Archive for November, 2008

Tell Me More!

Sunday, November 9th, 2008

My Dinner with Andre is my favourite movie to mock. The Simpsons‘, too. I refuse to see it, because blind prejudice is simply more fun than justified displeasure. Finally, I convinced myself that watching a clip on YouTube wouldn’t turn me into an elitist snob more of an elitist snob, the level reserved for The New Yorker editors. I bailed out after about three minutes.

Wait. Who’s the bald chump letting Andre verbally have his way with him? Oh god, it’s Wallace Shawn, the (literally and figuratively) low-level fiend from The Princess Bride.

Can one actor truly span that great a chasm between lameness and awesomeness?

Proto Man Peed On My Bed

Saturday, November 8th, 2008

I adopted a kitteh on Friday evening, and will get to pick him up on Monday. Excitement! Like any first-time pet owner, there is a little fear that the poor thing will drop dead in a few days. For me, though, I have a greater problem: I have a tendency to supply untitled things with horrible, stupid names when given the opportunity. I have always known that if I ever come in possession of a pet, I would—not might, would—baptise it with a name that would get it beaten up on the playground if it were a six year-old human.

Rather than keep a mental list of possible names, this post will help me remember when the moment of choice comes. It will also help you see how doomed this cat really is.

  1. Wernher Magnus Maximilian Freiherr[1] von Braun [shortened to Wernher von Braun for most, Wernher only to me]
  2. Any character from the Mega Man series. Favourites include Mega Man, Crash Man, Doctor Wily, Flash Man, Magnet Man, Metal Man, Tomahawk Man, Yamato Man, and Proto Man. [Guts Man was considered, but would be better for the cat at the shelter I met that was 16 lbs.]

[silence]

Sunday, November 2nd, 2008

Explaining the particulars of my loveless love life to the general public is creepy and probably libel-worthy. (Whining on the overall subject of girl angst, totally different story.) But sometimes I encounter Date Conversations From Hell, and those scream for publication.

[She explains how her dad quit his job to move to Austin.]

Me: So what does your dad do now?

Her: Nothing.

Me: Oh, so he’s got it made, then?

Her: No, he’s dead.

[silence]