Tom Cruise is seriously creepy.
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Tom Cruise is seriously creepy.
Posted by Manogirl at 10:45 AM in Just Saying, is all | Permalink | Comments (1)
We went to a play today (and by we, I suppose I am using the royal "we", since I am the only member of this household to attend; I went with my mom, my sis, and one of my mom's girlfriends) and I'd just like to point out that if your elderly relative is too elderly to stay awake for the first act of the play, it might not be the best idea to bring her to sit in the third row of a theater and watch a play. I swear to god, for the entire first act, her chin was touching her chest. Or close to it, anyway. And then she would start to lean towards me and push me closer to my sister, who was annoyed.
I think at one point, the lead actor of the play, John Malkovich, looked over at our section and saw her sleeping and couldn't look away. I think it was that noticeable. She was visibly nodding off and on for the whole act. It was mind-boggling.
The play, on the whole, was good. Kind of boring, I have to admit. The only reason that we went, honestly, is so that my sister could see John Malkovich, since she's been obsessed with him for as long as I can remember. I can't say that it was a bad play, only that it was deeply inaccessible, at least to me. It dealt with Hungarian history (set in Hungary during WWI), and much of it would have made more sense to me if I'd known more about it. But I suppose it was neat to see John Malkovich being all Malkovich-y; not as great as Gary Sinise in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, but neat. If it would have been a better play, it would have been nicer.
For dinner afterwards, we went to a highly recommended restaurant, which was very good. My mom's appetizer was scrumptious, and I want to eat it again. It was gnocchi (but soft, pillowy, pudding-like gnocchi) in a mushroom sauce with white truffle oil, and it was delish. Man. So good. I wish I would have ordered that. Dish envy. No good.
All in all, besides the snoozing oldster, a good night. Dinner out at a nice restaurant is always good.
Posted by Manogirl at 09:08 PM in Just Saying, is all | Permalink | Comments (2)
Yesterday when I ran to the grocery store to get some things for dinner, I almost bought two steaks at the grocery's butcher counter for dinner tonight. But being that S only eats filet mignon, and the filets at the store looked crappy, I decided not to. I told him that I was thinking about it (we rarely eat steak, simply because of how expensive a good filet will run ya), and I think he liked the idea, so this morning, before we started the great Romano-Miller Spring Cleaning of 2005, I suggested we have steak for dinner. But I told him that I'd get it from a proper butcher shop, and that it would be good stuff. He seemed to like that idea (and I confess that I thought it would make a good reward for all the work I was hoping he'd be doing), so I took myself off to the butcher.
There was almost NO filets left, but I got some of the last two. And expensive little buggers they were, too. Mine was about 6 ounces, S's about 9.5. Anyway, they looked quite good, so I felt rather justified in spending the money.
About two hours after I'd acquired said steaks, S's mom called and asked us to dinner. Excellent, says you. You can have the steak tomorrow and eat a free meal tonight. But no. No, no, no. Tomorrow, S is going to see Sith again (but digitally and with someone from Borders), and I am going to see a play in the city. So I will be eating a (hopefully free) lovely dinner out in a very neat-looking restaurant while S munches on movie popcorn.
Well, you can't let $20 worth of steak go to waste, so we regretfully had to turn down the invitation. It was worth it though, because the steak was fantastic. One thing that S and I can really cook is grilled food. We made some really scrumptious burgers a couple of weeks ago, and I want to try it again. One of our major problems with burgers is how big and fat they get, and I learned a neat trick to stop that inflation from happening, so I'm anxious to try again. I would also like to try cooking chicken on the grill, because last summer I didn't at all. So I'm going to get a nice bottle of barbecue sauce and barbecue some chicken breasts.
Oh, hell. This is boring. I'm boring myself.
Posted by Manogirl at 07:13 PM in Mundanity (is that a word?) | Permalink | Comments (0)
I love listening to this album during the summer. Graceland just seems to work for me when it's warm out. I only recently acquired the album, though I remember it from my childhood. In fact, lots of my music now is music that I remember from my childhood. My dad is a music nut, after all.
For instance, I am bodily prevented from turning off John Mellencamp when it comes on the radio. My body will not let me change the station. When I was little, my dad would go into the basement (always the basement, in both houses that we lived in) and turn on Mellencamp and play his electric guitar. I don't love John Mellencamp, and if given a choice, I don't know that I would choose to listen to him, but when one of his songs comes on the radio, I can't ignore it.
Unfortunately, my dad didn't really succeed with Eric Clapton (though he would probably say he wished he had). I don't mind turning off Eric Clapton, though some of his songs are obvious classics. I've already expounded on the difficulty I have choosing between the electric and acoustic Layla. But I also assume that everyone who loves music has the same problem.
My dad has also, at various times, introduced me to: the Beatles (thank god), Led Zeppelin (the only really loud rock that I love passionately), Steely Dan (but not all Steely Dan), Chicago (try to explain to me how the song Beginnings is bad, and you'll fail), Stevie Ray Vaughn (who is like a hypnotic trance to me; like Mellencamp, I can't turn off his songs on the radio, even though I might not choose his songs otherwise), Dave Matthews, REM (and now I think I like REM more than my dad ever did), Paul Simon (once I stole a CD from one of the Simon box sets and kept it for like, two years. Bad daughter.), the Breeders (and I defintely stole his copy of Last Splash and never gave it back), Carole King (I have a burned copy of Tapestry. Bad fan.), Pink Floyd (he bought me one of those gold CD copies of Wish You Were Here), Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, as well as Neil Young (though to be honest, I got into those bands more through S and my friend SS), Elton John (I had a record with Rocket Man on it when I was a kid, and I still looooove that song), James Taylor (though I only really love the live CD), and Sheryl Crow (he had the Globe Sessions; I still have a burned copy of the CD).
And this doesn't even cover all the artists I remember hearing in the house as a kid. I'm a lucky person, because some people (S, for instance) have parents who actively dislike most music, and that always makes me sad. S doesn't like a lot of the "classic" rock bands because he'd really never heard them in his childhood. He was self- and peer directed in terms of a lot of his music taste. But me! My most favorite band for a long time was Dave Matthews, and I STOLE a copy of Under the Table and Dreaming away from my father when I was a sophomore or junior in high school. Of course, I like bands that my dad has never listened to, because I too have found people on my own, or through peers.
Of course, now S and I (and especially S) try to pass music on to my dad once in a while, because we are really discovering new bands that we love all the time. Although, S doesn't feel successful as a human being unless he makes you love Pearl Jam before he's done with you. I think he's gotten my dad to the point that my dad would like to see PJ live, which, let's concede it, that's a success. S has that effect on people though. I mean, good lord, I don't even like PJ that much and I love seeing them live. He's converted a lot of people. I'm not so good at that. Then again, it's not so easy to convince people that Ani DiFranco is that good. She's sort of a love her/hate her kind of artist.
Gaaahhhh. This was supposed to be about Paul Simon and summer, and I'm way off. So I'm done. I could go on about music forever, so I'm stopping. Suffice it to say, though, that music almost always sounds better in the summer, in the car, with the windows down and the volume turned up.
Posted by Manogirl at 11:31 AM in Just Saying, is all | Permalink | Comments (1)
It was chilling. Because the deal is, you know what's going to happen. You do. I could give away almost every single thing that happens in the movie, and you'd have seen it coming by a mile. When you watch it (which you better, people), you will know what is going to happen before it happens. A ship lands, and you will be able to map out, in your head, what will happen. Maybe not so precisely, but event-wise, you can anticipate every single thing that happens. There were few surprises.
That said, it was magnificent. How Lucas managed to pull this shit off--how I could be scared and horrified, I'm not sure. Because I knew. I could tell myself over and over: "Yoda lives. Obi-Won lives." And I knew this to be true. I knew that Obi-Won or Yoda could not defeat Anakin/Vader, and yet I hoped. I wanted. This is really, really good filmmaking. Really. The first time Palpatine/Sidious says "Darth Vader" in the movie, you're really chilled through. The first time you hear Vader's mechanical breath sounds, you're terrified.
There were moments that I simply got lost in the story--and I knew the goddamn story! I only looked at S's watch twice during the movie, and that was only because I wanted to make sure that I didn't need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the movie. The two and some minutes hours went by faster than I can even believe. Really. I can't help but praise this movie. I hated the last two. But I'm telling you that Lucas has hit it out of the park on this one.
Maybe I'll hate it in the morning, but I don't think so. I now want to watch 4, 5 and 6. Because with one minor exception, and I won't give it away, the movies seem to fit together. Oh, and the love scenes sucked ass.
Posted by Manogirl at 03:12 AM in Just Saying, is all | Permalink | Comments (1)
It's been an exceedingly interesting month of searches over here at Quod. Central. I find this annoying when other people do it, but generally have to acknowledge that it's the best way to prevent these sometimes ewky searches from happening again. So consequently, all search word strings will be embedded as links, and you'll have to click on them to see what the words were. Sorry if you hate it; I feel your pain. But these are too interesting NOT to share.
Apparently, I am the clearinghouse (and one of the top hits) for this phrase. So sorry to disappoint the people who are thinking I have tips, or something equally disgusting, because I was just referring to a movie.
Also, I must fixate on the marital status of quirky men, because these two searches are freaking hilarious, especially the second one. Sorry, hon. He's taken.
Furthermore, I do not think that this is true. I'm sorry if you don't like him, but I have to admit that his refusal to use foie gras is semi-refreshing. But I've never eaten it, so maybe if I did, I would think the way you do.
This one is pretty good too. Here's the answer: someone who is shady and ewky. Slimy, but charming. I've been trying to decide if that phrase refers to something, but I don't think so. I think that phrase specifically deals with people. Things can be sketchy, but not sketch ball. I think.
And you, whoever the hell you are? Go away and never, ever come back. Ick. Ick ick ick. I think we've found our perfect example of the above search. (Although that probably crosses the sketch line into the illegal disgusting behavior area.)
And finally, I'm not sure what the person searching for this is going for. I wish I could help.
I promise, cross my heart, that I won't do this too often. But every once in a while, it's fun.
Posted by Manogirl at 01:32 PM in What the fuck? | Permalink | Comments (0)
I finished an alternate history last night (alternate history being my favorite subgenre of sci-fi), and I was actually a little scared while reading it. Alternate histories aren't scary in the way that Stephen King is, because obviously, they haven't happened. But thinking about what the world would have been like if Ad. Hi. (and I refuse to use his name, because I don't want any bad elements finding this website while looking for ne0-Naz1 propaganda; this also explains the zero and one in that there word) had prevailed. I'm not sure how far back you have to go to make that scenario work in your head, but one thing you have to do is remove the Japanese from the equation. Because it was their overeager desire for world domination including the US that brought us into the war.
The book I read, In the Presence of Mine Enemies, makes that supposition; and delays the conquest of America to the fifties. But one thing the book only barely (and uneasily) touches on is the idea that AH could not have been okay with the Asian population in general. I don't know if you could have a Germanic Empire working alongside a Japanese Empire. It seems that the two egomaniacs in charge of these hypothetical empires would have had too much hatred to let the other live normally. I guess the book suggested unease based on the surge of Japanese computer advances (and it should be said, I guess, that in the book, America plays no role whatsoever, being the disorderly occupied territory that it became), and a certain prejudice was suggested, but I think it might be greater than that.
Still, the idea at the core of the book is that there is no denying the march of democracy, even in a facist state like a victorious post-war Germany. At the end of the book, we're left feeling very much like the world has turned for the better, and that elections and nationalism will prevail. It's interesting, and I don't know if I agree. I guess that downtrodden people often hunger for their own voice in government, but the book paints these people (some of whom are Jews--hidden very well) as powerful. Though scared for their lives (the Jews), in a society where all the supposedly unsavory elements are removed, I'm not sure I can make the leap that all of sudden they're hoorah-ing democracy. Besides the hidden Jews, I mean. They have a very clear reason to desire a more democratic society.
But what do I know? It was an enjoyable book, nonetheless, and I may look into more books by the author, Harry Turtledove. (Though most of his books are war-driven and series, which I am not so much interested in. I like reading about the societies that are created when the course of history is changed. I don't like reading about the wars that change the course of history. If that makes sense.) I have a hard time finding alternate histories that don't deal with war more than culture. If you know any, by all means recommend them, though I've read Stirling and Flint, for the most part.
Posted by Manogirl at 03:02 PM in Just Saying, is all | Permalink | Comments (3)
S and I are watching the Antiques Roadshow right now, due to the fact that he is a very, very bad Tivo watcher. We have to Tivo 24 for him, but instead of just watching it (as we are sitting in the living room with the television) we have to just let it record, because he's so far behind. And our new (fabulous wonderful free) TV only recieves about 11 channels on basic cable, so we're watching the 11th, which is PBS in my area. PBS is great about half of the time (and we don't mind Antiques Roadshow, even though it makes me envious), and about half of the time, it's crap.
This episode of Antiques Roadshow seems to be the winners of the game--people with things like an original intact menu from one of the luncheons on the Titanic, or a signed Frank Zappa painting from a time when none really exist. People are making shitloads of money. One man found out his ugly-as-shit beer stein was worth 2,000 dollars and literally couldn't speak clearly because he was so overcome with emotion. I mean, good lord! Why doesn't my mom have an attic full of antiques that will make me hundreds of thousands of dollars? I suspect that S's mom might have some things in her house that are worth some money--some china and such--but quite a bit of my mom's stuff is newer. Possibly my mom's parents have expensive stuff, but I'm not sure that those things are antiques. I could be wrong.
Anyway, I don't want old things for my own house. I don't really think that old things are charming, unless it's maybe one piece in a room. I don't really like the quaint look that antiques create. My best friend in high school lived in a house with lots of antiques, and I always felt as if the house had more character than mine, but not in the way I liked. I remember there was an old sled (and an old dentist's chair?) in the den and it was odd to me. Who wants an old sled sitting around? Not me. I think my taste runs to modern/sleek. So if S and I did perchance inherit some antiques, something tells me we'd be selling them to finance our idea of design, which again, is modern and sleek.
Anyway, half of the crap on this show is ugly as hell, even though they're worth tons of money. I mean, people talk about buying these things at yard sales and garage sales, and I wonder, why the hell are they buying these ugly things? I don't have that kind of eye. I want pretty things, which tend not to be antiques, and then to not be worth tons of money. Except for diamonds, which we all know that I shouldn't want because the diamond industry is bad bad bad. But that's another story for another day.
Posted by Manogirl at 08:25 PM in Mundanity (is that a word?) | Permalink | Comments (0)
I've been thinking a lot about this topic, ever since the "Inflammatory" post. In it, I wondered if my parents ever thought about the world they'd be leaving us, which is in some ways an extension of the dynamic between parents and children. My thinking has really spun away from that line of thinking, and more to the jumble of thoughts that deal with respect, approval, and indebtedness.
My parents have been amazing parents (and let's realize that I come at this topic only as a child). Mostly supportive, and sometimes open to my opinions and feelings. Only sometimes. I don't necessarily think that this is odd; most parents that I know have some sort of misgivings about the ideas and feelings that their children have. S's parents would probably be horrified if they knew his true feelings about their belief system (a very religious one). So if you asked where my parents stood on that scale (from very receptive to only sort of), I'd say that were pretty close to the very receptive end of the scheme. My mom, I think, is very uneasy with the idea that her children are godless heathens, but seems fairly okay with the fact that we're raging liberals. Conversely, my dad's own beliefs are probably more akin to us when it comes to religion, but I think he's not-so-happy that we're such radicals. They were both more than okay (always) with my relationship with my ex-girlfriend, and positively wonderful to my friends at that time--the ones going through horrible times with their families. I knew I was lucky, let's put it that way.
But regardless of how supportive, or not supportive, they've been, I'm always conscious of how much I long for their approval. Even though many of the ways I view the world are fundamentally different from my parents, I want them to tell me that it's okay that I feel the way I do. Irrationally so, because I could never tell them the same. (Obviously, that's not in all things. Again, look at the above example.) But I think that this desire for approval, to some extents, will never go away. Depending on your parents, we're talking about possibly the most influential people of your early life. These people give you some sort of belief system (hopefully) for most of your formative years, and if you decide to go against that in some way, it feels very uneasy. I want my parents to like me, and so I want them to approve of me and my life. Maybe everyone doesn't feel that way, but I definitely still do, in some ways. I'm getting better, but still not great.
I think too, that with approval, I crave respect. I mean, though you spend your life (in some instances, I suppose not) yoked to these people (or even the idea of these people), you don't come out of the womb with your parents' respect. And you don't necessarily have to respect them, right? It's good when you can somehow come to respect these people who are part of you, and who you are part of. It's part of growing up, I think. But sometimes, the beliefs of both parties get in the way. I'm not trying to say that I don't respect my parents, because mostly, I do. But I guess that I don't always feel respected. Or maybe I don't often feel respected.
I still sometimes feel very much like a little girl, who isn't capable of thinking deeply about the things I've come to believe. But I'm that age now, where I'm not a little girl, and unlike some people, I can't be a little girl forever. I just can't take very well to the idea that I still need to be "parented", per se. I do need my parents, and I always will. But I just don't want to be treated like one of the "less than" members of a family that consists of two adults and three children. Not anymore, it doesn't. In so many ways.
So yeah, that's what I've been thinking. And I've made it seem ultra-dramaculous, as always, but it's not so much. These are the dramaculous thoughts that go along with a very non-dramaculous issue. I promise.
Posted by Manogirl at 09:05 PM in Existential questions | Permalink | Comments (0)
A certain professor of mine told me that she thought she could scorch my eyes out with a book by Emma Holly, a writer or Romantica. I swore that my eyes could not possibly be scorched out, as nothing could shock me. I win. My eyes are not scorched, I'm not shocked, and I was even pleasantly surprised by (oh god, parents, stop reading) some male-on-male action. However. And but.
I didn't read past page 70. The sex in these books is hot, and the writer is perfectly capable. It's just not to my taste. And by that, I'm exposing my completely pedestrian and boring attitudes towards sex. I hunger, so boringly, for monogamy. I didn't really know that this would be a problem in a romance book until Emma Holly. I just don't enjoy reading about a lot of people having sex with each other without some sort of commitment or love involved. I'm dead serious. I know it's silly, but I guess that's why I've been reading romance novels all these years, and avoiding erotica. And, I suppose, if you wanted to extend this further, I don't enjoy p0rn, but I love romantic comedies.
I even wouldn't mind some more boy-boy love in my romance novels--gay best friends belong in romance novels, if you ask me--but it has to be monogamous boy-boy love. I'm so boring! I just want everyone to pair off and end up happily ever after. I'm not a prude, or anything like that. I consider sex to be a very essential component to a romance novel, and I think part of the reason I've been reading them all these years is the little spicyness it adds to my reading life. I'm even not really very closed about talking about my sex life; I don't shy away from those topics.
In fact, I thought I was pretty enlightened. But clearly, I'm totally missing the boat. I guess, in a way, I did fail the test. No more romantica for me.
Posted by Manogirl at 10:37 PM in Just Saying, is all | Permalink | Comments (2)