Holy moaning macaroni. Does nobody know about the LAW OF NATURE that states that if you are NOT QUIET in a movie during the show that I will slay you??
Oh yeah, I almost forgot:
If you sprinkle when you tinkle, wipe the gd seat. Sheesh.
If you were like me, you grew up in an era where the USSR was the big bad guy and movies like The Day After scared the pee out of you. You cut your video game teeth on Missile Command and fretted along with Matthew Broderick when he accidentally set the WOPR off on a game of Global Thermonuclear War. How about a nice game of chess?
This auction is for the item that meant life or death; nuclear winter or apple pie and the American way.
I am so tempted. But what will it mean in 50 years? Nothing, really. My kids won’t understand the deep and primal fear I feel deep down inside of me when I see them. To them it will be as mementos of JFK’s assassination were to me. Yes, mom, that’s just swell. Any cartoons on?
My four year old did something the other day that was truly sweet. It was the first time she had done something specifically just to make me happy. She and her little sister had been upstairs playing in the bedrooms with a toy vacuum cleaner. A while later she came downstairs and watched a video. She came up to me and put her hand on my knee and whispered to me that she had a surprise for me when we went upstairs for bedtime. I was a little distracted and mmm-hmmmmm’ed at her and forgot all about it. Half an hour later we went up and I went to her closet to pick out her school clothes for the next day. She waited patiently and quietly behind me, then when I was done said that I had forgotten about her surprise. She said I had to close my eyes and she would lead me to it, so I did, and she held my hand and led me down the hall to our bedroom and said I could open them. I didn’t see anything, and I didn’t want to upset her, but I had to ask what I was looking for.
“Look, Mommy! I took the vacuum cleaner and vacuumed the whole room for you, and now it’s all nice and clean for you to walk on!”
I just melted. Hub whispered to me, “What a crappy gift,” and I smacked him. I thought it was glorious.
I hate our mailman. He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of Enchanted Rock. He does stuff like write “Return to sender, addressee unknown” on our mail. Once with an insurance bill, causing the cancellation of our auto insurance. He likes to leave packages in the grass by the mailbox for the sprinklers to water. He’s rude. Today I got a poster and it was too long for the mailbox, so instead of walk to the house to deliver it, the lazy bastard leaves it hanging out of the mailbox and uses a rubber band on the handle to keep it a little bit closed. When he brings us a package, he’s supposed to bring the mail too but he never does. Our old postlady used to stack our mail with the big stuff on the bottom and small stuff on top so it was easier to pick up. Not this guy. He crams it in there with great force, causing our envelopes and magazines to crumple. At Christmastime he sent us a card with a little happy note, otherwise known as begging for cash. That’s something he’s not supposed to do.
The problem is, it doesn’t matter how much we complain. Our neighbor complains too – she hates him. But, he’s disabled, and he’s a minority, and he fulfills a quota, so they can’t fire him. The local postmaster said this.
How sweet a deal is that? Be an incompetent bastard all day, every day, and keep the job! Woo!
Every time I see Signs, I can’t get over how incredible it is. The storytelling, acting, score, effects – they were all superb. The police officer’s subdued empathy. The brother’s wish to redeem himself. The father’s acceptance of the inevitable. The change from minor to major key at the turning point of the movie. It’s in my top 5 of all-time favorites.
Sarah from Tomato Nation is on a quest to Find Don. Don was her “disaster buddy”, whom she spent the better part of the morning of 9/11 with in downtown Manhattan. She would like to find him again and talk to him. If you know a guy named Don, black, trim build, from Jersey City, birthday of September 11, let her know so she can get in touch with him.
If you can take it, her account of her experiences on 9/11 is masterfully written. Very intense, though, so don’t read it if you don’t think you can handle it.
This photoessay is written by a woman who grew up in the USSR and now rides her motorcycle around the Russian countryside. Her destination? The area around Chernobyl, where a nuclear reactor’s accident in the mid-80s killed hundreds of thousands of people. The radiation levels have subsided enough to make travel possible, although you have to go through radiation checkpoints where they will give you a chemical shower if you are above the redline. She has pictures of someone’s house with items sitting there as they were left – medication, some child’s doll. A large city, totally abandoned. The tourists who take excursions to the area quite often complain that they can’t stand the silence.
Haunting. Desperately sad. Some of the old people are moving back into their deadly homes. They don’t care if they die, as long as they do it at home.