Hello there! A friend asked me, in a roundabout way, if I had a blog. I told her I DID, but I hadn't updated it in a while. Then I went to give her the link, and looked at my sad, neglected blog, and decided to update. I did indeed get married last year - May 23rd, 2015. It was very lovely and I couldn't have asked for a better day. I also got very drunk and that was fun, too. 

Here's me and the husbeast on our honeymoon to DINOSAUR LAND, which unless you live in a particular part of Virginia, you won't know about, and more's the pity for YOU, sir or madam. 

We had a great time. 

So: got married end of May. A couple of weeks later, I saw a job listing for a job I was pretty sure I could get, but it was 2.5 hours away from home (in Richmond) in the Shenandoah Valley. I asked hubs if I should apply, and he said GO FOR IT. So I did, and by July 6, I was working at my new job, with a 12K raise, and by July 15, we moved to our new home (which is gorgeous) and left the big city behind, where our house is currently being rented by a nice couple that probably actually mows the grass and pays their bills on time. More power to them, I say.

SO, big news NOW: I'm about to be a mama. T MINUS 18 DAYS AND COUNTING. That's right: a baby is going to expel itself from my body, violently, any day now. And I did this...on purpose. One thing that makes it seem like a fabulous prospect, however, is knowing I'll get to show my kid all the movies that I love and turn him into a weird hippie nerd like me. Awesome. 

WHERE HAS I BEEN

Ah, nappers and tiger lovers. What have I been doing for the last three years? If Ali G can make a comeback (booyashaka) then so can I!

Well, the loss of Sainted Mother was rough, to say the least. The next spring, I gained a bionic ankle from falling off some do-me shoes in Las Vegas and then shattering it, thus prompting the addition of a plate and about 25 pins, two surgeries, and six months of narcotic-hazed utter boredom.

That RUINED me financially, but it also made me realize that A: I could not finish my degree in fine arts in a reasonable time period after all the incompletes I took for Mom's passing and me being a crip, and B: I'd rather write papers than sit in a studio every hour I'm not at work and miss out on romantical times with my fella. SO, I transferred to yet another school, and just this past September 30th, 2014, I was conferred a Bachelor of Arts in Art History, cum laude, from Mary Baldwin College. Only took me 21 years to do it, but HECK YES.

Also, my dad got remarried to a person I refuse to call my "step***ther" and joined AA, I bought a house, and my best friend got married and had a baby. I saw maybe 40 more shows (PARLIAMENT FUNKADELIC ya'll), I gained and lost probably 100 pounds, I grew and cut about a foot of hair, and I now have FOUR CATZ! Cat party in the house!

Also, dear friends, I'm getting married next Memorial Day weekend! That's only 7 months away...shit.

So, I'm back. Allow me to introduce you to T'Challa, the slinkybeast that stole our hearts Xmas 2012. She is a stabby/sweet babygirl.

I'll be back soon with Opinionatin', so check it. 

AAAAaaarrrr, Meowy.

Pirate Kitten.

'Nuf said.

You can bet yo last money...

Next week, I'm going to some shows. YAY! Deer Creek and Alpine Valley, here I come! This summer has been bittersweet, but I am looking forward to seeing it off with a bang. I just wanted to make a lil post about something I know has been bothering everybody for a while, now.



Why is it that in today's "urban" dancing movies, no one wants to just FOCUS ON THE DANCING. I don't mean that it isn't your protagonists' all-consuming passion, because it is. They just gotta dance, man. I mean the damn cinematography is friggin' annoying. It's all from above/from the feet/closeup of sweaty brow/from behind/closeup of shoes/closeup of boobies/from the front/and final pose. I mean, just leave the camera in front of the dance crew, let them dance, and then move it when they're done. I watched You Got Served twice, and was not sure who was doing the serving because the camera moved around so much. At least the director of Honey let you watch Jessica Alba fake-teach other people who actually DID some dancing. They should take a cue from the cheerleading movies. In Bring It On, they don't move the camera around during the cheerleading finals. All you see is their sweet, sweet art.

All this is precipitated by the fact that I am set to go see Step Up 3D this Friday afternoon.

I hope it does not disappoint. And if you want to know more about these type of fly movies, and study the link between old (Electric Boogaloo; aforementioned) and the new, please follow this link : nymag.com/daily/entertainment/2009/09/the_glo...
I will say, I don't fully support the inclusion of such movies as "Lambada" in the mix, purely because latin dance and what I consider Urban Dance are not the same, but it's a nice list, otherwise.



Anyway, I'll throw down some true OSD analysis in the next couple of weeks, but for the meantime, I'll borrow a phrase from the Master of Urban Dancers, himself, Mr. Don Cornelius.



You can bet your last money, baby, it's all gonna be a stone gas.

Whither art thou, dear Naptizzle?

My sweet, wonderful mom died on April 8th. So I haven't been feeling blog-tastic for a while. I know you were terribly worried about why I wasn't posting, but no worries. Hard times are the stuff of life. I hope to alleviate some of that, at least for myself, by posting stupid crap.

So, what have I been up to? I got a blu-ray player and a 32" flat screen. And a new car, and a new apartment, and a new-old cat (Mom's Treasure Paws). She is kyoot, of course. I shall post a picture so you can get the idea.

She is exceedingly wee. A total of 6 lbs at 2 years of age, so the tininess implied in this picture is not that far off the mark. My homestyle pirate likes to call her "Cow-cow Chickenhead" because of her white-with-black-spottedness. Don't ask, I don't know where he gets this stuff. Her name is Mandy (Amanda if you're nasty) but I like to call her Manders. Or Mandini, or Mrs. Manderson. Or Miss Thang. She considers the stroking of her fur grounds for finger-licking goodness. She will thoroughly lick your fingertips if you let her. She will also flee from a rapidly whirling ceiling fan, as I just learned in my new apartment.

So, now the catz outnumber the humans in my home. That was their plan all along, I assure you. Everyone gets along, so that's a bonus, but nevertheless, don't let them fool you with that feet-in-the-air innocent thing they do. They are of the opinion that they are the boss of you. And this Mandini is the queen of all these fools. She has my poor Clyde (orangestuff) completely in love and retarded (follows her EVERYWHERE) and she personally grooms Jasputin to woo him into thinking she's his servant, which she is not, as she will occupy his warm spot immediately on his departure.

AAH precious kitties. I love your soft bodies, but love not your nighttime peeping. And you should start WORKING to pay for all this litter and kibble I'm shelling out for. Wouldn't you pay Manders to shill something for you? Permakitten for hire! She'll up the value of any product! Consider the orange and the black and grey fluffy medium and large versions, as well!

Naptiger out!

Jay Leno is a Giant Tool.

I just had to say, I will miss Conan for the next few months, and I think he was done wrong in the extreme. Leno has been supremely unfunny for time out of mind, and way less personable, too. I have literally never been amused by him. On the other hand, Conan makes me laugh regularly. So I give props to O'Brien for standing up for himself, and I look forward to seeing him again wherever he lands, unless it's on cable, cause homey can't afford that. I also propose a boycott of NBC. They don't have anything good, anyway. Except the Office and I can watch that online. So there, beeotches.

I saw a tear in his eye last night as I watched him say goodbye to his fans and the Tonight Show. And then, to my delight, I watched Conan O'Brien get on stage and play lead guitar for a performance of Free Bird with Will Farrell on the mike and Billy Gibbons, of aforementioned ZZ Top fame, on backup, along with Beck and Robert Randolph; oops! Ben Harper (I don't give a crap about either of those guys, so that explains my lack of knowledge, but thanks for the tip, dude) and some other guy I don't know the name of. Fly on, free Conan. I'll miss ya. And thanks for bringing a ZZ Top member into your send off. They don't get out much.

ZZ Totally Awesome.

I was watching this CRAP movie the other day. I watch a lot of those (you have to sift through the chaff, right?) but this one pissed me off because it was billed as the next Office Space, which was a friggin cool movie with a kick ass soundtrack which I still listen to on the tapedeck in my tricked out 1997 station wagon. (If you haven't heard "Down for Whatever" by Ice Cube, you are missing out. It was my ringtone for like 3 years, until I switched it to Mary Jane by Rick James, and you can't really blame me for that, because that's one of the best songs ever.) ANYWAY, I was watching this crapfest, name of "Extract," which was directed by Office Space's Mike Judge, but which I won't go into explaining because that's not what this post is about, and they busted out a song that reminded me that I have to testify whenever I can. Testify about what, you ask? ZZ Top, man. That's right. I LOVE ZZ TOP. I have my whole life. I wanted the pumps/ruffly socks combo in that Legs video so bad I could taste it. I loved their beards, because as I might have mentioned before, I'm a beard lover. That biz just does it for me. That's why my boyfriend is a Hagrid/Grizzly Adams/Biker type. I love that stuff. Also, I love their whole Texas Blues sound, and their unabashed worship of the ladies. I saw them years ago performing in Savannah, Georgia, and they had Vegas showgirls up there on stage in addition to their fuzzy carpeted guitars. Now, if you are a person who is only acquainted with ZZ Top from early MTV, you may chiefly associate them with such tongue-in-cheek tunes as "Velcro Fly", "Tube Snake Boogie", or "Sleeping Bag." Maybe a hot song like "TV Dinners" off the Eliminator album. I don't even hate those, because I am a die hard fan, but you'd be really doing yourself a disservice if you didn't go listen to their best album, and perhaps one of the BEST ALBUMS EVER, Tres Hombres. It has songs like "Jesus Just Left Chicago" (SOOO GOOD) and "La Grange" (OMG) and "Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers" which I would get on my license plate if it would fit. These are some of the best flipping songs I've EVER HEARD. It appeals to my love of the outlaw, I guess. But the best song ever by them isn't on Tres Hombres, it's on the (arguably, because when I think about it, it might be a tie) second best album by the Boys, Deguello. This album has songs like "I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide" (YES!) and "Cheap Sunglasses" (Thrifty!). It is the song I hope to play at my wedding someday. It is "I Thank You," a song which, admittedly, was first recorded by David Porter and Isaac Hayes (RIP) but was made my favorite by ZZ.
So, there's this scene in the crappy movie where Mila Kunis (who my BF has an annoying crush on, dammit) is driving her car and parking it outside a building, and they bust out I Thank You. There's no reason for them to play this song right there, soundtrack-wise, it is just a case of somebody who loves it as much as I thinking that they should put it somewhere in this otherwise stupid and dissapointing film. It's too much song for such a mundane scene.
I have posted a video below of Billy Gibbons, Dusty Hill, and Frank Beard (the only one without a beard, ironically, but he's on drums here, so you don't really see him) performing the aforementioned masterpiece, complete with spangled jackets, for you to enjoy. Feel the power of the Outlaw, my friends. And rock out.

My kitten is growed up and feisty.

I got this kyoot ass kitten a few months back. He was tiny, and orange, and fuzzy. He purred and curled up under your chin. He made tiny cat biscuits on your chest. He was the softest, warmest piece o' kittyflesh ever. He had an excruciatingly endearing face, with a pink nose and perky ears. His stripy legs and body showed the most exquisite marks in their downy fur covering. He peeped quietly when awake, and slept hard when he was sleepy. He played with stuff, but in a cute, baby-on-a-blanket sort of way.

Fast forward about 6 months. My kitten is HUGE. He is about as big as a full size cat, but I know he has a way to go, so I'm afraid he'll be as big as a dog when it's all over. That's not a big deal (big kittehs rock) but what is is the fact that while he is still a very attractive cat, he is possibly the most criminal kitten I have ever known. He thinks he's somebody, you know? He will find any small piece of plastic packaging, candy wrapper, receipt, barrette, paper clip, jewelry, check from somebody's dad in the mail, or other item that is somewhat small, and play with it. Not just play, but make irritating noises while playing, and then place underneath or behind furniture or closed doors where you will NOT find it. He also loves feet. Not just feet resting on the floor, but feet SLEEPING. And not just feet moving tantalizingly under the covers, but feet minding their own business. This kitten also has taken to spending time lying in wait to jump onto the toilet when you get up so that he can watch "stuff" go around and then drink from the bowl (EW.) This kitten enjoys sinking his claws into leather computer chairs that cost a pretty penny and ripping the upholstery with abandon. Why is this criminal, you ask? Is this not the behavior, more or less, of any good, red-blooded baby cat? Well, what's criminal is that he is old enough and has a stern enough Daddy that he is COMPLETELY AWARE of what bad kitties do and what will earn him a dousing with the squirt bottle and/or good whupping, but rather than avoiding these actions as a result of effective training tactics, he WAITS until we are sleeping/out of the house and proceeds to jump on countertops, drink from sinks, crawl on tables, remove things therefrom, and then destroy/hide them. That is a bad and diabolical boy. And also, he has a disturbingly large and bulbous ball sack. Just sayin'. It's rude, man. I haven't the time or money to get it removed right now, but boy I am hoping he is taken down a few considerable pegs when I do, because at this rate, he is going to destroy everything I own in short order, including my poor lacerated toes.

But, he does continue to make biscuits in the bedclothes, purr contentedly when napping, and be cute as the dickens, so I guess he's got that going for him. And when he crawls up on my boyfriend's chest and rubs his lil' pink nose in Brian's beard, it is disgustingly cute. So I'll let him live. Dunno about Brian. He has a short fuse for ill-behaved pets, but I did hear him say that he loved him in the other room a while back when he thought I wasn't listening.

So just a warning. Kittens grow. And get crazy. I think that happens with kids, too, but I don't have any. And, I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to cut their testes off.

MIA = Sad but getting better.

Sorry I've been out of action for a while; I had some family tragedy and then the holidays compounded the stress, and while I've watched some movies in the interim, I haven't been able to muster the same joi de vivre that renders me unable to keep from typing up a veritable storm of commentary on movies that I truly enjoy. Things are looking up, and I hope to move into the new year with more to share and less to be utterly depressed about. Bear with me, reader, and I promise to inundate you with my wordy testimonials to the pop culture of my childhood that will have you mildly amused at best.

Here's to new beginnings, and THANK GOD X-mas is over,

Naptiger

Epiphanic Street Dancing = Pure Unadulterated Bliss

Holy cow, guys. I normally don't post so often, but in light of the fact that my last was mostly just a big whine-fest about my current workload, I figured I owed you something good. Also, I'm bursting with things to say about this movie I watched last night. Now, I have seen this movie probably 30 or more times, and listened to its soundtrack, and practiced the dance moves therein, but I just watched it again for the first time since I had this blog on which to wax eloquent, so I had to throw down.

Dude. Breakin 2: Electric Boogaloo (1984). That biz is hands down a frikkin' laugh riot from start to finish. Movies simply aren't this entertaining by a long shot anymore. I mean, the festival of optical excitement alone, what with costuming and break dancing and break dancing with special effects, is some top notch stuff. Then you have your actors, and the plot, and bitter social commentary, and this movie becomes the stuff of legend. I tell you they could re-release Breakin 2: E.B. in its original format, completely unedited, and it would be an instant smash hit. I am not kidding. Especially since, in spite of all possible taste, kids today are actually resurrecting the fashions (some of them, not all, thank goodness) that are featured in the film. Well, you might wonder why I am doing the sequel and not Breakin' itself. I'll just say that it took the second movie for them to distill the essence of perfection from the material that Breakin' 2: E.B. represents. Anyway, if you haven't seen it, it goes like this: Ozone and Turbo (played by Adolfo "Shabba Doo" Quinones and Michael "Boogaloo Shrimp" Chambers, which are two of the best names EVER) are street dancers who live together and work at a community center in a sort of East L.A-ish neighborhood. They dance in a team with Kelly, or "Special K," who is a rich white girl who has been classically trained but loves to break dance, and joined them in Breakin', which tells the story of how they met. Breakin' 2: E.B. opens with the two boys enjoying their volunteer work, but worried that the community center won't be able to raise funds to keep open, and Kelly finding it tough to get inspired by hoofing it in the chorus line as a professional dancer. She heads down to the slums to meet up with her homies and they introduce her to their neighborhood pals, at which point they all DANCE on over to the community center: Miracles. She gets to see all the super stuff they are doing there to keep kids off the streets and teach them how to do giant synchronized dance numbers involving popping and locking. Miracles is a wonderful place; painted with vibrant graffiti from floor to ceiling, inside and out, with hundreds of creative youths practicing dance moves, acting, miming, gymnastics, boxing, and looking cool. Kelly decides while she's in between jobs, she'd like to help out, and becomes aware of their troubles with money. Meantime, a big developer decides that he wants the building for a supermarket, and begins legal proceedings to take the place over, since Miracles owes back taxes and isn't up to code. The kids decide to have a benefit, with break dancing, naturally, to raise the money they need to keep Miracles open. Kelly asks her dad if he can give them any advice, but he doesn't approve of her hanging out with the riff-raff and accuses her of trying to get money. Meanwhile, the Miracles crew has a DANCE RUMBLE under a bridge with their rivals, ElectroRock, who are clearly bad guys because their outfits consist entirely of red and black, with studs. They get served by Ozone and Kelly and Turbo, who are on the side of the righteous, so they are obviously better dancers. Later, Ozone realizes that ElectroRock needs to be on their side, because they are all from the same neighborhood and need to band together against White Developer Man. He goes over to the dance club where they hang out and pleads his case. I mention this because the club has a stage and on that stage is ICE T, performing in football shoulder pads covered in metal studs, studded belts, armguards, and fingerless gloves, plus sunglasses and a hat. It is...fantastic. There are animal tails on Ozone's hat, and pants. There are too many things about the way things look in this movie for me to give them all the comment they deserve, but MY GOD it is a sight to see. Right down to the final number, which features all the Miracles kids, and ElectroRock, and our protagonists, dancing in FLUORESCENT OUTFITS right up until the credits roll.

The thing I have to tell you is, after all this time, I finally realized that the funny little sequences where Turbo dances on the ceiling and Ozone floats through the air are not just for entertaining special effect. And the name Miracles doesn't just refer to the wonderful work they do at the community center. It refers directly to the MIRACLES that can be wrought when a group of young people learn to break dance, in unison and solo, for the forces of good. I don't know why I didn't make this connection before, but I now know. And I am better for it.

And because there are truly no words to describe how fantastic this movie is, I am going to attach my first ever clip of streaming video, so as to testify. FEAST YO EYES!

And if you are interested in learning more about the history of the dance forms featured in the movie, this website has a pretty good background for you.
www.fast-rewind.com/trivia_breakin2.htm

Non-Swine Illness, Self Publishing, and Mexico!

Well. I was sick for a while there. Fever, snotty nose, sore ass throat, fever, sweating, bad stummy, etc. Doc said not the flu, but nasty as heck nonetheless. The only good thing about it was that my boyfriend got it too, so we were in the same boat (sorry, B) and I got to catch up on a lot of unwatched reality tv episodes (thank you, Gina, for telling me about realitytvfan.org!) and I got to play my new Lost game on the XBox. But I swear I wasn't having fun. I was sweaty and feverish, dammit! And very sleepy. But cats therapy and a good amount of cuddly napping, plus a dash of antibiotics, cured me. I'm getting a rep at work for being sickly, which sucks, because I never was in my life until I worked for both the public library and began attending a huge university. I mean, the germs are stacked against me, yo. ANYHOO. I went back to school and found out that even though some groups in my class get to present their project on December 9, and some on December 2, MY group is going to present on November 18th, because of Thanksgiving. So while it counts for my final exam grade, I only have like 2.5 weeks to come up with a 50 minute presentation on what Buddhism and Catholicism think of Abortion, from a religious ethical perspective, read Ethics for the New Millenium by the Dalai Lama, and write an analyzation of Martin Luther King's Letter From A Birmingham Jail. While concurrently composing a 32 page paperback book for my other class, comprised of Photoshop manipulated photographic images of my own design. Oh, did I mention that I'm getting together inventory for a craft show on the 14th of November? Yeah. By getting together, I mean creating from whole cloth, as it were. The craft show, or the Lee-Davis High School Band Boosters Holiday Craft Show, to be more accurate, was my bright idea for making money for my Thanksgiving trip to Tulum, Mexico, commencing on the 21st of November, and concluding on the 1st. At least there's a week-long taco and cocktail siesta at the end of the next couple of weeks, because I reckon I'll be friggin' pooped. POOPED. I swear, I tried to intimate to the doctor that some Xanax or the like would be helpful, but he didn't take the hint. They think you're a junkie or something if you are like "I just feel really stressed out" or "I get so anxious sometimes." Oh well. I suppose if I ate whole grains and slept and exercised regularly, I would handle deadlines and extra work with aplomb. Instead I'll handle it with snappish behavior and beer, like a good American. If Mr. Prez has to come up with a way for everyone to have health care, I can do a little homework, I guess. So, readership. Whoever gets me to 900 peeps (and everyone else, too) wish me luck in the coming weeks. I'm hoping for at least two B's and a couple hundred bucks for my Tulum Getaway. (And if Montezuma could possibly take out his revenge on someone else, I'd be truly grateful. I already left most of my intestines in Peru, 2007, so I've paid my dues to the gods of Latin America.)

Heck Yeah Obama! plus Roller Skatin' Fun

Ahh. My favorite President EVER has been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, which is simply fantastic because my third favorite pres, Jimmy Carter, has one too. My second fave is not likely to get one, but I still think he's cool. And his wife, too. And for those who think he shouldn't have gotten one, I'd like to point out that if a bunch of Norwegians want to endorse our president for their own reasons, then we are already in a better boat than the one we were sinking in last year. ANYWAY, I just had to represent for a sec, because I would seriously walk through fire for Barack Obama. Or skate through it, maybe. Skate? What?

I gotta tell you, I like roller skating. Can I do it well? No. Do I ever go to the rink? No. But I still like it. I did it a lot when I was a kid, because it was the thing to do in the early eighties, and I remember it fondly. Also, the music they play at the roller skating rink (on "old school night" probably) is the music I like best. (Note my new funky slideshow feature at bottom of page.) I had a roller skating birthday party when I was about 9 that I missed most of because right at the beginning I knocked myself out and woke up on a bench with a bag of ice on the back of my dome about an hour later, after all the other kids had eaten cake. Unfortunately, my skills on skates do not match my fervent desire to be a jam skater of highest degree, so I just avoid the rink in general so as not to experience the frustration that is involved with not being able to execute the moves that come naturally to my dancin' feet when wheels are attached to them. So, I devote this post to the fabulous musical skate-fest that is Xanadu. Okay, kids, if you don't know the plot, here goes. Olivia Newton John (ONJ for short) is a Muse (yes, like Greek Mythology) named Kira, who wears those awesome barrettes with ribbons hanging down (I'm bringing 'em back!) and legwarmers and flowy ruffled stuff. She gets sent down to earth to inspire Sonny, a guy who is a great painter and rollerskater but just doesn't know what to do with himself. When she gets there she hooks him up with Gene Kelly, an aging and wealthy bachelor who had his heyday during the big band era. The two fellows decide to buy this great old art deco building and turn it into the most happening roller rink you ever did see, with all kinds of neon and shiny stuff and harem pants and gold lamé. There are many cool, or at least fascinating, music numbers, along with the obligatory 1980-or-thereabouts animated sequence, including roses blooming with drops of sparkling dew and our main characters turning into fishes. HAHA. At this point, if you've seen it, you know of what I speak, and if you haven't, you are like WTF big time. Ah, the fun of describing movies on me blog never gets old. Anyway ONJ falls for Sonny and all she wants to do is stay on earth and build a roller-rink-romance with him, but her parents, Zeus and Hera, are not trying to let her, so she makes a melodic appeal to them in a Tron-like landscape of glowing neon orange and red lines that is supposed to represent the realm of Mount Olympus, I guess, and she gets to come back at the end as a skate chick at the rink, who doesn't know who she was but is certainly down to get busy with Sonny. So all's well. We won't talk about the fact that roller skating rinks were probably not the best long term investment, because it was all about young love, man, and it doesn't matter when you've got a rink designed by a friggin' Greek muse, dude.
Anyway, watch and be blown away by the slice of life in 1980 that you get to witness in this movie, plus the fabulous clothes, hair, and rollerskating prowess of white Southern Californians.
ENJOY, and if you are a braver person than I, go out and learn to skate well enough to put them all to shame.

Party in the Hizzy

Look, I know I usually post about movies from the seventies, and possibly eighties, with a smattering of earlier fare from the Old School Disney selections, but I just watched this movie with my boyfriend a couple of weekends ago and had to represent, so here goes.

Picture it: It's one of those nights where you want to watch a movie, but you've already been to the Blockbuster that week and you just can't be bothered to go again, and you'd rather sit at home and not go out anyway (Insert your "why doesn't she have Netflix?" question here. Answer: I tried it, and they were unable to ship to my apt successfully, so I quit. So there.) So, you peruse your HUGE selection of movies. You have seen all the DVDs what seems like recently. You decide to switch the cord to the VCR, thereby increasing your choices a hundredfold, because your selection of VHS is EVEN HUGER. You then realize that it is a little less huge because your boyfriend is now in residence, and he doesn't like "chick flicks" or animated children's films, more's the pity. So your choices are now limited to selections on VHS that have some sort of universal appeal to both men and women and are hopefully amusing enough for a Saturday Night with Beers On the Couch. This brings you, after a lengthy process of elimination, to a tape made by some guy that used to be a cook at the resaurant where your old roommate worked that he lent to her when she gave him a ride home. This tape has not one, not two, but three features on it. And they are named House Party (I, II, and III, respectively.)

House Party was made in 1990, that glorious year that distilled all the late eighties had to offer and gave you a taste of that most fabulous decade, the 90's, complete with mustard and purple rayon shirts for boys and stretch pants and sports bras and huge bangs for girls. And Kid n' Play, an immensely popular (at the time) "rap" duo ("rap" by the standards of a different time, man) that are featured as the main characters in the film, accompanied by Martin Lawrence and Tisha Campell, who are not a couple in the film, which can be confusing for those who watched a lot of the Martin show in later years. And also some hugely buff "thugs" that play their nemeses while wearing distinctly homo-erotic slashed sweatshirts and constantly suggesting that everyone but they are gay pussies (pardon me.) The plot is basic; Play is going to have a party 'cause he has the house to himself. It's a school night and it'll be hard for Kid to get to it because he got in some trouble at school and might run afoul of his dad. Also, some fine chicks (Sidney and Sharane, played by Gina and somebody you never heard of) have been invited and both Kid, Play, and their friend Bilal (Martin) want to sex them up. Hijinks ensue, yada yada yada, insert hilarity here, and the party gets going. Kid and Play rap, while Martin deejays at the party, and some smokin' hot dance moves are laid down. A little confusion about who has a crush on who plays out, with the girlfriends fighting over rights to Kid, who if you refer to the picture is an extremely weird lookin' dude but they seem to want a piece. What's funny is that these "kids" (Martin is like 25 I swear) go to all this trouble to party, and they just wanna dance! And have a good-natured rap-off! No drugs or boozing for these fine young gentlemen and ladies. Sex, sure, but that comes up later, when Gina (I mean Sidney) realizes she really likes Kid and he figures "Sure, why not" and they hook up. Also, there's a cameo by George Clinton in the movie, but it almost doesn't bear mentioning because he doesn't even perform and they sorely misuse his talents (which are some of the best, if not the best, talents ever.) Anyway it's a good-natured romp that is a fabulous snapshot of a time that I, personally, remember well. And it's funny, so take a look and go back to 1990 in all its glory.

I, Photoshopper.

I have been taking a class this semester, name of Electronic Strategies/Computer Imaging. It is a Painting & Printmaking course, but we are mostly learning how to use different awesome and prohibitively expensive for the private citizen programs, like Dreamweaver for web design (look out world; I know HTML code!!! I can marquee whatever I want! AHAHAHAAA) and the incredibly cool and endlessly kick-ass program, Photoshop Creative Suite Four (CS4) which retails for like $700 and I am no way getting for Christmas from anybody, more's the pity. But, I can use it at school, so I thought I'd post you all a couple of examples of my superb creations that cost me $7.74 to print, with ink at .028 cents per square inch. To post on blogger, though, is FREE! Both were created with the use of good ol' Microsoft Paint (mostly the stretch/skew and inverse color tools) and screen caps of fabulously talented peoples' quilts, which I then altered drastically with Glorious Photoshop, which did I mention is freakin' cool as hell? Yes, I believe I did. What isn't cool is that no matter how I try, I can not get the final and truly badass versions of these files to upload to Blogger. Why? Not for lack of trying. So feast your eyes on the just-short-of-finishing-touches versions, and imagine how they might be a little cooler. Or I can tell you. This one down here has shadows and fades on some of it, and the one up top has a whole other level. But the gist is present, I guess. I'll try to get the real ones up soon....

Newbie + Littlekins = A whole lotta hissin' goin' on

Well, I have some exciting news to report! Exciting for the likes of me, anyway; namely, a person who is thrown into flights of ecstasy over the presence of baby cats. I got a new one! My boyfriend called me at work on Saturday and casually asked if I would like a kitten (!!!). I casually replied "Oh, maybe, what do they look like?" while thinking "OMG! OMG!" and practically jumping up and down. It turns out his aunt had a couple left from a litter of fine countryside Virginia farm-cat stock. He said there were two, a grey-and-white, and a "gold" one. When he said "gold," I very un-spazzily asked if by that he might mean orange. Orange and white striped, maybe? And he said "Yeah, I guess you could say that." I then said "Is he fluffy? Is he healthy? How old is he? Is he tall? How long is his tail? What color are his eyes? Does he have large paws?" To which he replied "He looks cute to me. If you want him, I'll bring him over tonight." Needless to say, I could very much not concentrate on work for the rest of the afternoon, especially since if my boyfriend is willing to use the adjective "cute" on anything, then that's a really cute kitten all right.

Now, let me explain why I don't have a kitten already if I like them so much. You see, I have Smalls; ol' Jasper over there in the pic on the left, and he's quite a handful already. He co-habitated with another cat for the last six years, and thoroughly hated her ass the whole time, engaging in at least one bloody scrap-fest a day, coupled with all kinds of chasing, harrying, and cornering under the bed style activities. He is not called the Princely Prince for nothing, man. He is the man around the apartment, more's the pity if you forget it. So I was not going to bring some poor sucker into that world without a damn good reason. I did notice that when the other cat moved out for good, he seemed to be a little lonely with no one to lacerate on a regular basis. I also noticed that when my boyfriend spent time with him while I was at work, he seemed way less needy when I got home. So, I considered another cat, but wondered if Kins was perhaps one of those kind of cats that needs to be the only cat in the household. I have had a long-standing policy, though. That policy is this: If a kitten falls into my lap; be it found under a car/bushes/bench, thrust upon me by well-meaning co-workers, sleeping on my doormat, etc., I have no choice but to keep it. This scenario fit the bill, mostly. Also, I went to Chincoteague on a real vacation with my family when I was about 8 or 9 (meaning not visiting the relatives over the holidays, but just my family, with DAD who almost never got leave to spend time with us from the Navy) and it was a fabulous week of fishing all day for crab with my big brother and when not doing that, playing with the one thousand orange stripey kittens that lived on the docks across the street from our rental. I never had an orange cat, but I liked them from then on. So when this little "golden" fella fell in my lap, it was no contest. And Jasper's taking it well, all things considered. He was even playing with him this morning, even though when he saw me looking he pretended he was ignoring the kitten. A little swatting when the baby gets near the food dish, and the odd hiss here and there, but a much better reaction than I expected. It's just a tiny six-week-old baby, after all. So, Clyde, the Orange Kitten Of My Dreams, has now joined the household. May it be a long and prosperous relationship. And may the two cats start sleeping together in a squishy pile sooner rather than later, because that is some cute shit, man.

My trip was fun, and I'm on a mission from God.

Well, as for the trip, it was good; except for the 2(!) speeding tickets that were garnered in upstate NY and the veritable monsoon that ran us out of the Phish show a tad early due to waterloggedness. Duck = delicious; caves = cold, and diverting but not the most impressive display ever; Gourmet dinner = outstanding; Phish show = hotel check in was a pain in my ass and everyone else's, but the show was pretty good despite the weather; Animal Park = awesome, even though we switched it to a different animal park that was more directly available on our route.

Then, after a few days at home, I headed up to NOVA to go to my friend's wedding party on Saturday, which was great because we've known each other forever and all our buddies from far and wide came to attend, and much reminiscence regarding who met who when and in what dorm, coupled with much beer and wine, took place.

Now, I'm in school again (alas...) and balancing that with work and the recent advent of my extremely cute boyfriend as a resident of my apartment has me exceptionally busy. But not so busy I can't tell you a little about a movie.*

As a result of a conversation with said boyfriend last week, I realized that I hadn't posted regarding my Favorite Movie of All Time. So, in an attempt to rectify my negligence, I will now say a little about the magnum opus of dear departed John Belushi and still-living Dan Aykroyd's careers, The Blues Brothers. This 1980 film, written by Aykroyd and John Landis, is the most universally defining movie of my life. I watched it one hundred thousand times with my brother growing up. Every line from this movie is permanently engraved on my cerebral cortex, and if an eight year old girl could have turned herself into either Jake or Elwood Blues, she would have done it in a snap. I idolized those guys like nobody's business. My brother named his two puppies after their characters 17 years ago. I can't even begin to explain how every nuance of this movie is exquisite to my personal sensibilities. For a white kid like me, there were no cooler people on the planet, real or fictional.

To summarize the plot, Jake gets out of the Joint (Joliet Prison, hence his nickname "Joliet Jake") and brother Elwood picks him up. They go visit the Catholic school they attended as children and find out that it needs money to stay in business. They decide to reunite their old band and have a benefit concert. The rest of the movie involves the two of them rounding up the old members and attempting to stage a huge show, all while falling afoul of the law in numerous ways that involve many car chases and crashes, one of which takes place inside a shopping mall. There are musical numbers by Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, Cab Calloway, James Brown, John Lee Hooker, and the brothers themselves, who had albums in their own right.

I love the blues, and I love sarcasm, and I have a fondness for outlaws, and my brother loves cars, and we both enjoyed the over-the-top car chases immensely. I will admit that my deep and abiding affection for this movie is probably entwined with my equal affection for my brother and our childhood together, but I will also attest to the fact that I have seen it plenty of times without him and it is still my top favorite movie ever. If I could be this movie, I would. I would be a black suit and sunglasses and a fedora, and I would be blues music as played and sung by the greatest purveyors of the sound, and I would be a Plymouth Bluesmobile, a performance of Rawhide in a honkey-tonk with chicken wire in front of the stage, Aretha singing "Think" in a soul-food dive, Elwood cooking toast in an apartment the size of my bathroom, and I'd be in that jail at the end when Jake and Elwood perform Jailhouse Rock for the inmates. And if I could live the scene in which this exchange takes place:

Jake: First you traded the Cadillac in for a microphone. Then you lied to me about the band. And now you're gonna put me right back in the joint!

Elwood: They're not gonna catch us. We're on a mission from God.

I would. I surely would.

And there you have it. Words cannot express properly, but if you get any of my meaning, get this: All movies I ever see are unable to hold much of a candle to this one. Watch and enjoy.

* I am trying to work up a Top 10 for the sidebar, just so's you know where I'm coming from. Stay tuned!

Plans for the Weekend!

Tomorrow, I am heading to New York City to eat a chinese duck (as you can see on your left) with my extry family, the Brownings of Venice. This will be but the first leg of my fabulous plans, which after duck will include a tour of some caves in Upstate NY (with only one Browning), as pictured on your right. Then I'm going to have a fabulous gourmet dinner at the restaurant attached to the caves, as pictured by my belly, and including roast beast in gorgonzola cream sauce or some such delicious nonsense.

After the dinner, there will be a luxurious Best Western, and then the next day I'll be seeing my favorite band, Phish, for the 111th time, at Saratoga Springs Performing Arts Center, which is rumored to be a lovely venue, as pictured over here on your left again, followed by a night of revelry at the Saratoga Springs Hilton wherein I will pay an enormous fee to enjoy a hotel 1.7 miles from the venue, which is key to the whole revelry aspect.

THEN, on the way home, I'll be shooting through the lovely town of Harrisburg, Pa, where I will enjoy the fantastic sights at Lake Tobias Wild Animal Park, where, godwilling, I will get to do what these people are doing, namely, stroke an elk. And all manner of other critters in their fabulous petting zoo, as well as view non-pettables, like a tiger, and maybe a napping one at that. Then I must return to RVA and face the true End of Summer, as defined by the fact that I have to go to SCHOOL again and this time for like four months. Poo. But, I will take the memories of Duck, Loved ones, Caves, Good Food, Phish, the Hilton, and Wild Pettable Animals home to bolster me in my time of drudgery.

RIP John Hughes. I'll never forget you.

John Hughes died from a heart attack today, out on a walk in Manhattan. He was visiting friends, and then he was gone, at 59. I can't really put into words how much his movies meant to me. It will suffice to say that he was the single most influential director in my life. I'm going to let his credits speak for themselves, courtesy IMDB.


Writer:
2000s
1990s
1980s
1970s
Drillbit Taylor (2008) (story) (as Edmond Dantes)
Beethoven's 5th (2003) (V) (characters) (as Edmond Dantes) ... aka Beethoven's 5th: Big Paw (USA)
Maid in Manhattan (2002) (story) (as Edmond Dantès) ... aka Made in New York (USA: poster title)
Home Alone 4 (2002) (TV) (characters) ... aka Home Alone: Taking Back the House (USA: DVD title)
Beethoven's 4th (2001) (V) (characters) (as Edmond Dantès)
Just Visiting (2001) (screenplay) ... aka Les visiteurs en Amérique (France)
Beethoven's 3rd (2000) (V) (characters) (as Edmond Dantès)
American Adventure (2000) (TV) (characters) ... aka National Lampoon's American Adventure (USA: complete title)
Reach the Rock (1998) (written by)
Home Alone 3 (1997) (written by)
Flubber (1997) (screenplay) ... aka Disney's Flubber: The Absent Minded Professor (promotional title)
101 Dalmatians (1996) (screenplay)
Miracle on 34th Street (1994) (screenplay)
Baby's Day Out (1994) (written by)
Beethoven's 2nd (1993) (characters) (as Edmond Dantès)
Dennis the Menace (1993) (written by) ... aka Dennis (UK)
Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992) (characters) (written by) ... aka Home Alone II (USA: short title)
Beethoven (1992) (written by) (as Edmond Dantès) ... aka Beethoven: Story of a Dog (Australia: cable TV title)
Curly Sue (1991) (written by)
Dutch (1991) (written by) ... aka Driving Me Crazy
Career Opportunities (1991) (written by) ... aka One Wild Night
Home Alone (1990) (written by)
Christmas Vacation (1989) (written by) ... aka National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation (UK: complete title) (USA: complete title) ... aka National Lampoon's Winter Holiday (UK)
Uncle Buck (1989) (written by)
The Great Outdoors (1988) (written by)
She's Having a Baby (1988) (written by)
Planes, Trains & Automobiles (1987) (written by)
Some Kind of Wonderful (1987) (written by)
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986) (written by)
Pretty in Pink (1986) (written by)
Weird Science (1985) (written by)
European Vacation (1985) (screenplay) (story) ... aka National Lampoon's European Vacation (UK: video box title)
The Breakfast Club (1985) (written by)
Sixteen Candles (1984) (written by)
Nate and Hayes (1983) (written by) ... aka Savage Islands (UK)
Vacation (1983) (screenplay) (short story "Vacation '58") ... aka National Lampoon's Vacation (UK) (USA: complete title) ... aka American Vacation (Europe: English title: video title)
Mr. Mom (1983) (written by) ... aka Mr. Mum ... aka Perfect Daddy (Philippines: English title)
Class Reunion (1982) (written by) ... aka National Lampoon's Class Reunion
"Delta House" (5 episodes, 1979) - The Matriculation of Kent Dorfman (1979) TV episode (written by) - Campus Fair (1979) TV episode (written by) - The Deformity (1979) TV episode (written by) - The Lady in Weighting (1979) TV episode (written by) - The Shortest Yard (1979) TV episode (written by)
Producer:
2000s
1990s
1980s
New Port South (2001) (executive producer)
Reach the Rock (1998) (producer)
Home Alone 3 (1997) (producer)
Flubber (1997) (producer) ... aka Disney's Flubber: The Absent Minded Professor (promotional title)
101 Dalmatians (1996) (producer)
Miracle on 34th Street (1994) (producer)
Baby's Day Out (1994) (producer)
Dennis the Menace (1993) (producer) ... aka Dennis (UK)
Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992) (producer) ... aka Home Alone II (USA: short title)
Curly Sue (1991) (producer)
Dutch (1991) (producer) ... aka Driving Me Crazy
Only the Lonely (1991) (producer)
Career Opportunities (1991) (producer) ... aka One Wild Night
Home Alone (1990) (producer)
Christmas Vacation (1989) (producer) ... aka National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation (UK: complete title) (USA: complete title) ... aka National Lampoon's Winter Holiday (UK)
Uncle Buck (1989) (producer)
The Great Outdoors (1988) (executive producer)
She's Having a Baby (1988) (producer)
Planes, Trains & Automobiles (1987) (producer)
Some Kind of Wonderful (1987) (producer)
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986) (producer)
Pretty in Pink (1986) (executive producer)
The Breakfast Club (1985) (producer)
Director:
1990s
1980s
Curly Sue (1991)
Uncle Buck (1989)
She's Having a Baby (1988)
Planes, Trains & Automobiles (1987)
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Weird Science (1985)
The Breakfast Club (1985)
Sixteen Candles (1984)
Actor:
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986) (uncredited) .... Guy Running Between Cabs
The Breakfast Club (1985) (uncredited) .... Brian's Father
Class Reunion (1982) (uncredited) .... 'Girl' in dress with paper bag over head ... aka National Lampoon's Class Reunion

John Hughes, 2/18/1950-8/6/2009
Thanks for Chet, and Bender, and Ferris, and Cameron, and Farmer Ted, and Duckie, and Uncle Buck, and Cousin Eddie, and Amanda Jones, and the Griswolds, and The Great Outdoors, which is one of the only movies my Dad and I ever bonded over. Thanks for everything.

Done with summer school and sick as a...kitty?

I hab a rudny node. And me heed is swoled up with mucous. But you don't want to hear about all that. I used up all my sick leave a couple of weeks ago, so I'm forced to be sick at work, which is always weird. Cold meds will make you feel like you're on another planet. Somebody asked me where the photocopier was and I said "Okay." It's the kind of illness that isn't debilitating; just makes you tired and want to take a nippy nap. Especially when I know that my cat is at home laying in bed with his little fuzzy belly up and his paws making biscuits in his sleep while he emits loud rumbly purrs of comfort coupled with little trills of true bliss at being a cat taking a nap. Bastard. But, I did attend my last class of summer school this morning. Actually, it was just a meeting with my professor, so he could look over the body of my work from the course and tell me what he thought of my progress and what grade he thought I deserved. It was a good meeting and he seemed to think I did well for a beginner at screenprinting, but he had the obligatory art professor conversation with me that I've come to dread. Here it is: "You've obviously got skill, and the ability to execute the assignments. Now what you need to think about is what is in your deepest soul that you want to bring forth and express through your work." OMG BARF. That crap kills me. Forgive me if I sound like I can't take instruction, because I can, and my prof even said he liked that he didn't have to push me to do things and take chances. The thing is, I have lived 33 years on this planet, and been all around this world, and I have literally worked hard to turn into a person that could be proud of theirself, and I resent it when someone suggests that I am not imbuing everything I do in LIFE with myself. My deepest self. It's like they want you to freak out and say that you were abused and start drawing crazy biz or espouse a weird ideology and channel ancient cultures or some off-the-wall crap and I am just being ME and I don't feel like I need to force some shit that is coming from my fabulously talented fingers naturally. So that's the rub of art school. Someone always has an opinion, and that's fine. But one must keep in mind that art is the most subjective of concepts and no one can know what you're thinking. It's like when someone writes a bio on a "real" artist, one that's dead, and tells you that they just know that that fish head is a metaphor for the economy, and probably the color used in the sky represents the loss of innocence. Dude, case in point; Magritte was just trying to freak you out. If I had said to my professor this morning "I was just trying to freak you out" he would have scoffed and asked me what I was really feeling in my deepest soul. Poo, I say. I will do whatever shallow crap I want and it will be beautiful. And, maybe, it won't be shallow. And maybe, after I'm dead, some little girl will go to the National Gallery and look hard at my work and think "I will do that someday!", like I did, and she won't be trying to decide if the dog is supposed to mean my teacher used to hit me with a ruler.

I think you should know...

Look. I know this blog is mostly about movies I like, tigers, cats, and names thereof, and nominally my personal life. There has also been a wee hedgehog. But I was just looking at AnimalTracks on MSN (good animewel pics if you like that kind of thing) and I saw this little bugger. His mom was killed in Mexico, and he and his three little brothers were brought to a Nature Guy to be bottle fed until they can go out and do Dillo-ey stuff in the wild. He wants you to know about him. And I happen to be privy to a little info concerning his more interesting factoids, so I thought to share them with my reader(s). There is only one type of armadillo that lives in the Estados Unidos. He's a Nine Banded Armadillo, referring to the number of plates on his shell. He can roll up in a ball to protect himself, but more often, he will escape into a thorn patch, or burrow down into the soft sand. He is known to jump when startled, and can jump like 4 feet in the air, sometimes 6! No kidding. He jumps when he sees a car, which doesn't help, but rather increases impact. He also needs to swim sometimes, but since his armor would make him sink, he knows how to inflate his intestines with air. No fooling. He (or she, as the case may be) always gives birth to four genetically identical quadruplets with every pregnancy. Amazing, indeed. He also, unfortunately, is one of the only animals that scientists can use to study the disease leprosy, because he can catch it, more's the pity. He likes to dig, and eat invertebrates; like ants and grubs and whatnot. He was also found in larger sizes back in the day, when children used to use him for a beast of burden. For reals. Now go out and spread the word. An armadillo isn't just the subject of unseemly roadkill jokes, he's a fascinating creature. And proof that no matter how oogly an adult version looks, the baby one is almost always cute.