So you know how Bum and I are oddly obsessed with Twilight? It's sick and compelling. Someone who shall not be named spent an embarrassing amount of time watching YouTube trailers for the movie coming out (which has apparently taken the new Harry Potter release date. Rat bastards). Anyway, though I (we?) am weirdly obsessed, I (we?) am still vaguely contemptuous and refuse to read the books. Because of the principle. What principle that is, I don't know. The I am incredibly annoying and judgmental principle? Probably. Hey. I don't judge how you live your life (except I (we?) totally do).
So even though the person who shall not be named watched all those trailers, this trailer is SO MUCH BETTER.
Thanks to the Smart Bitches.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Small town wonder.
This weekend I went to the wedding of a friend of a friend. I feel like significant things happened that I want to talk about and yet I've started this entry about three times and have no idea what I want to talk about.
Should I talk about the dresses and the way people (bridal party and guests) were dressed? But I don't want to do that because it was an important day for two people and to them, everything was wonderful, just the way they wanted it to be. I'm uncomfortable with the snark.
Should I talk about the Very, Very Religious Hotel/Camp we stayed at? With icons of Jesus on the wall, but no teevee and pillows that smelled of old people and a policy where you had to pay extra for a key to your room? No. It was fine. We maybe spent seven hours in it and it served its purpose.
Should I talk about the bar with the myriad stuffed animals, and by that I mean an actual elephant head, the actual front half of a giraffe, a leopard cub and its mama, and many, many other disturbing examples of taxidermy? No. That was pretty amusing even if I was afraid to be left alone with the intense creepiness of it.
Should I talk about Old and Really Old? Two men who now think "shooting cows with Prince" means "going to a wedding"? Maybe. That's kind of interesting actually.
Should I talk about the man in a baseball cap and Rolling Rock shirt, who was both a firefighter and a chiropractor (allegedly), who rubbed my arm and told me stories about town happenings and offered himself as an escort to another rowdy bar? The one who C wanted to frisk against her car and the one I've thought about at odd times? Why? I have no idea. I'm not even sure what he looked like (much, much alcohol went into the making of this weekend). But his fingers were soft, he made me laugh and he thinks my name is not one that it actually is.
Should I talk about him?
I think I may keep that to myself.
Should I talk about the dresses and the way people (bridal party and guests) were dressed? But I don't want to do that because it was an important day for two people and to them, everything was wonderful, just the way they wanted it to be. I'm uncomfortable with the snark.
Should I talk about the Very, Very Religious Hotel/Camp we stayed at? With icons of Jesus on the wall, but no teevee and pillows that smelled of old people and a policy where you had to pay extra for a key to your room? No. It was fine. We maybe spent seven hours in it and it served its purpose.
Should I talk about the bar with the myriad stuffed animals, and by that I mean an actual elephant head, the actual front half of a giraffe, a leopard cub and its mama, and many, many other disturbing examples of taxidermy? No. That was pretty amusing even if I was afraid to be left alone with the intense creepiness of it.
Should I talk about Old and Really Old? Two men who now think "shooting cows with Prince" means "going to a wedding"? Maybe. That's kind of interesting actually.
Should I talk about the man in a baseball cap and Rolling Rock shirt, who was both a firefighter and a chiropractor (allegedly), who rubbed my arm and told me stories about town happenings and offered himself as an escort to another rowdy bar? The one who C wanted to frisk against her car and the one I've thought about at odd times? Why? I have no idea. I'm not even sure what he looked like (much, much alcohol went into the making of this weekend). But his fingers were soft, he made me laugh and he thinks my name is not one that it actually is.
Should I talk about him?
I think I may keep that to myself.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
attraction
In the past couple of days, I've met a couple of guys. Well, I've met loads of people but two particular guys I want to talk about. Both were similar--East coast transplants to the Southwest, wicked sense(s) of humour, extroverts (both are in customer service-y jobs so have to be, I guess), and with similar builds (skinny, blond/red haired, well-defined muscles but not all muscle-y, if that makes sense). And, yet, I found yesterday's guy totally annoying and oh-so-ready to be bopped on the head while I found today's guy ready to be jumped/fantasised about.
I realised things were bad when, laying on a rock by a stream, I noticed he had lovely arm hair (is there a term for this?) and rather shocked myself by imagining all the things that could be done with/to that.
In the middle of the bloody day. After a long, gruelling hike. Arm hair. Seriously.
As Fanny'd probably tell yous, I'm not really the sort who fancies blokes off-the-cuff. And yet, today, I spent most of the day noticing minute details about this bloke: nice fingernails (well cut, blunt), lovely legs (probably from hiking up and down mountains), capable, excellent taste in music (we discussed this) and a curiousity about places and people. Oh and very easy to talk to.
Of course, I did nothing. What would I do since I'm leaving tomorrow? What would I say, anyway? "Look, you're really fanciable, I think but I'm sure you've heard this before?"
But I still find it funny that the same "type" of bloke popped up twice in two days--one, I couldn't wait to be rid of; the other, I would like to take travelling with me.
Another funny thing? He's actually from Fanny's home city. I didn't know they bred boys like this over there :)
I realised things were bad when, laying on a rock by a stream, I noticed he had lovely arm hair (is there a term for this?) and rather shocked myself by imagining all the things that could be done with/to that.
In the middle of the bloody day. After a long, gruelling hike. Arm hair. Seriously.
As Fanny'd probably tell yous, I'm not really the sort who fancies blokes off-the-cuff. And yet, today, I spent most of the day noticing minute details about this bloke: nice fingernails (well cut, blunt), lovely legs (probably from hiking up and down mountains), capable, excellent taste in music (we discussed this) and a curiousity about places and people. Oh and very easy to talk to.
Of course, I did nothing. What would I do since I'm leaving tomorrow? What would I say, anyway? "Look, you're really fanciable, I think but I'm sure you've heard this before?"
But I still find it funny that the same "type" of bloke popped up twice in two days--one, I couldn't wait to be rid of; the other, I would like to take travelling with me.
Another funny thing? He's actually from Fanny's home city. I didn't know they bred boys like this over there :)
Friday, August 01, 2008
list
In the few days since I left Berkeley to make my way down the Cali coast and across the South-west,
- a bloke has decapitated another on a Greyhound bus. But, thankfully (?), in Canada. Oh Canada!
- I have come to the realisation that I'm old: practically everyone at all the hostels I've stayed at is either a young 'un or people our parents' age who reckon they are young. I'm amused by the former (will update yous on the US girls/Italian guys interaction in a later post) and in awe of the latter. Perhaps, when Fanny and I reach our midlife crisis years, we'll hire a nifty little porche and whiz our way down California's route 1, stopping at hostels and ogling the young folks along the way.
- There were two German women in one of the hostels. At night, both of them stripped down to their knickers (thongs) and climbed into bed. As one of them was in the bunk above mine, I got to see far more of German flesh than I ever wanted to.
- I love the Thai folks: a grandfatherly type adopted me in San Luis and we had a great discussion about SciFi in which he introduced me to Somtow Suchiratkul. I'm currently reading one of his books and it's rather gloomy. Not quite the thing for a holiday. More on that later (though, yes, this is not book review blog! Yet ). Taking on Fanny's recco, I've also bought Wicked Lovely
- My luggage, including that awesome red bag I blogged about a few weeks ago, is lost. Amtrak sent it to Fort Lauderdade (spelling?) but it never got there. It never got to LA (where it was supposed to be). I've haunted the Amtrak office since I found out but to no avail. They say it will eventually turn up somewhere but where? In addition to that bag, it had two pairs of (new to me) shoes, both of which I rather loved; all my uni/work gear (expensive to replace) and, probably most relevant, my notes for the dissertation from the past few years and a few (expensive, annotated) text books.
- Nothing more to be said after that, really. I'm headed to the Grand Canyon tomorrow.
- a bloke has decapitated another on a Greyhound bus. But, thankfully (?), in Canada. Oh Canada!
- I have come to the realisation that I'm old: practically everyone at all the hostels I've stayed at is either a young 'un or people our parents' age who reckon they are young. I'm amused by the former (will update yous on the US girls/Italian guys interaction in a later post) and in awe of the latter. Perhaps, when Fanny and I reach our midlife crisis years, we'll hire a nifty little porche and whiz our way down California's route 1, stopping at hostels and ogling the young folks along the way.
- There were two German women in one of the hostels. At night, both of them stripped down to their knickers (thongs) and climbed into bed. As one of them was in the bunk above mine, I got to see far more of German flesh than I ever wanted to.
- I love the Thai folks: a grandfatherly type adopted me in San Luis and we had a great discussion about SciFi in which he introduced me to Somtow Suchiratkul. I'm currently reading one of his books and it's rather gloomy. Not quite the thing for a holiday. More on that later (though, yes, this is not book review blog! Yet ). Taking on Fanny's recco, I've also bought Wicked Lovely
- My luggage, including that awesome red bag I blogged about a few weeks ago, is lost. Amtrak sent it to Fort Lauderdade (spelling?) but it never got there. It never got to LA (where it was supposed to be). I've haunted the Amtrak office since I found out but to no avail. They say it will eventually turn up somewhere but where? In addition to that bag, it had two pairs of (new to me) shoes, both of which I rather loved; all my uni/work gear (expensive to replace) and, probably most relevant, my notes for the dissertation from the past few years and a few (expensive, annotated) text books.
- Nothing more to be said after that, really. I'm headed to the Grand Canyon tomorrow.
Courting melanoma.
Today I went to the pool with the niece and nephew and think I am sunburned.
There are worse things to do with my life while on the job hunt.
There are worse things to do with my life while on the job hunt.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Another one.
I swear this isn't a book review site (right, Bum? That's in the charter, right?). I just finished this book:
And I really enjoyed it. Everyone is unearthly beautiful and all that, but the characters are interesting. Generally flawed (with one noticeable exception) with (more or less) believable motivations. I was actually surprised right up until the denouement and with my jaded, I-saw-that-coming-a-mile-away attitude, that in itself was surprising. No spoilers, but there was a good tension going on and not quite sure which way the author was going to jump.
Was also impressed by the way the author described sex or sexuality or what's going on at the age of 16-20, when you're still and adolescent but dipping that toe into adult-ness (that's totally a word). It was handled with a certain discretion, without being coy, but there, no shying away from it. Plus I love tattooed boys burning with longing.
I am rabid to read the next one.
Not because I fell in love with any particular character or am invested in finding out the course of relationships, but because I am invested in this particular universe and want to see what's coming down the pike for this place and time (that takes place near Pittsburgh. Gotta love the hometown shout-out). What will happen next? I want to know.
Plus:
Dark Court King and tattoos and troubled bad girl?
Absolutely.
And I really enjoyed it. Everyone is unearthly beautiful and all that, but the characters are interesting. Generally flawed (with one noticeable exception) with (more or less) believable motivations. I was actually surprised right up until the denouement and with my jaded, I-saw-that-coming-a-mile-away attitude, that in itself was surprising. No spoilers, but there was a good tension going on and not quite sure which way the author was going to jump.
Was also impressed by the way the author described sex or sexuality or what's going on at the age of 16-20, when you're still and adolescent but dipping that toe into adult-ness (that's totally a word). It was handled with a certain discretion, without being coy, but there, no shying away from it. Plus I love tattooed boys burning with longing.
I am rabid to read the next one.
Not because I fell in love with any particular character or am invested in finding out the course of relationships, but because I am invested in this particular universe and want to see what's coming down the pike for this place and time (that takes place near Pittsburgh. Gotta love the hometown shout-out). What will happen next? I want to know.
Plus:
Dark Court King and tattoos and troubled bad girl?
Absolutely.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
now this is fucked up
Fanny, if I ever end up with a bloke who, while I'm trying to pop out an alien who's been residing in my belly for 9 months, does this: “We had a 14-hour session, her and I did. I sat there with her, right between her legs. We got tribal on it. We danced to it. I was DJing this native Brazilian music," you have my full permission to pull a Christian Bale on me.
Please.
Full story of Mr. McConaughey's "dance through [his girlfriend's] labour" here.
Please.
Full story of Mr. McConaughey's "dance through [his girlfriend's] labour" here.
fucked up
I read the news about Christian Bale (whom I loved in The Dark Knight but who, I reckon, has acted better in most of his other films) and my first reactions were:
1. It can't be!
2. after reading the story The mum and sister are (female) wankers
3. Really? I need to know more.
I wonder if I'd have felt the same if this were John Meyer or James Blunt. I'm not sure what it says about me that I'm willing to give the benefit of the doubt to an (alledgedly) violent person. Though, in Britain, "assault" covers a wide range of actions including screaming, yelling and being pissed off (without any physical violence).
1. It can't be!
2. after reading the story The mum and sister are (female) wankers
3. Really? I need to know more.
I wonder if I'd have felt the same if this were John Meyer or James Blunt. I'm not sure what it says about me that I'm willing to give the benefit of the doubt to an (alledgedly) violent person. Though, in Britain, "assault" covers a wide range of actions including screaming, yelling and being pissed off (without any physical violence).
Monday, July 21, 2008
short hair woes
Lulled into a sense of unreality by my Thai-settled-in-Berkeley-for-21-years hairdresser's reminiscences of times gone by, I almost coloured my hair blue yesterday. Thankfully, better senses (or, more accurately, hunger pangs and a well-informed email from Fanny) prevailed.
However, I did end up with hair about 1.5 inches shorter than I wanted (and asked for). I wanted a Victoria Beckham and ended up with a mad pixie*.
Today, as I went to my usual coffee shop to get coffee (decked out in eyeliner, mascara and lippy), the coffee chap complimented the new hair and joked about it being very "rock star" (and I'm not a rock star type at all).
* I'm not implying that lady is a mad pixie at all. I, however, seem to look like what I'd imagine an irritated pixie to look like.
However, I did end up with hair about 1.5 inches shorter than I wanted (and asked for). I wanted a Victoria Beckham and ended up with a mad pixie*.
Today, as I went to my usual coffee shop to get coffee (decked out in eyeliner, mascara and lippy), the coffee chap complimented the new hair and joked about it being very "rock star" (and I'm not a rock star type at all).
* I'm not implying that lady is a mad pixie at all. I, however, seem to look like what I'd imagine an irritated pixie to look like.
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