish hair, wearing glasses, and playing the piano. I mean, a girl needs warning. I'm not even sure I can remember what the movie was about.
Ok, I guess I do. His parents were wanted by the FBI for blowing up a napalm lab during Vietnam, mostly due to a janitor (who wasn't supposed to be there) being blinded and paralyzed by the explosion. So every two years or so, the whole family packs up, moves, and changes their names. But now he's almost 18, falls in love with Martha Plimpton (whom I've always really enjoyed), and one of his teachers gets him to audition for Juilliard (who, of course, totally want him). It veers off into drama! here and there, but it makes it work.
I actually really enjoyed the whole thing and wouldn't mind seeing it again in the future.
Then I popped in a Bogart film I'd never seen, All Through the Night. Now, I realize it's silly to say it's dated, since it's from 1941, but sometimes films are more dated than others, regardless of when they came out. You know, in that painful kind of way. Really, the whole thing was fine, very enjoyable. I'm not so sure I'd need to see it again, but it was entertaining. Beating up Nazis (especially with Peter Lorre co-starring) is always a good time.
_NRFPT_04.jpg)
I also know I very badly want to answer the phone, "Yeah, what is it, Obnoxious?" But only if I could be Humphrey Bogart when I did it.
Ok, first of all, there should have been some sort of warning that Running On Empty features River Phoenix with longish hair, wearing glasses, and playing the piano. I mean, a girl needs warning. I'm not even sure I can remember what the movie was about.
Ok, I guess I do. His parents were wanted by the FBI for blowing up a napalm lab during Vietnam, mostly due to a janitor (who wasn't supposed to be there) being blinded and paralyzed by the explosion. So every two years or so, the whole family packs up, moves, and changes their names. But now he's almost 18, falls in love with Martha Plimpton (whom I've always really enjoyed), and one of his teachers gets him to audition for Juilliard (who, of course, totally want him). It veers off into drama! here and there, but it makes it work.
I actually really enjoyed the whole thing and wouldn't mind seeing it again in the future.
Then I popped in a Bogart film I'd never seen, All Through the Night. Now, I realize it's silly to say it's dated, since it's from 1941, but sometimes films are more dated than others, regardless of when they came out. You know, in that painful kind of way. Really, the whole thing was fine, very enjoyable. I'm not so sure I'd need to see it again, but it was entertaining. Beating up Nazis (especially with Peter Lorre co-starring) is always a good time.
_NRFPT_04.jpg)
I also know I very badly want to answer the phone, "Yeah, what is it, Obnoxious?" But only if I could be Humphrey Bogart when I did it.
Antonin Scalia is a monkey fighter and he can suck my lozenge
It’s not often I find myself rooting for the Murdoch empire, but when it comes to Fox TV’s challenge to the US Federal Communications Commission policy on swearing, I’m in the same corner as nasty old Rupe.
Essentially, in the wake of St Bono offering up a wee swearie at the Golden Globes in 2003, the FCC elected to operate a zero tolerance policy against bad language on network TV. This extends even to so-called “fleeting expletives”, usually unplanned, unscripted moments on live TV when an inadvertent flip or blimey slips out, the verbal equivalent of Janet Jackson’s nipple. And now the Supreme Court has voted 5-4 to uphold the Commission’s judgement.
The most vociferous of the anti-rudeness judges is the charming Antonin Scalia, who suggests that references to “sexual or excretory activities” trump any footling need to uphold the First Amendment. Now, I’ve never quite understood what’s wrong with sexual or excretory activities. I’m not sure where Justice Scalia thinks his nine children came from: maybe the stork brought them; maybe the same stork then removed all his bodily wastes when he wasn’t looking. But personally, given the choice between Scalia’s bumptious primness, and a clapped-out rock star saying “fuck”, I know which one I find obscene. The only good thing about the man is his passing resemblance to the Angelo Muscat (the butler in The Prisoner).
And without resorting to sneering generalisations, I think it’s useful to point out that on British television, this is a joke; in the States, this is reality.
Essentially, in the wake of St Bono offering up a wee swearie at the Golden Globes in 2003, the FCC elected to operate a zero tolerance policy against bad language on network TV. This extends even to so-called “fleeting expletives”, usually unplanned, unscripted moments on live TV when an inadvertent flip or blimey slips out, the verbal equivalent of Janet Jackson’s nipple. And now the Supreme Court has voted 5-4 to uphold the Commission’s judgement.
The most vociferous of the anti-rudeness judges is the charming Antonin Scalia, who suggests that references to “sexual or excretory activities” trump any footling need to uphold the First Amendment. Now, I’ve never quite understood what’s wrong with sexual or excretory activities. I’m not sure where Justice Scalia thinks his nine children came from: maybe the stork brought them; maybe the same stork then removed all his bodily wastes when he wasn’t looking. But personally, given the choice between Scalia’s bumptious primness, and a clapped-out rock star saying “fuck”, I know which one I find obscene. The only good thing about the man is his passing resemblance to the Angelo Muscat (the butler in The Prisoner).
And without resorting to sneering generalisations, I think it’s useful to point out that on British television, this is a joke; in the States, this is reality.
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