More on Tom Cruise and his Creepy Religion

Read this today...

http://www.handbag.com/gossip/hotoffthepress/?Content=story&StoryID=442676

ok, seriously. This man makes me ill.

Here's some interesting reading on his freaking fucking faith.
http://www.xenu.net/
http://www.lisamcpherson.org/

As someone who is on meds for Depression and Anxiety, I can say people like Tom Cruise are dangerous. Scientology's methods of treating mental disorders are dangerous. These people aren't licensed physicians. They practice Science Fiction.

Note to self: Don't become a Scientologist.

Tom Cruise can Suck a Bag of Dicks

That's really all I had to say, except that Oprah can join him for referring to him as "the greatest living actor of all time". Is she fucking HIGH????
Fuck you Tom Cruise.
And Fuck you too, Oprah.

Thoughts on the Bus to Work..

It’s sunny which always makes the going much easier. It’s quiet here on the bus aside from the drone of the diesel and the ominous voice of destination.
Today it’s chilly. I’d like it warmer.
I’m waiting to see the Lake; what kind of mood she’s in this morning.
The last few days have been rough ones. And for once it’s not my personal life. But something on a grander scale. I feel stuck in a rut that I created for myself with poor planning and assumptions about where I’d be today and what I’d be doing. I am the kid who was going to play Pro-Ball and didn’t have a fall-back. But, who knew something so Common and Normal would be so hard to come by, I wonder if it’s something I did wrong or if God has a different plan for me. I wish I knew what it was. For a while I thought it was to get myself well. Get myself strong. Get myself to the point where I didn’t feel so lonely. Or, get myself to a place where I realized how I was destroying myself in my efforts to numb the pain of loss and mediocrity.

And so...I’ve straightened up. I take better care. I no longer find myself waking up worried about the night before. Or trying to remember the night before. Or dragging myself through a day in the fog of the night before.

The lake is rippley. The sun only looks about 20 feet above it. Wonder when those damn geese are gonna have babies. I look for them every morning now. Some trees full, some not ready to come out from under the covers.

What can I do to be more active in the finding out where I’m going? Set a goal. Which one? Teach a class? That’s an idea. Been kickin’ it around for a while…more thought on that…

Almost to work. Gotta close up shop.
And THAT’s what I think about in the morning.

DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ROTS YET

ok, I have to do this while it's still fresh in my mind... and you people (my 5 or so readers) can feel free to comment if you have seen it. I welcome any and all comments as I am a nerd and I honestly could (and have) sit for 3 hours discussing all facets of Star Wars..from production to mythology. So. Here we go.

Maybe I'm too much of a girl to really appreciate these films for what they are supposed to be. Shoot 'em up Space cowboy movies...

But I don't know. It has always felt deeper than that. I can remember some pivotal, really emotional events in the OT:

The Death of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru (Charred skeletons...creepy)
The Destruction of Alderaan. (A WHOLE GODDAMNED PLANET)
The Death of Obi Wan (We essentially see Vader cut the dude in half)
The Destruction of the Death Star

Han goes to look for Luke out in the deep freeze of a Hoth evening.
Han CUTS OPEN an animal in order to stuff Luke in it to keep him warm.
Han and Leia's first kiss. COME ON!!! One of the best EVER.
Walking in on a Bespin "dinner party" only to discover Darth Vader at the head of the goddamned table and that door closing as we look from outside the room. Helpless to do any goddamned thing about it.
Han Solo's screams as they torture him and prepare him for his Carbonite Nap.
Han's descent into the Carbonite Chamber as Leia looks on horrified.
The "I love you moment".
Luke walking into the trap and...well Empire is just a great fucking movie and there are way too many moments to count.

Darth Vader finally coming to his senses and tossing the Emperor down the exhaust shaft and then fucking DYING just as he becomes good. Funny Story: When I saw this movie in the theater, the people behind us were SO into it, that at the point where the Emperor is smoking Luke with the Force Lightning and the camera keeps cutting over to Vader and then back to Luke pleading with his father to help him, this woman behind me yells out full voice "DO SOMETHIN' DARTH VADER! DO SOMETHIN'!!" The whole theater went nuts and then when Vader finally lifts the Emperor over his head...there are no words to describe what that crowd was feeling.


Last night, during some of the more "dramatic moments" people actually laughed. (We were in an exceptionally hostile theater last night...

Everyone says pretty much that this last one is the best one...but I'm not sure...

The biggest problem I had with it is that I felt like I should have been a lot more emotionally affected...(see above) and I just wasn't. Except one time. When Anakin is all charred and legless and missing yet ANOTHER hand and he looks at Obi Wan and just growls "I hate you!" Pretty chilling.

I wish to GOD I believed in Anakin and Padme's relationship. The stakes just never seemed high enough with the two of them. When I compare Han and Leia to their predecessors, I think one of the biggest differences technically is that Leia is present the whole time. She was in the action. And the relationship developes in the middle of all the drama of the Rebellion etc. It's enmeshed in the story rather than a series of scenes outside of the rest of the story. And Anakin suddenly worried about Padme and ObiWan? That could have been set up WAY earlier...The fact that there was no plot device to let Padme see Anakin's gradual turn towards the Dark Side is inexcusable. There were so many nuances that could have been employed to beef up the dramatic irony.

I wasn't even all that affected by the slaughter of all the Jedi...including the children. I mean, I kind of was... but come on I'm easy to get people. I cry when the goldfish bowl eats it during The Omen. And I HATE that they kept calling them "Younglings." That word holds no heartstring tuggers for me. They are CHILDREN. CHILD-DREN. Sometimes, the simplest route is the most direct route to emotional response. Younglings. But, I suppose that's the Jedi way. They must de-humanize in order to control their emotions. Sigh.

And what was up with Padme "losing the will to live?" She had children for God's sake. THAT's reason to live. How about making sure your crazy fucking husband doesn't get his Force Choke on with your children you moron?! The only thing with which I can justify that bullshit is perhaps Anakin's use of the Dark Side on her actually kills her spirit. Literally.

Nuance. That is what these films are missing. But perhaps it is I who expect too much... perhaps I am missing the point. That these are action flicks and love and tragedy are romantic notions that are usually put aside.

I agree with most critics... the movie is technically MUCH better than the first 2. I wasn't distracted by special effects. And Dooku's death IS fucking awesome.

I don't know... am I offbase here?

Some FUCKING SUN would be Lovely, thanks!

Fuck this weather. Fuck it right up the ass. We go through this every goddamned spring around here and summer gets shorter and fucking shorter. I need to move someplace warm. Perhaps Florida. Perfect for me as I walk around feeling 68 years old half the time.

Yes. I will purchase a one piece bathing suit complete with the strange panel that extends across the tops of the legs and wear enormous hats. I will live in flowing beach-cover-ups. I will spend the days shelling and the evenings watching "Are You Being Served" and "Keeping Up Appearances" on PBS. I will do crosswords as I lay on my deck chair on the terrace overlooking the gulf. Then I, and my lady friends will all go to dinner talking about the game of Bridge will be playing at Midge's club.
"The soup and sandwich plate is out of this world" she will say and we will coo with elderly delight.

I will go to bed at 10. Because I like the 9:00 news.
I will sit watching the news needlepointing a pillow.
I will need glasses to do so.
I will complain about "music these days."
I will say things like "Is all that sex in movies necessary?"
I will watch "My Stories."

Yes. I'm ready.

Retro...Cologne?

OK, I need to address a disturbing trend that seems to be making its presence known with horrifying frequency.

Who the hell told you guys to dig out that old bottle of Drakkar because it's "making a comeback?"

I'm here to tell you. It is most certainly NOT making a come back, and if it is, then I'd like my olfactory nerves rendered inoperable please. Immediately.

Seriously. We all know the power of smell and how it is practically fused to memory. Guys, especially guys born in the years 1971-1976...do you really think any woman wants to smell you and be transported back to yesteryear at a dance in a gym that smells vaguely of sweat and overwhelmingly of fucking Drakkar to cover the sweat? And those horribly awkward attempts at "makeout sessions" where she invariably came away with a fat lip because Johnny Hormones didn't know what to do with his teeth and literally tried to eat her face.

The first time I smelled Drakkar this year, I almost didn't believe what I was smelling. I actually turned around and asked in full outside voice "Who the HELL is wearing Drakkar and who told you that was Ok???" I was probably drunk at the time which would account for the complete disregard for decorum and good manners...wait... no it wouldn't... But honestly, I was OFFENDED. I mean, is it some strange, misguided effort to relive the "glory years"?? My God. What's next?

"wh-what is that smell?"
"Dude. Aramis. Totally making a comeback, man. you should pick some up...also, check out my kickass Hockey Hair...ne Mullet and 1989 Pontiac Grand Am."

I'm going to be sick.

"Why I am in such a Good Mood?"

Introducing "Lil' Xanie, The Helping Friendly iBook".
Thank you everyone who submitted...

And now, finally, a real post.

"Why am I in such a good mood?"
How many times have I asked myself this question...how many more times have I heard other people inquire after the mystery of their unexplained happiness. Doesn't that strike anyone as the least bit...sad? Do we walk around miserable so much that a moment of happiness brings about confusion and consternation? Like, there SHOULDN'T be a reason for this happiness, or somehow we don't deserve it. A conundrum to be sure...

And now for something completely different... results from a couple writing exercises...

required words...
Thistle
Cannabis
Harangue
Coffin
Juice
Cadillac
Voodoo
Widow
Convulse
Blood

The Story:
“My hair feels like a thistle bush” Anna intoned to no one in particular. She hadn't run a brush through it in a couple days. She was standing in the corner of her living room desperately trying to avoid being harangued by the black-clad mourners that had descended upon her home after the funeral. She hardly knew any of these people. Yet they all approached her in that “I don’t have anything to say to make you feel better but I’m obligated to say something anyway-” way. Some even hugged her. She wasn’t a fan of being touched.

She managed to duck into the kitchen. There was a bottle of vodka squirreled away in a cupboard with her name on it. The thought struck her funny and she giggled as she pictured a giant bottle of vodka with “ANNA” stamped on the label. Nice to have something in her head besides the image of her sister in a coffin. Who’s bright idea was it to institute the tradition of an open casket wake? The last thing she wanted to remember was Sara garishly made up lying dead while people whispered bullshit wake phrases like “She looks so peaceful.” “Gosh, she just looks like she’s sleeping”. And then the assholes who didn’t think Anna was listening: “They did a good job on her.” “Looks just like her!” “That lipstick is all wrong”. Actually, Anna LIKED that person and agreed. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and scream at the top of her lungs “THAT CORPSE LOOKS NOTHING LIKE MY SISTER! SHE LOOKS DEAD AND HER MOUTH IS STUFFED WITH COTTON AND SEWN SHUT YOU FREAKS!”

She thought better of the vodka and poured herself some orange juice. She needed some air.

Her brother was leaning against the side of the house smoking. The familiar scent of nights in the basement listening to old 8-tracks filled her nostrils.
“Ah, cannabis, my old friend, where have you been?” She sighed taking the joint from John.
“This is all so surreal.” He said flatly.
Anna didn’t respond. She just smoked.
“And I can’t even imagine how Pete must be feeling. I can’t imagine losing a spouse. I mean, watching mom…a widow for 15 years… she was a mess most of the time…”
“Yeah, well, save your sympathy, son. It was his mid-life crisis that precipitated the purchase of “the Porche”. And now we know who wins in a fight between said Porche and a Cadillac. Fucker.” Anna exhaled. John took the joint back gingerly.
“C’mon Anna. Be fair.”
“I am being fair. My fucking sister is gone. I think I’m entitled to lay some blame somewhere. And, since I can’t blame God, as I don’t believe in any of that bullshit Voodoo crap, then it falls on the asshole who bought an impractical car.”

She knew she was being ridiculous. The pot made her feel heavy. Blood pounding in her ears. With a shiver, her body convulsed.
“You ok?” John asked.
“Yeah, fine. Gotta go back inside and take inventory of casseroles. And coffee cakes. And Jello molds. What is up with funerals and food?” She mused.
John laughed,
“Well, I’m of the opinion that all that food is for those that choose to deal with their grief by getting irreparably stoned so they have something to eat when the munchies kick in.”
Anna giggled, the giggle turned into a cackle…and then she finally started to cry.
John stood there for an awkward moment and then did the only thing he could.
He hugged her.

Required words:
crust
sweat
electric
wedding
fangs
canopy
ferris wheel
weep
torrents
rapture

The Story:
Thoughts of a Bridesmaid...
"If the Rapture happened right now at this very moment, I don't think I'd mind too much"
I'm thinking, standing, sweat collecting at the armpits of my tacky taffeta, under the canopy of the Chupah as I watched my best friend throw his life away.

Two weeks ago I was still convinced this day wouldn't come. Mark and Stacy (uck "Stacy", GOD I hate that name) weren't doing well. Wait, check that. Mark and Stacy were just as they've been during the tenure of their relationship. Completely dysfunctional and awful. Most days I sit waiting for Stacy to reveal her true self. I picture her skin peeling away from her body to reveal a pulsating mass of black nasty. With fangs. And Crust. Maybe it'll happen during tonight's inevitable Electric Slide. Ew.

The Rabbi drones on... God this wedding is so wrong. Still, I was too much of a pussy to speak up during the potential "audience participation" portion of the ceremony. I feel sick. Like I do when I get on a ferris wheel. I hate the ferris wheel. And now I feel like I'm on one. God I hate Stacy. Torrents of loathing waiting to come exploding out of me...

Smile! Yay, they're married. Woo hoo! Thaaat's right Stacy...you gold-digging succubus. Wait...can women be succubuses? Succubi? Oh Christ. Fuck it. I'm going to the bathroom.

God I need a drink so fucking badly I could weep.

That is all...

PS: Two days til Star Wars bitches!

The List Thus Far...

My iBook remains nameless...

Here are some that y'all came up with along with a few I threw in...
Cast your vote...

Majel
Wizard of Jizz
Whitie
Lil' Xanie
Yoshimi
Kensington
Bitterman
Milky Stevens
Condor Joe
Daniel Striped Tiger
Strindberg
Mr. Eddie's Father
Moon Child

Name my iBook

That's right kiddies... I am the proud parent of a beautiful iBook G4. Complete with OS X.4 (Tiger for all you Mac junkies out there...) And well, it needs a name.
Nor has it been assigned gender...
It's white.
it's 12 inches.
it's very pretty.

Here is where you, my wonderful blog readers, come into play.

NAME THE iBOOK!

I will pick the one I like best.

Benefits to you:
The knowledge that you helped give identity and substance to...an inanimate object...
Conceptual immortality!!
Um, Recognition!

It's a prestigious honor!
Go TO!
Godspeed and I wish your juices to flow...um Creative juices!

I await the deluge of names with great eagerness...

There are No Words.

My friends are amazing and insane.

Friday Night I was presented with a "funeral" mourning the death of my youth. Performed by the New Millennium Folks in all their nerdy glory.
highlights:
A eulogy featuring the "Consider Space" monologue from The Sure Thing, a poem written and performed in the style of Poe, and a visit from the "Future Me" revealing the things to come...and an Operatic performance of "Breakin the Law" by Judas priest.
After that, The Boyfriend presents me with a limo ride to the next phase of the birthday madness... a rented out club. Music all from my collection. Open Bar, food, and all my favorite people.

It was amazing.

Here's the Poem. It was that good.
By Jason Bone...

how are we to spend the hours
within these 'nighted neon bowers
revelling we, 'ere break the morn
of thirty years since you were born?

how on this day, this moment now present
to measure how the time has been spent
years span behind us with dreams still undone
where does the race lead with this much now run?

o' childhood flying like an unseen spectre
had i forgot to drink thy nectar
or hath the vine dried, now at an end
if it be what farewell shall we send?

Lament! I still want my mtv
my mat, my Gunnar, my Bananorama three!
make me to feel as on that first day
long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away

burning with youth like the flame-veiled moth
this renn-faire junkie and once-upon goth
with a jingle-bell shroom and a sip o' da soco
who you messin' wit', dontchu know i'm loco?

but time marches by the lessons are learned
step to the tee of gold, yer gonna get burned
she rocks to the beatles with tuna on toast
nancy sinatra's got no chance of a ghost

there be life here with no sign of fading
the nectar still flows, nay! never abating
the ole' frosted side still brings out the kid
hear this fates!! of her woobie, she'll never be rid

enter frylock and meatwad and master of shakes!
the griffins and an eye as queer as will take
with laughter not dimmed., oh no, not a wink
she's learned when to laugh as well as to think

armed with this all she faces the dawn
as old father time makes as if he would yawn
but never undone her time is still now
facing each day with a youthful ahhhpusssssowwwwww!!!!!

My friends and family rock my world.
Muthafuckin' Cheers Dude!

My Last Night of my Second Decade...

Yes, I just got back from my trip, and I have many interesting stories to tell, but I'm holding off.

Tomorrow is the day.

I turn 30.

To be honest, there's a huge part of me that's ready to leave my 20's. Just like the part that was glad to be done with being a teenager. My 20's were rough. A lot of the time, they absolutely sucked. I've made some mistakes, the world kicked my ass a few times.

But I also feel like I'm leaving school again. Like, my 20's were this learning time that I now have to put to use. It feels like now, there's little margin for error. Even less than there was 10 years ago.

All my life I've been living in this "I'm leading up to something" state of mind. And here I am.

So here's my Next 30 Years Resolution:
To live more in the now. To realize that now is the reality. To be ok with the now. To realize that I am exactly where I am supposed to be at this moment. To stay in this spot and not plan 3,4,5 steps ahead. To breathe.

But seriously? It's fucking 2005. Where the FUCK is my flying car???