Vindicated.

See?  Extreme pastiness.

Fangs.

I was never a huge fan of Cedric Diggory. In the book or the movie.

I mean, he's, like, okay and all. He's an archetype, a placeholder, the smart, talented, sensitive, handsome, kind jock you wish to meet (or I wish to meet. Though I would probably get annoyed with how perfect and good he is and then call him a pansy).

And I was kind of indifferent to the actor playing him in the movie. Except I didn't think he was that hot.

And now he's playing a vampire.

And I am weirdly, bizarrely intrigued (despite the really bad pastiness the vampires have going on. Really, really bad).

It may be a case of two wrongs equalling a right. As so:

A = Robert Pattinson, who I'm largely indifferent to and don't find that good looking
B = The Stephenie Meyer Twilight series that I am also largely indifferent to, given my distaste for angst-y vampires and the women who love them (Bum). Though the books have pretty covers.

Therefore: Indifference A + Indifference B = Embarrassing Interest C

Though this is all moderated by (Love for Kristin Stewart)X.

Very Late Review - Harold and Kumar Escape Guantanamo Bay

Bum asked me to blog about this a while back. I only recently actually made it to the theater, as movie-watching seems to have fallen off my things to do, which is sad. Especially sad since I only see really bad movies when I do go (this weekend I saw Baby Mama. Enough said?).

I have been looking forward to the Harold & Kumar sequel for a very long time. I loved, loved, loved the first one. Thought it was so very funny, so very spot on with racial commentary in contemporary US culture. Also: someone has sex with a giant bag of weed. How does one not love it?

So...big expectations, but prepared to love, even if not so good. Like the way you kind of like the idiot brother of someone you really love. They share the same genes, so there's something there, right?


Except...oh, this was disappointing. It felt like the creators/directors/writers/whoever got a pile of money based on the cult status of the original and were determined to use every last dollar of that, to utterly shoot their load, Michael Bay-style, rather than sticking with what worked in the first one.

The White Castle one was, at its heart, kind of a sweet story about two friends on a pretty mundane adventure who get caught up in these absurd moments. And a lot of the charm was that they were so very different, but really got each other, had a backstory and a tolerance for each other's bullshit. My brain's not working very well, but it's kind of like the relationship in Good Will Hunting between Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. The background relationship between the two leads is an integral part of the story.

Guantanamo Bay...well, that's like John Candy and Steve Martin in Planes, Trains and Automobiles. They don't respect each other much, and like each other even less. It seems like Harold and Kumar are two people just kind of stuck together on this wacky, wacky adventure. It's all absurdist, there's nothing much relatable, because while I have been on road-trips to find the perfect food, I do not have friends who have bottom-less parties. Or at least friends who invite me to bottom-less parties. Thank you, friends.

There are funny moments in this film. There are. But there's no replacing the original.

However, Neil Patrick Harris rocks the house.

The Road

I, like many others, was one of the people who didn't believe Viggo would make a good Aragorn. I preferred Sean Bean, just because I'd seen his work before and, hey, Sean Bean! and yet was a Viggo-fan by the end of LOTR.

What extent of a fan, yous ask? Well, I've watched Hidalgo more than once.

So, I'm rather excited about The Road (pic above). I liked the book though I'm curious as to how things will change in the film.

List of things on my desk at work. Right now.

Diary of a patient.
Caddy of office crap.
Purell.
Business cards (that I have to hand print my name and number on).
Travel mug of stale, overly sweetened coffee.
Paper cup of overly sweetened Crystal Light (Pomegranate Cherry with B-vitamins. Am obviously a health nut).
Datebook.
Cell phone (with Internet access, so I can look at sites my office computer blocks. Am obviously a subversive revolutionary).
Ceramic pen container with an Asian character on it, that was made in Denmark that I think just toes the line of being racist, but it's over thirty years old and my parents bought it, so I don't care very much.
Hunk of hematite. To "ground" me. Whatever the fuck that means.
Phone (that seems vaguely dirty).
To-Do lists miles and miles long.

I'm pretty sure this makes me the most boring-est person ever. But that's okay. Because Bum has managed to bring up Colin Firth's penis, which makes me think of the story that Mr. Firth told of when he was making Pride and Prejudice. He was told, allegedly, to pretend he had an enormous erection whenever he looked at Elizabeth.

Worked for me.

In which I blatantly crib from Bum and admire an even more youthful actor.

Since when did Shia LaBeouf become hot?

(Also: since when did I become a pervy old woman?)

I say this based on Disturbia, which I watched tonight and shivered and screamed and exclaimed "oh shit!" at all the appropriate moments.

And also, you know, kind of thought the very, very, very, almost-could-be-my-son-if-I-made-very-bad-choices-in-high-school (I said almost! Give or take 5-7 years) Mr. LaBeouf was kind of ... cripes, I feel gross admitting this ... kind of hot.

Was set up!

With the low slung jeans and bare feet and spectacular house with lovely windows and ... you know, adolescent angst and longing.

This is even in the face of his questionable activities. And the audacity of figuring into the holiest of holies, the Indiana Jones saga. Even with that present in my mind.

It's official. I've grossed myself out.

(But Disturbia was a good movie.)

Plague.

I'm sick. Again. I had about 10 days where I was healthy! And well! And producing human amounts of snot. Ahhh....memories.

I was more or less sent home yesterday by my supervisor. Mostly because she didn't want to be around me and my germs. It's all about the empathic sympathy, man. Actually, it may have something to do with the fact that I probably looked like I was going to pass out in the hallway. Which would have been interesting. Because I would always be known as the intern that passed out in the hallway. I am all about collecting the titles.

I took today off because I woke up and realized I probably should not be around people right now. Also because my head hurt and I haven't been able to regulate my temperature (because that's definitely a conscious thing I can control) and didn't want to sit in my office playing with the thermostat all day long.

So here's the thing. When you are a grown up, sick days suck. Because you can't really enjoy them. Can't enjoy the afternoon sunlight sighing through the shades - because you are too busy blowing the nose and coughing up disgusting things. Can't enjoy being able to sleep in - because your head hurts and you can't really sleep and you cough and wake yourself up too often. Can't use the time to be productive and get important things done - because your head feels swirly and can't concentrate.

Yup. I pine for my youth when sick days rocked.

Oh, and you say it's Valentine's? I suppose my festive thing was to watch Chocolat while trying to sleep and then make myself cocoa.

Damn that Juliette Binoche and her "rancid cinnamon."

Kee-rap.

(Which is how I say "crap" in my head, when it has been particularly kee-rappy.)

This has been a bad week. As in pretty awful. As in I want to hide away. Perhaps change the entire direction of my life. Perhaps become circus folk.

The things that have happened this week...I think I'm still trying to find my own reasoning. Trying not to feel like a failure, or rather that I've failed someone. Trying not to take on the actions of others as a reflection of me, trying not the let someone else's self-absorption morph into my own.

Hard, though.

I've had enough drama. And perhaps this means I've made the wrong choice. If I really don't want to deal with the drama of others, if I don't want to have to help clean up the mess left behind by intrapsychic pain (oh, yes, bitches. You heard me.), perhaps this was really the most self-destructive choice I could have taken.

And, honestly, how kick-ass would it be to be able to call one's self circus folk? I already have an act in mind.

So that's my big conclusion for this week. I think I will run away.

Except Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay comes out April 25.