Archive for category Nonsense
So I finally watched 28 Weeks Later the other night.
Here’s how it went (it doesn’t matter if you’ve seen the film or not, because there’s not really anything to spoil): a few medium-big names and a bunch of enormous-gigantic wads of cash teamed together to tell a heart… uh, something-ing… story about a lot of different things that happened in a couple different places. People and zombies did rude stuff to each other… and then… well, and then stuff went on and things died, and then everything got crazy for a minute and then… uh… and other things transpired, and then eventually it was over, and stuff.
Sorry, I almost fell asleep a couple of times, but that’s pretty much the gist of it.
The thing that intrigued me most about the movie, though, is something that still has me thinking. Douschey Don, played by master of the craft Robert Carlyle (you can tell he interviewed a whole mess of zombies whilst wriggling himself into character like it was a Vietnamese skinsuit), had a weird looking daughter I could have sworn I’d seen in other stuff. Well, I hadn’t, or at least I wouldn’t have remembered her from anything, but I remain to this very second stunned by the actress’ name:
Actors, as a frolicking, drunken whole, have long been known to engage in a great many strange activities that boggle the mind and elevate the eyebrow to varying heights. They’re addicted to cocaine, Rogaine, plastic surgery, bootie burglary, matrimony, acrimony, ecstasy, hypocrisy… and lots of other vaguely accurate pairs of rhyming things. Plus meatloaf sandwiches. But my point, as you can good and well see, is that most of them just up and change their names at some point.
Some change them because were given silly names at birth. Others–and this is a good 60% of them–were originally called Sean Connery or Richard Burton or Dmitri Mendeleev, and had to make a change to avoid a ten character roman numeral suffix on IMDB. The rest were just looking for a little extra coolness to go with their bland headshots.
But Imogen Poots bucked the trend, choosing instead to rely on her strange elfin looks to get her on-set. Bravo to her, I reckon, because she appears to be in a bunch of stuff I either haven’t or don’t care to see, plus a few I don’t remember her from. And there certainly can’t be too many Poots in Hollywood… well, that are named that, anyway… so she’s certainly a unique actress in that regard. I fail to be impressed, though, because at the end of the day her name is still Poots and, being the 12-year-old that I really am, I can’t stop thinking about how much worse life might have been for her if her parents had chucked up her first name as well:
- Angel Poots
- Dolly Poots
- Eden Poots
- Fanny Poots
- Hazel Poots
- Heidi Poots
- Jocelynn Poots
- Lotta Poots
- Minnie Poots
- Mora Poots
- Misty Poots
- Patty Poots
- Sawyer Poots
- Shasta Poots
- Stormy Poots
And my favorite:
- Tarynn Poots
Whatever her reason, she’s still a Poots… at least for the time being. Maybe some day she’ll marry Christopher Walken and change her name to Imogen Poots-Walken.
Now that would be impressive.
The good old days of Jott are over, but now there’s a new kid on the block (well, 3 streets over and 5 down): Google voice. Long live the voice.
Welcome back to my blog, you mugs.
I had a pretty good weekend picking out and setting up a new TV with my grandpa Israel. Stressful and frustrating and a long drive… but still good. More on that later, maybe, if you really irritate me…
Also, there are a couple of pages I started updating here on the blog. They’re kind of like “stickies” on the main page, but they don’t (as far as I can tell) show up in RSS. You’ll actually have to come look at these if you care to see to see how they progress, and unless I add something really good I probably won’t be posting reminders.
- Strange Dreams: this is a rough compilation of my best/weirdest dreams (or the ones I can remember, anyway).
- The 2008 list: the second is my pro/con list for calendar year 2008, for future reference.
Sleep good, folks, and have strange dreams.
Perry and I are taking off for the Panhandle on Thursday, and I worry constantly that he’ll get bored in the car. He’s fickle like that, and might lose interest in me if things get too dull, so I’ve come up with a list of things to keep him jumping for the whole 32 hours of the round-trip drive. My ideas, in no particular order:
- Figure out how to sing Mr. Fancy Pants in German and do it often.
- Take Lynn’s guitar and learn how to play it.
- Invent games such as “name that smell” and “what’s more annoying than this?”
- Speak only in limericks.
- Drive with my feet.
- Drive in the buff.
- Drive with my feet while riding in the buff on the hood.
- Pretend I’m a tiny bushman and speak only in clicks and squeaks when we stop to eat.
- Think up hundreds of abusive Mad Libs.
- Get the attention of the highway patrol and attempt to evade them.
- Ride in the median as much as possible.
- Stop at every mile marker and try to mark it.
- Carry a constant supply of Jolt Cola to support the above (and other endeavors).
- Loop “Shiny Happy People” the whole time.
- Smoke my pipe the whole time.
- Try to sit in his lap the whole time.
- Repeat everything he says the whole time, with a German accent.
- Signal fellow travelers with his currently-equipped underwear.
- Constantly misuse words, like “exert” instead of “assert.” Have to exert my manhood.
- Come up with a hundred new verses of “Beans, Beans, the Magical Fruit.”
I really think he’ll enjoy the agenda.
Here’s a group shot of some of my friends and family, courtesty of Burger King.
Of course there are people missing, and I don’t really like some of the people present, etc. But it’s all the folks I had easily-accessed pictures of, and it was really too much work to keep adding people anyway… yeah.
Click for full size image.
I got nothin today. Even after getting all over Wayne to update his blog. What a loser.
Danny: I like being surprised from behind
Lynn: it just burns on the right side.
Lynn: I don’t want to be beaten or mutilated
Joe: it crashed when it saw me naked
Eugene: we can get the beans off the wall too
I love instant messaging. These are actual snippets from conversations of which I’ve been either part or privy. Three fish tacos authenticos to whoever can correctly identify the contexts from which each were taken.