I’m not dead. Sorry for the lack of posting – it’s just been one of those weeks. It’s not that we’re particularly busy, it’s just that there’s insomnia, and summer colds, and errands to run and playdates to schedule and somehow the blogging doesn’t happen. We’ll try to be better this weekend.
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Posted in blog blogging
1. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal SUCK.
2. Indiana Jones and the Travesty that Besmirched the Franchise.
3. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crap Screenplay.
4. Indiana Jones and His Creators Phone It In.
5. Indiana Jones and the Unbelievably Lame Use of Unnecessary CGI.
6. Indiana Jones and the Movie that Confirms that George Lucas Should be Banned from Filmmaking or Possibly Just Taken Out Back and Shot.
7. Indiana Jones and the FUCKING ALIENS? Are you SHITTING me?!!?!?
8. Indiana Jones and the Pointless Waste of Time.
Don’t see it, is what I’m saying.
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Posted in Pop Culture, reviews, trials and tribulations
I just found this new-ish Web 2.0 app, Lookybook, which I foresee using the crap out of over the next few years. They’ve scanned a ton of picture books into their server – not just excerpts, a la Amazon, but whole entire books – so you can preview them before you buy them. So extremely cool – because who has time to peruse picture books at the bookstore when your two-year-old is threatening to demolish the entire CD section? This site has lots of ways to search, and you can collect books on your personal bookshelf so you remember them, and … well, me likey, is what I’m saying. Here’s a book I found on the site that I have got to get for our library, because HOLY LIFE-THREATENING CUTENESS. Check it (click the eyes in the upper-right corner for a bigger verison):
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Posted in kidstuff, linkage, non-pop culture
So Mr. Squab and I are discussing the weekend plans, and I suggest that we ask BFF about watching the Hatchling on Saturday so Mr. Squab and I can go out somewhere to celebrate our anniversary (six years on Sunday!).
“It’s already taken care of,” Mr. Squab says smugly.
“Oh really?” I’m intrigued. “Is there anything I should prepare for?”
“Hmmm …” Mr. Squab thinks for a minute. “Don’t wear any underwear.”
I snort. “Uh-huh.”
“And bring a snake-bite kit.”
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Posted in Funny Stuff, How to Charm Me, random tidbits
The Hatchling is at that point where her vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds (like, 4-5 new words a day, lately), but her pronunciation is lagging a little behind. Most of the time I can figure out what she’s trying to say from context, and she’s remarkably good natured when we can’t understand her, but I’m sure she occasionally wonders why we’re so stupid. Take, for example, last night. As a special treat, we’re watching some Noggin before she goes to bed, and they’re showing an episode of the Backyardigans, a show she hasn’t seen in a while. I’m showing off my knowledge of the character names to Mr. Squab (because I’m awesome like that) when the Hatchling starts pointing in the direction of the TV and saying “Bugga.”
The Hatchling: Bugga.
Mr. Squab (to me): What’s that mean?
Me: I have no idea.
The Hatchling: Bugga.
Mr. Squab: Bug?
The Hatchling: Bugga.
Mr. Squab: Bugger?
The Hatchling: BUGga.
Mr. Squab: Booger?
The Hatchling: BUGGA. Bugga. Bugga!
Stumped, we redirect her attention to something in the show. About five minutes later, a little light goes on over my head.
Me: Boo-boo, were you saying Backyardigans?
The Hatchling (looking at me, like, DUH): Yah. Bugga.
Really, she’s very patient with us.
God DAMMIT, this cracks my shit up. Whew. (via eWAC)
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Posted in Funny Stuff
I went to see Sex and the City on Friday with two of my chicas. Unlike some people, we did not go all-out glam, but Ali wore some serious fuck-me shoes and we had a very good time. I found the movie extremely satisfying. It ain’t Godard or anything, but it’s a damn good chick-flick. (I thought the scene where Samantha feeds Carrie her breakfast was really beautiful – in fact, the whole portrayal of Carrie’s depression was brilliantly done.) And watching the audience was almost as good as watching the film itself. Even in the lobby, it was extremely apparent who was there to see SATC and who wasn’t. The entire theatre was crammed full of hetero-women in their 30s and 40s, drunk off their asses on cosmos and wearing clothes that really would have looked better on their daughters, and gay men, also drunk on the cosmos but generally better attired. We sat down just as the usher was telling everyone to be sure and move all the way in. The man I was sitting by asked if they could tell people not to try and save whole rows (the answer was no). I looked around and realized we were in the midst of an enormous group of extremely tipsy, extremely loud women.
“Are those the people you were talking about?” I asked the man.
“Hell, yes, honey,” he said. “They told us they were saving this row, and I was all, ‘You might *think* you are, but we are sitting HERE.”
I laughed. “What I like is that not only did you sit in their row, but you took the very best seats!”
“Damn right,” he said, “if they are going to have the paleolithic gall to save an entire row on opening night, they deserve what they get.”
Paleolithic gall. I dunno what it means either, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try to use it at least three times this week.
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Posted in good times, Pop Culture
