You may recall me saying weight loss was taking place. Well, that may be, but remember I fall over in strong winds, so I can afford to eat five of these things:
They are, as you might imagine, of the devil. Pretzels, coated in white fudge. And they are delicious. I'm sure that the only reason there are any still in the house after two weeks is due to the design of the container, which is so tall it ended up on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, and it keeps getting pushed behind the eggs and containers of spaghetti. Really. I'm not hiding them! I didn't even think they'd be there when I looked last night.
I never need to sleep again, thesethingsaresogreat...gah. *drool*
Looking for that picture, I found a petition to bring Nestlé Flipz back to the UK. They took their Flipz, man. They took their Flipz.
Not fair.
Yogurt-covered raisins are also really good, but I haven't seen those anywhere since the '80s, when I ate the entire bag by myself during an episode of 3-2-1 Contact. FOOD=FUEL!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Nestlé Pretzel Flipz.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Oscar, Oscar, Oscar.
"They're rewarding them?" I squeaked.
"They're rewarding them?!" I squeaked again, because no one heard me. Possibly it sounded more like, "AIR RERRARRING HEM?!" from under my shirt with my head buried in my hands but I assure you, I didn't go THAT crazy.
Then I got it. I took one look at Christopher Rouse and his twitchy eye and realized why he'd just been given an Academy Award for The Bourne Ultimatum, a movie that made me fall on the floor after only the first scene.
The editors, for both sound and video, had to cut this together. Shooting the movie without a steadycam wasn't their fault, they had to sit through the shake-fest in order to make the edits, so those poor bastards deserve every award imaginable. The Bourne Ultimatum wins for editing, sound editing, and sound mixing. It would be hypocritical of me to be anything but impressed by the winners work...even though I can't stare directly at it.
I'm pissed that Seamus McGarvey (Atonement) didn't win for Cinematography, but enough about what pisses me off, yay for the Original Song and Score awards, those made me happy. I mean, really happy. A low whistling sound could be heard escaping my throat.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Oscar night with the family.
I am not related to CousinSheckie of Richmond, VA, and that bums me out. Their behind-the-scenes glimpses into the five films nominated for Oscars are frikkin' hilarious (to me).
The Writers Guild got their (well-deserved) deals and the Oscars are on, and in a little while I'll be sitting between Nan and Mum screeching hoarse obscenities when The Bourne Ultimatum comes up for Achievement in Editing. If it wins, I will try to wheeze something particularly colorful.
I really try not to have favorites, that way I'm not disappointed (and I don't revisit that small mental issue of Trisha Biggar being passed over for the costumes from The Phantom Menace), but because I'm a geek with an agenda, Falling Slowly from Once is the song I'm hoping wins for Best Original Song. Yeah, I said wins. Ppppbt. Oh, all right, whatever. I hope the award goes to this one:
Now, before you think I sit around being emo to that song, no (not that there's anything wrong with that of you do), see, what it is, why I like that one above all the others, is that I heard Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová on the World Café, and they told the story of how the song evolved from being part of the soundtrack to the movie becoming a musical, and then Glen Hansard ended up being cast in the movie instead of just writing the songs, and then he and Markéta Irglová ended up as a couple in real life, and hell's bells, none of the other songs nominated can claim that kind of history. I think.
I have somehow always ended up watching the Oscars with family, back to the days when Ann Reinking (from Annie!) danced around to Against All Odds and traumatized my young mind (I couldn't understand why two things I liked so much separately were so disturbing when combined). I still don't understand why, but I'm looking forward to the next eight hours, even though I won't remember what anyone wore (unless it's a swan dress), and will most likely spend the rest of the year saying, "And they thought [insert movie/star/song/costume designer/editor] was better?" whenever I see a movie that lost the Oscar didn't go to. I'm going to have sensory overload before the red carpet show even ends. Good times.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Week 7. 7?! It's only 7 weeks into this year?
This is turning into, "Movies. I has them." But when it's cold and damp and you can't speak, there's nothing much else to do but write next to the flicker of the televsion. I cracked 60,000 words in my epic novel that I began during NaNoWriMo. Yeah, that's right, I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days, and it has taken me another 80-odd (emphasis on odd) nights to add another measly 10,000. I wish I could say they're really good words, but I just don't know.
As you already know, on the weekends we watch movies, and last weekend we watched Michael Clayton. Being I'm a fan of corruption-outing movies, I loved it.
When the movie was over, we checked out cable and found The Odd Couple: Together Again, where Oscar had the same throat surgery Jack Klugman had, and...and I sound like Oscar. WTH?! I mean, I knew I always loved Oscar (strange, isn't it, that although I'm like Felix in every way, Oscar was my man), but that's going too far. Once I was done laughing at that (if I didn't laugh I'd go mad), I sat there waiting for that classic Odd Couple fabulousness, but the movie was very much like fanfic, and not my fanfic, I can tell you.
During the week, I work on my comic while Nan also works on her writing and Mum watches the reality shows. American Idol finally got to the final 24 contestants, and I haven't bonded with any of them yet, so I'm not sure how I feel about this season. I can't understand why everyone had to sing '60s songs, just to be told they didn't sound "current." It reminded me of my piano lessons, where I was supposed to play a song and make it sound original, but by god just try changing the key of Mary Had A Little Lamb and everyone's head caught fire.
Mum had her Unna Boot changed again. Now all I hear is the cash register sound from the beginning of that Pink Floyd song and I want to slap random strangers. I take this as a sign that Mum's leg is feeling better. I wouldn't slap nurses and doctors around, you know. No. They have scalpels and orderlies that pile up on people who try that.
There was that eclipse, which I totally got to enjoy because the weather was great, and then there was the snowstorm that dropped seven more inches of snow than we were told to expect. Do you know how much more baking I had to do for all that extra snow? No? Snowflakes eat cake like a hundred rabid Tazmanian Devils. For real.
I spent a lot of this week lamenting that I couldn't talk, like when my niece turned one and I couldn't get on a phone and be all, "Hey, happy birthday!" because I'd give the kid long-lasting nightmares.
When X-Files isn't on all night, we have to find other things to watch. Meteorites! was a movie we actually turned off because we couldn't take the toxic levels of stereotypical teen angst vs. harried parents. Plus a meteorite hit a house and the cop who went to investigate it asked if they maybe were running a meth lab in their basement to show that he was a transplant from the rough and tumble city and knew little of life in perfectfamilyville.
My aunt's birthday and my mum's birthday followed my niece's birthday one day after the other, and that's a whole lot of happy birthday I only got to wheeze pathetically. I made a bunch of cards that read like a drunken LOLCat for my Mum, and because my aunt is away, I get to plot her extravaganza of dozens of flaming Ioan Gruffudd candles sticking out of a Ioan Gruffudd cake. Not for real, though, I could get arrested for a thing like that.
Later today, I am going to attempt to restore my voice by doing the same daft thing I did that caused it to go away in the first place: celebrate stuff. Last time it was that my dog wasn't going to poop herself to death, this time it's that my mum turns 33. Yay mum! She's going to be younger than me soon.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Mach 6? Where will the kid hide with the chimp?
Yahoo! has a trailer up for Speed Racer: The Video Game, which is by the looks of it based on Speed Racer. It's a racing game, and it appears to only be coming out for all those new-fangled systems like the Wii. I'm thinking this is good, because the trailer alone gave me the Cloverfield illness. That's what they're calling simulator sickness now, you know. Maybe I need to loosen the bolts on my desk chair, that might help. Then I could shake around like the crew of the Enterprise and things would be less confusing to my inner ear.
I'm not sure what this Mach 6 business is, either. That car looks like a proper racing car, totally unable to clear-cut forests or go underwater. I don't trust it. More Speed Racer news as it develops.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
They Moved The Moon
(click for a nice 1024x768 version)That's my idea of a good show.
(I never did get to see that doomed satellite. I think I'll be content not to see it now that it's been shot.)
Monday, February 18, 2008
Oh, to be young and get toys.
So, the Toy Fair is going on, and I'm still subscribed to all the Star Wars toy feeds just to watch the spectacle of plastic madness, and this year, finally, I saw something that made me realize I am living in a very good time. I thank the people who took these pictures, because that's as close as I'm ever getting to any of this stuff. No, really, if I was in the same room I would totally choke on this:
I mean, come on.
Okay fine, how about this?
You know how many years I have waited for Yarna? OMG.
Not doing it for you? How about THIS?
Yeah. Now you know how I feel.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Record Consistency.
Another week, another review. It's good I come back and add to these as things happen because I did not remember that this week was this week. No, for realsies! I still can't talk, and I'm likening it to the feeling you get when you get a cracked straw and you're still trying to use it to drink...say...a milkshake. No, I'm sorry, I'm not going there until I've seen There Will Be Blood. The whole thing, not just fan spoofs involving the Kelis song, which all seem to be gone from YouTube. *sigh*
Last weekend we decided to watch a comedy, because, you know, we needed one. Jackie Chan is one of my secret boyfriends, so we watched Rush Hour 3. When it ended, Shanghai Knights was on TV. OMG! It was like a party! Imagine the next night when Shanghai Noon was on. Holy high-flying action man.
I continued to lose a lot of time to the thing I've picked up. I don't think it's flu, because my mother managed to catch that, and there's another post outlining my feelings on healthcare around here somewhere, so I'll skip to the next movie.
During the week, Nan found The Man Who Fell To Earth, with David Bowie. I'd always wanted to see that. I...I've seen it. I wouldn't mind playing table tennis with an alien if he was David Bowie. Although I wouldn't be too happy if he shot me. It was a good movie if you love David Bowie. It was a sad movie if you've ever had to wait a really long time for fresh water.
One night while I was adding another 1,000 or so words to my epic novel, Nan put on a movie she'd already seen called Camilla. It's Jessica Tandy and Bridget Fonda, a violin, and frikkin' fabulous. I wasn't in the mood to see a movie, either, which just makes it even more amazing that it could pry my brain out of the back of my skull.
But the highlights of my week are not all movies, no. There's also music! I just discovered Deacon Blue. At least, I think I did. I may have back in the late-'80s when I used to listen to Rock Over London, but without constantly listening to them over and over it didn't stick. I've been putting that right by listening to Our Town over and over this week. As a kid, I always had the feeling that if I were born on the other side of the pond I would be very happy with the music, and Deacon Blue is reminding me of that feeling.
Other than that we had a few days of sun and I was able to get the guys out, and just now we stood out in the yard looking for the out of control satellite that was scheduled to fly over around 6:30 local time. I didn't see it. I'll try again tomorrow. Our government is planning to shoot the thing down once the space shuttle is out of the way, because the fuel on the satellite is hazardous. Should I be standing out in my backyard trying to see this thing? I don't know. Should I feel as left out as I do that I didn't get to see it tonight? Maybe not.
Friday, February 15, 2008
The cost of not having your parts fall off.
In all the horrid weather, with the flu, my mum had to go have her blood pressure checked out this week, because each time she has her Unna Boot changed, the nurses take her blood pressure and notice it's high. Oh noes.
High blood pressure is serious kids, know that. But also, know that my family, the women of the family, we've all got the blood pressure to orbit the planet given the right circumstances...like...doctor's visits and obesity. Yes. But the doctor insisted on giving her a pill for it, and after five days, mum had new problems she's never had before. And believe me, I love my mum, but I would have killed her if she asked because these new side effects were most uncool. I don't know how I would have managed to kill her, actually, because I'm not even strong enough to lift the kettle at coffee time right now, but I don't have to think about it now because she's off the pills and she and Nan are all gung-ho to lose some weight again. Because that works, it's worked in the past. I'm not just talking out my bum, I've seen it work for them. In 1987, and 1989, and 1991, and 1995, and 2006.
Me, I had the family high blood pressure, then I had a hiatal hernia, then I had reflux, then I had oatmeal for three months, and since then my blood pressure has dropped so low that I can't stand up really fast or I plummet to the floor leaving a Looney Tunes me-shaped hole behind. So I cannot orbit the planet, but that's okay, as long as I don't orbit the staircase.
I'm getting away from the point. My mum, she's had to have that Unna Boot changed quite a bit. On the first visit, Dr. Gunduz the vascular specialist swore he was the only person who could change the bandage, because he has the skillz. That was the last week mum saw him, after that it's all been random nurses, and some have been great, and some have already made it into entries here, but they all have one thing in common: they need to eat.
We got the bill for these outpatient follow-ups to the $16,000 gangrene-avoiding hospital stay. Having bandages changed tacked on another $2000. OMGZ! It cost over $200 a week to go have an Unna Boot I could get off eBay for less than $20 changed!
OMG!
Now, you may recall my bitter little countdown about Mum's Medicare coverage. She's covered now, and Aetna was great for the prescription that nearly sent Mum mad, but the hospital...they don't take Aetna. And they just thought to mention that detail this week.
Although I realize it is not technically my responsibility to pay off my mum's medical bills, I always feel like I should do something. It's true I'm trying to get published, but hey, I'm not that good. I'm not that good at anything. I would have to be a very good lady of the night to pay that kind of a bill off. Not that I'm offering. Unless, you know, there's a call for holding flannel shirts while amorous cats have their fun.
Perhaps I should offer my services as an Unna Boot changer. Hmm.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Saturday, February 09, 2008
The Strangest Week In Review Yet.
Last weekend, I ended on the sour note of my furry friends having diarrhea. The treatment for The Puppy included giving her Pedialyte, but being a connoisseur of all things in a bowl, The Fluffy One drank some. Do you know you can develop diarrhea if you don't already have it when you drink Pedialyte? YES.
Now that we have the gastric disturbances settled, I can get back to just dropping the names of movies I've seen.
The Number 23...on 2/3. OMG. And you know what? My birthday is the 23rd. OF JUNE. 2x3! Okay, I'll stop now. It was good, really.
Just about every single thing I've done since October caught up with me and I managed to get a record breaking flare that took my voice, made my backhair turn into hot knives and even showed the rest of the world I was really sick in the form of a 102° fever. Now that I'm not dead from it I can say I like when I have visible symptoms. I mean more visible than falling on the floor, because that's never taken the right way.
Super Bowl XLII came and went, and we just happened to tune in at the exact moment the Patriots scored those 7 points. This was followed by a trailer for Wanted, and so I had a good Super Bowl. Then we switched to Puppy Bowl and the European figure skating championships. What? I'm a girl!
On Monday, I continued to be sick. I mailed my Uncle Gene a couple of pages of my comic strip because he wasn't feeling at all well and I was trying to make him as happy as he can make me. No, really, Uncle Gene has been known to make me laugh during funerals and surgery.
While I was busy being sick, Emmis Communications decided to change the format of the last different radio station, the smooth jazz station Pa and I used to listen to while we played pool. Now the station sounds like it wants to be three other stations at once.
The rest of my week was just a blur of high-grade fevers and inability to speak, or walk for more than two feet, or speak, or talk, and as of writing this I still don't have my voice back, and while you would think I'd be amused by the things people do when I can't tell them to stop, for some reason the humor is lost on me.
Saturday morning my Uncle Gene died. I would rather he was still alive, watching sports with Pa, like they did in the '80s. Maybe they are. Maybe it's me who's missing out on all the fun.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Oh Elizabeth, I'm-a Comin'.
I realize that saying is lost on many people who A) never watched TV in the '70s, '80s, and even now on Nick At Nite, for crying out loud! Or B) never watched TV. But it makes perfect sense to me, because I am delirious with the sickness.
See, I invented my own dance for the Sanford & Son theme back before my first allergic reaction to penicillin, but after then, from the age of 3-ish and on, I was a mean, bitter person.
However, when I have a high fever, oh man am I fun! I am more fun than I am when I've had a drink (sleeping) or after allergy drugs (crying on the bathroom floor clutching scissors and Epsom Salt).
Like earlier, we were watching the figure skating, and there was a skater being fondled in the stands, and when he saw himself onscreen, he was all, "Blasted crumbs! Must brush all these off!" Then later they did a spot with him and he had 190 pulse and all and they were worried about him, and I was like, "HAHA, stay away from those girls in the stands!"
You see?
I could go on, but the children, they might blush. And enjoy it. HAHA
I'm gonna go take some some aspirin. Oh man, if only the dog's anti-biotics wouldn't kill me. HAHA. I kid, I kid.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Another Week And This Is All I Have To Show For It
Last Saturday, we finally got to see Blade Runner: The Final Cut. I bought it with my Christmas money, for some reason I feel I need to explain how I'm allowed to have nice things, and this thing...it's nice. The movie was so clear I felt like I never saw it before. Fabulous.
The U.S. National Figure Skating Championships were on all weekend, and that's one of the two skating events I still try to catch when it's on. Nice to see we've got some good skaters coming up, even though I only recognized about five of them and event hough two of the three female medalists can't go to the Worlds because they're too young to skate internationally or something. Would Mahai Nagasu spread the cute? Is that a danger? NBC has stolen the coverage from ABC Sports, and as a result they've now got ten different commentators, and Bob Costas, who keeps breaking into baseball jokes in a desperate attempt to stay macho. I wish I could laugh, but all I wondered was who would come out alive if Bob Costas and Robert Osbourne were locked in a room for three years.
Monday mum had her Unna Boot changed, and we all know how that went (seriously, scroll down to an earlier post).
Tuesday we realized it had been five days since The Puppy ate willingly, and she'd been having a runny bottom, so we made an appointment with her doctor. This may or may not have contributed to my total major crack-up that had me wanting to drink caustic things or take more than the recommended dosage of allergy pills. Either that or it was the fact that I don't like being yelled at by people who should have more sense than me. (WARNING: hey kids, don't drink caustic things or take more than the recommended dosage of any kind of pills. You probably won't die at first, but it will make you wish you had.)
Rudy Guiliani dropped out of the presidential race. My soaring joy over this was cut short as John Edwards also dropped out. So while we won't have President 9/11, we also will have to put up with those increasingly horrid drug ads. It doesn't matter now, John...someday. Someday.*
*EDIT FROM THE FUTURE: No, John, never.
The night before taking Miss Poopsalot to be checked out, we left on a movie called S.S. Doomtrooper. It's...not Band of Brothers as much as Altered Beast meets Call of Duty. Or something. It was hilarious, if the Nazis making mutant monsters on top of being Nazis can be hilarious.
At the beginning of the week, I was dreading Friday, merely because the past two times I've taken Mum around to the shops on a Friday, bad things have happened to me. By Wednesday, I sort of hoped I'd be happy to see Saturday, provided we all weren't dead or anything. By Thursday night, I was over the moon with glee because all was right with the world again and I was once again reminded that I chose a fabulous vet. The Puppy began eating and stopped pooping a lot, and the world was a delightful and sparkling place...until The Fluffy One developed a runny bottom on Friday.
Also on Friday, it rained. A lot. It rained and warmed up and the crocuses began to poke through the ground and it was cloudy and there is no way in hell a groundhog or a snake or The Virgin Mary or Brigid saw shadows in the state of New York. Winter never even began. The euonymus scale is still all over the leaves, there are little leaves showing up all over the trees, I've been waking up after two hours of useless sleep, but the Cailleach, that's still asleep. SPRINGTIME IS NOW.
Stay tuned next week when my weather forecasting abilities will be buried under ten inches of snow. (See, now either way the weather goes, I win.)
Friday, February 01, 2008
A Rainy Friday.
This is sort of how I entertained myself back in the day. I say sort of because I only had three of the five games featured in this Summer Games Suite, and also because instead of playing one person from one country, I would set up all eight, from different countries, and keep tallies, because you know how an ordinary Olympics runs about 16 days? Mine lasted about five years. Good times.