The New England Society for Tea Fetishism

As a friend to a friend, I would like to say to all of you that if you have a desire to see The Village, wait for the video, or at least go to a discount theater. I really liked The Sixth Sense, and, contrary to popular opinion, I thought Unbreakable was pretty good, too. Both of those endings felt earned. Signs felt like it was trying its best, but by the end it was just plain goofy. And now, The Village. Someone really needs to tell Mr. Shyamalan that the twist ending has been played out. It ruins the first three quarters of the film because all you're doing as an audience is trying to figure out what's going to happen at the end. Also, if the twist isn't wild enough (while staying within the bounds of plausibility) then what came before it, no matter how good it was, is suddenly sullied by the ending. That's what happened with Signs, and that's what happened with The Village.

Not that it was all that great to begin with. The whole, "Let us all speak one to another with a right and proper approximation of 19th century grammar, avoiding this thing that is called a 'contraction,' so that all our speech is slow and without ending," got tired really fast. Some actors could handle it most of the time, despite the sometimes clunky dialogue, while others, like William Hurt ferinstance, made me cringe a bit. I really liked the girl who played Ivy, Joaquin Phoenix's blind love interest (Joaquin himself wasn't bad either), and Adrien Brody was good, too, as a mentally handicapped man (who had practically no dialogue).

Then there were the creatures in the woods. To put it crudely, Shyamalan blew his wad too early by revealing what the creatures looked like, and they looked pretty silly. If he'd only shown a glimpse of a claw or what have you and flashes of the red cloaks that they wore and saved the whole creature for a little later, then there might have been a little more suspense. Like in Jaws. You gotta save the money shot for when Roy Scheider is at sea with his back turned to the water.

The twist was lame. How lame, you ask? Well, when the commercials came out in full force on the tv I started to try and figure out the ending for myself. I came up with something but thought, "No, that's ridiculous. He's not that much of a hack yet." But, to my surprise and dismay, I wasn't that far off. Ask Tracy--I told her my theory when we ran out of the theater for a bathroom break. The worst thing about the twist is that it pretty much nullifies most of the risks that Ivy takes to save Joaquin's character's life.

So, to recap--The Village is a pretty "meh" kind of movie. It would have made a good love story if it had been played straight without all the "look at me, aren't I just so clever" crap at the end, or if the creatures had had a different origin. All in all, not exactly two hours of my life wasted (that honor goes to The Watcher), but I could have spent the $6.25 on something better.

I probably wouldn't tell you about my nocturnal self-mutilations, Amy, but it's just that every time I do it, the first thing I think of is "Oh, jeez, once again I have done that thing that Amy really hates hearing about," which is, of course, quickly followed by, "Hmmm, I wonder if that's going to bleed."

So the other day I went to the Willows with Tracy where we climbed all over the rocks and explored the tide pools. She was admiring an unreachable white shell in the middle of the pool. I saw one just like it a little closer, so I straddled two rocks, twisted my torso around and did something positively evil to my bad shoulder. But I got it. Tracy put it down on a rock to dry for a moment and promptly forgot about it. How's that for gratitude? It's okay though, I was only trying to repay her for the time she fished out a shell for me. Unfortunately that shell smelled like ass and had to be abandoned. So I guess we're even now.
At the Willows we got ice cream for lunch, then went to her house and made triple chocolate brownies for dessert. They were sooooo fudgy. My chocolate fix is fixed for at least another week.

I found out tonight that my mom likes lint. Like, lint in her pockets that she can play with while she's outside smoking. I had no idea.

Much like Amy Mas, I was influenced by the food on television, although instead of Taco Bell it was snickerdoodles.  I saw them on the Food Network and decided to make a batch.  That half a cup of Crisco makes it really hard to roll them into balls.  But they turned out really good.  Hell, even Brian likes them and he hardly ever eats cookies. 
I like driving with my mom.  She says nice things.  Well, there was that slightly backhanded, "Driving with you isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be," but she also says stuff like, "You're doing better," and "Good job," and "Nice right turn," and "Turn down here, there's a house for sale." 

I was watching Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law on the Adult Swim block of programming on Cartoon Network last night.  Harvey Birdman is a ten minute cartoon and every week he defends one of the many characters from the Hanna/Barbera roster.  Last night he represented the Jetsons who were suing the people of the past for causing environmental catastrophes in their future.  I wasn't really paying attention, but at one point Harvey had to carpool with a rival attorney named Reducto and as they talked about pollution and the environment, Harvey said something like "How much impact can one person have on the environment?"  As he said that, a limo drove by and for about two seconds you could see Dubya sitting in the back. 

Yesterday I saw The Bourne Supremacy, and I have to say that I was not disappointed, although I do wish that Matt Damon had a little more screen time, seeing as he was the star of the movie, but whatever.  My only real problem with the movie is actually a problem with the cliche in general, and while what I'm about to say shouldn't be a surprise if you have a fairly basic knowledge of the plot requirements of most action films, skip down to the next paragraph if you intend to see this movie completely spoiler-free.   Why is it that if the hero meets and falls in love with a woman in the first film, she is almost always killed off in the first ten minutes of the second film?  The only actual example I can think of at this moment is Once Upon a Time in Mexico (which was one of the most ridiculous movies I've ever seen and I'm glad I saw it for free at school.  Even Johnny Depp couldn't save that one), but I'm sure it must happen in other movies, or else why would I have been expecting it?  Oh, also, the only part I remember about the third Highlander film is that they mention the woman Connor fell in love with from the first film and say that she died in a car accident.  "Scraped off the road" was the actual phrase used if I remember correctly.  And then there's that whole "righteous anger" thing to take care of.  No matter what the bad guys are doing, whether it's a drug ring or a terrorist bent on world destruction, the hero can't really do anything until someone gets killed or kidnapped.  His actions can't just be about saving the world or doing what's right--they also have to be about revenge, as if the audience won't believe he's doing what he's doing unless he has some kind of personal vendetta against the villain.  Or it's like he can't kill the bad guy until the bad guy has done something personal to him, making it morally okay for the good guy to take his revenge. (I use the terms good guy and bad guy because it's convention, but of course these rules can apply to heroines and villainesses)   Not that that last point has too much to do with The Bourne Supremacy, but it's something I've noticed. 
There were only four previews before the movie.  One was for a Ray Charles biopic starring Jamie Foxx that actually doesn't look bad considering it stars Jamie Foxx.  The next was for Finding Neverland with Johnny Depp and Kate Winslett and maybe it's because I'm a little pre-menstrual, but I actually teared up a bit watching that one.  Then there was another one for a positively ridiculous-looking film starring Nicholas Cage (Where is my little Nicky from Moonstruck, I ask you?) called National Treasure that seems to be about Freemasons, some kind of very important treasure, and a map on the back of the Declaration of Independence.  Oh, and Boromir is the bad guy. 
And then there was The Forgotten with Julianne Moore, whom I love.  From what I got, she's married to Dr. Greene and has a kid and one day she wakes up and there's no kid and no one remembers him, not even her husband.  Then her husband doesn't remember her.  She meets up with a man who's in the same boat as she is and in one scene they have a guy tied to a chair in a cabin and they're trying to get him to tell them what is happening, that they won't reveal that he told them anything.  He says something along the lines of "They're always listening" and the next thing you know something (probably a meteor) crashes through the cabin roof and squashes him.  I was like, wtf?  Next stop after blogging is to check out if this flick has a website.  The preview totally freaked me out.  I just might have to see it in a theater.  Also, it's nice to see Anthony Edwards is working.        

You know what I have a wicked craving for, Amy?  Those sticky beans and rice I had at that Vietnamese deli in, umm . . . where were we, Rockville?  With coconut milk.  Ahhh, sweet, ricey-goodness. 

I forgot to write that I went driving with my mom last weekend.  She did not have a heart attack.  I almost went up on a curb and I almost hit a parked car, but note the use of the word "almost."  And I think I hit 35, which is about the fastest I've ever gone, I think.  Driving isn't nearly so scary as I remember it.  Probably because I'm not practicing in a monstrous '89 Chevy Blazer.  The Mazda Tribute actually moves when you turn the wheel. 

Welcome to all visitors coming here by way of m00nshadow.  It's good to have you. 
I went to Bugaboo Creek today for a little lunch with the esteemed Ms. Tracy Nash because I can't say no to her company, nor can I refuse coconut shrimp served over a pile of greens with a nice citrus plum dressing.  And mountain bread.  As Tracy will remember, I don't exactly have a great track record with drinks at that place.  They serve them in what pretty much amounts to a mason jar with a handle on the side.  One time, many many moons ago, a waitress dumped an entire glass of sprite on my lap.  While this may not be as bad as (for instance, Amy) having a glass of water hit me in the shoulder, I was quite wet and very sticky through the rest of the meal. 
Nothing so dramatic happened today.  I ordered my new favorite thing, which is a glass of cranberry juice with a lime wedge, and Tracy got a glass of water.  When the waitress came back she set a glass of water with two lime wedges floating in it in front of me and glass of cranberry juice (sans ice) in front of Tracy.  Tracy was going to be nice and not say anything, but I had to speak up and point out the mistake, pretty much just to point out the mistake, because I didn't ask for a new drink, I just relocated the limes in Tracy's water.  I felt kind of bitchy, but she would have known when she walked by and saw that our drinks changed places so I figured I'd just be straight up with her. 
And that's my day in a nutshell.      

I was listening to WBCN and Nick Carter was talking about the cruise he just took.  His dinner buddy was from New York City and all he did was talk about the Yankees.  When he asked Nick if he wanted to go watch the All-Star game, Nick said that he was on vacation from everything, including baseball, and it was then that he realized that New Yorkers can't leave New York behind, no matter where they go. 
Which, of course brought up a swamp of memories about Gina.  Wasn't every other word out of her mouth something about New York?  And remember that fight she had at TEA with Kirsten about how closed-minded she was (and, to extend the argument, we all were) since she came from a little podunk town and not NYC?  Of course, I wouldn't call Nashvegas podunk, but compared to The City?  You might as well be herding sheep.
I have no frame of reference for other New Yorkers away from New York, except for Von, but she didn't come from the city and all she ever really said was that New York had the best pizza, and come to think of it, Gina wasn't even from the city, she was from Long Island.  I have a feeling that the only reason she talked about NYC so much was that she was lying about having an apartment there, much like she seemed to be lying about every other major thing in her life. 
Ah, fun times with Gina.   

Someone hit me off of demagogue from People for the American Way.  I often forget that I'm linked there.  Also, someone in Illinois was interested in Two Cats. 
Last Friday I went to Borders with Tracy.  She called it a day-trip, which is kind of odd since it's only ten minutes down the road, but whatever.  We could have spent the day.  So we browsed for a while, searched the computer and talked (loudly) about Christopher Pike books, figured out what we wanted to buy, then headed up to the cafe where she ate a bagel and I ate a scone and we both decided not to buy the books we picked out.  We are cheap.   
I had a cup of coffee, too.  I'd been craving it since I saw Spiderman 2 with my dad last week.  On the way out we stopped at Dunkies and I got myself the yummiest cup of coffee I have ever had in my life.  I swear they must put crack in the filters because I was jonesing hardcore.  Borders coffee, however, does not compare to the almighty Dunkin's brew.
After books it was on to underwear.  I was searching for a slip to wear with this adorable (and quite see-through) white dress that I bought last year.  Amy will remember it as the dress I wanted to wear for graduation but couldn't find in my size in all the Expresses in MD.  The way my logic goes is that if I have the slip I might actually wear the dress some day.  I also need shoes, but that's neither hear nor there.  We ended up at La Scenza (sp?  It's Tracy's store, so I don't know).  They did not have the slip I wanted, which was later found at J.C. Penney, but they did have a 3 for $10 deal on underwear.  Personally I don't see how this is a deal since I buy all my underwear in a package at Costco, seven pairs for around $6.50.  How can you go wrong with that?  But Tracy, upon hearing that I have no fun underwear, was adamant that I buy some.  So we picked through the bins for a good ten or fifteen minutes, coming across several strappy and sequined little numbers, and also one thing that looked like a corset but obviously wasn't and Tracy wouldn't tell me how it was supposed to be situated on your womanly parts, so I guess I'll just never know.  But I did come away with a matching set of three rather conservative pairs of fun underwear, or "funderwear" as I like to call them.  Actually, I think the term used most that day was "fundies."  The little boy briefs seem to be the big thing this season. 
While I was buying the slip in Jacques Penee, I noticed red and blue Superman undies on the table behind me and was instantly reminded of Torrey's Batman underoos and the whole outfit that went with them.  Good times.              

Okay, for the benefit of Tracy and anyone else who does not know what's up with the comments, they come from a Kids in the Hall skit.  Kevin is at some kind of big company meeting in a hotel function room while Scott is lecturing about sales in front of a graph.  Kevin's contacts suddenly cause him great pain and he thinks "What is it that my mother used to say about my eyes?" and then you hear a woman in a voice-over say "Never put salt in your eyes."  Kevin repeats that in his head until it gets twisted into "Always put salt in your eyes." Kevin promptly grabs a salt shaker from the table where he's sitting and puts salt in his eyes and yowls in pain.  This happens a few more times, and finally Scott (playing Danny Husk) approaches him.  Kevin says "Danny, I'm killing my eyes,"  which repeats in his head as "killin' my Danny," until it finally gets to "Kill Danny!" and Kevin chases him around the function room with a metal utensil (possibly a fork) until Scott says "Hey Ted, never put salt in your eyes!" so, of course, Kevin stops, reaches for a salt shaker, and once again yowls in pain. 
Honestly, it's a hilarious skit.  Right Amy?  Anyway, I'll probably change it again according to my fancy. 

I need me a big Jewish boyfriend.  Of course, as Tracy will attest, not just any big Jew will do.  I'm talking  like, 6'6" here.  Actually, I'm talking about Gary Gulman who can currently be seen every Tuesday night on Last Comic Standing.  I saw him live in Boston at the Comedy Connection when he opened for Dane Cook (who is also damn foine, but in an entirely different way, you understand).  He's quite tall and slim and well, I think I'm smitten. 
It has to be the nose.  My obsession with David Duchovny has forever left me with an attraction to large, oddly shaped noses.  From Mr. Duchovny I went on to Peter Wingfield, who is scrumptiously British (actually, I think he might be Welsh), and has the schnoz of a god.  I also have a soft spot for Adrien Brody and I squee just a little bit whenever his Coke commercial comes on.  Maybe it's because those guys aren't conventionally handsome so they have to actually have a personality to attract attention, which, of course, just makes them more attractive.  Except for Gary Gulman.  He seems like a pretty vanilla kind of guy.  But ohh, he's tall.  With that nice nose.  Mmmmm . . . . . .

If anyone would like to waste a few minutes reading something hilarious, I suggest you check out my second-to-last link titled "Things my girlfriend and I have argued about." Also, near the bottom of the page, there are photos and video of adorable little blond British boys.

Someone at Hood typed "Sandona" into Google and got my blog. Fun stuff. I've also been visited several times by someone in the Marblehead school system.

Aww, I'm adored! You know who I adore? My mum. She's standing right behind me ironing at this very moment. Last night we were watching The Butterfly Effect (which wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be, but still not all that good, because whenever Ashton Kutcher tried to emote I kept getting flashes of Kelso and I ended up giggling when he tried to do serious things like talk to his dying mother or freak out when he woke up with no arms), a movie that contains a lot of time-travel. It also contains my Due South boyfriend Callum Keith Rennie, who, unfortunately, is killed right after he appears. Seriously, between the time it took me to say, "Aw, they had to make my fake tv boyfriend his psycho dad!" and his skull being bashed in, it couldn't have been more than fifteen seconds. My fake tv boyfriends rarely come to a good end on the silver screen (Except that one time when the above mentioned tv boyfriend was in Double Happiness. That ended up okay. And anyway, I'm just glad he's getting work).
Okay, so back to my mom. It's times like these when you really notice the generation gap. The movie had a typical time-travel story line in which the character goes back in time, changes something, goes back to the future, and finds everything changed. My mom had no idea what was going on, and even after Brian and I stopped the movie and explained it to her, I still don't think she quite got it. Apparently, time-travel stuff always confuses her. Brian had to explain Timeline to her as well. I guess it all depends on what you're raised with. Brian and I have been reading SF for years. I think the closest thing to science fiction my mom ever read was The Dead Zone. I felt kinda bad that she found the movie confusing, but not too bad since it was a pretty crap movie anyway, so I don't think her enjoyment of it was in any way affected.
We had two cats in our yard. A black kitty with white mittens was up on a planter and a fluffy white Persian was on the ground looking up at the black kitty. I think they were singing to each other. I thought I heard a little kid crying but when I looked outside, there they were. I fully expect to hear loud kitty-coitus after my mom and Brian go to bed. They're never awake to hear the yowling.

I had three cavities filled yesterday. Me! Three! Can you believe it? I guess that all that compulsive hygiene really wasn't worth it. She drilled one tooth for a good ten minutes. The decay just went on and on, and in a straight line toward my root. I wanted to die.
I had an "Oh God, my heart, my heart!!" moment the other day when I got an e-mail from Sallie Mae telling me that my loan was in repayment. I was all, "Holy shit!" and, "My life is over!" and, "I gotta get a job!" The next day when I forced myself to look at it again I saw that the text actually read if your loan is in repayment. Which it is not. According to the automated telephone lady I don't have to repay until 2006. And I'm recovering nicely from the heart attack, thank you for asking.
And now for the Exciting Adventures of Jackson in the Tree. I was sitting on the grass and reading Harry Potter in a park in Bar Harbor that overlooks the ocean because I had to wait for Amy to close up the bank. Very secretive, those banker-types. So there I was, feeling the damp of the grass seep into the ass of my pants and not really caring because I was thoroughly enjoying the book and my feet were tired from stomping all over town for four hours, when I looked up and noticed five or six young boys climbing a tree a little ways down the hill. People that I assumed to be their family were sitting around the tree. A few minutes later I heard one of the boys yell "Jackson!" several times in surprise and alarm. I looked up again and saw that a blond boy around twelve years old was the one yelling, and another, smaller boy with an identical hairstyle only with brown hair was pulling on the front of his shirt. Despite all the yelling, Jackson held fast, and I expected the situation was going to come to no good. However, I didn't excpect the both of them to suddenly tumble from the tree and land out of my line of sight below the slope of the hill. It was like, bicker-bicker-bicker, yell-yell-yell, whoops, gravity works . . .and scene.
Pretty much everyone in the park stopped what they were doing and waited to see if one or both of the boys were dead. It was at least a ten foot fall. I heard some crying, a little moaning, and then Jackson popped up with his hand on the left side of his head. He did not look happy. A moment later he took off running up the hill and passed right by me. Why was he running you ask? He was a fugitive from justice. After he passed me I saw a lady police officer with an orange and yellow vest walk up to the family to see if the blond boy, whom I assume is Jackson's brother, was okay. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but she seemed very nice, and surprisingly didn't immediately order all the other little monkeys out of the tree.
Soon Jackson was being pulled back to the tree by his mom. She was pretty severe-looking, with long graying hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and mom-shorts hiked up to her ribs. Jackson may or may not have been crying. When they got to the group of people under the tree he tried to make a break for it, but Supermom snagged his arm and didn't let go.
It was around that time that I noticed how dark it was for five o'clock and decided that instead of making Amy walk all the way to park to get me and then walk all the way back to her car (possibly in a downpour--it was really dark!), I'd just go wait for her outside the bank. Before I stood up, Jackson and his mom passed by me and, because I'm a nosy bitch and was completely absorbed in the whole situation, I tried to keep up with them to hear what they were saying. What I got was mostly Jackson asking "Am I in trouble?" over and over again, and clutching his head every time his mom looked at him. Mom said it depended on what happened. From what I understand, Jackson's brother had some rather embarrassing underclothes on (pajamas, if I remember correctly), and Jackson wanted to expose them to the other boys so they could laugh at him. That's exactly what he said, "so they could laugh at him." Mom asked why he wanted the other boys to laugh at his brother. Unfortunately, I had to take a right turn to get to the bank and they kept on going straight, so I didn't get to hear the answer to that question, but if it wasn't time to go home I would have tailed them for as long as possible without being too obvious. Honestly, who needs television when you have stuff like this happening right in front of you.

And I'm back from Maine. I already miss having an Amy and an Annie of my very own. Really, it's so hard to get on the internet when you have a fluffy kitty of questionable weight to play with all day and then an Amy and an Annie to keep you busy all evening. The free Island Explorer bus goes right by Amy's house, so I was in Bar Harbor almost every day, visiting her at work and then frollicking along the shoreline. I even got some writing done. And I ate, and ate, and then I ate some more. We must have eaten out at least five times, and that's not including ice cream. Amazingly enough, all this dining out did not cause us any intestinal woe like it usually does. I attribute that to the fact that we weren't eating three ten-course meals plus afternoon snacks as we (or Amy at least) do when Amy's mom comes to town.
Toward the end of my stay, Kitty decided that my stomach was a nice place to hang out at six in the morning. Yesterday she tried to lay on me with her face about an inch from mine, then turned around, kneaded my bladder with her paws and stuck her tail up my nose. I guess she knows what I like.
Amy and I used to talk all the time about the day we went back to school after Christmas break and it was something like -28 with the wind chill. Then it was the ludicrously frigid cold snap we had last winter that made me feel like I was going to die while walking down the street. The new thing to talk about is thunder. I had been awake since about three (I had severe futon insomnia) so I already knew it was storming out. I finally fell asleep and was having a wonderful dream about a beautiful summer home in NH and visiting with friends from my high school band (which was a nice change from the everyone-has-turned-into-a-vampire-and-wants-to-kill-me dream I had the night before) when I was woken up by the sound of a mountain falling over. Amy thought we were being bombed. I've never heard thunder bouncing off of granite before. Apparently it sounds like the apocalypse. Then we heard the two most pitiful little meows every uttered and Kitty went under the bed for the rest of the morning.