Thursday, July 17, 2008
Monday, July 07, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
One memorable outtake was when I tried to make it look like he was playing with my friends' cat toy, but instead it looked like he hung himself. I decided to leave that one out. Here's what I did instead:
Here is Stanley enjoying a a day of sun-bathing in Hawaii. See. You can tell it's really Hawaii because of the Sweet Maui Onion Hawaiian potato chips next to him. Also the "palm tree" is a dead give away.
Here Stanley is helping me study. His strangely askew reading spectacles denote his studious nature. Stanley thinks that Lady Macbeth's moral reversal relieves her of all blame, making Macbeth the real villain of the play. Oh, Stanley! You always spark such controversy!
Stanley wanted to fight Rocky, but he was too afraid to fight a South Paul. Wait. It's South PAW? Yeah that kind of makes more sense. I blame Rocky's facial paralysis.
Elvis and Stanley became best pals. I guess they just have a lot in common. What with being two-dimensional and all.
Stanley was a great help in the kitchen but . . . it was kind of demeaning. "Dump that package of generic processed cheese into the macaroni NOW!!!" "YES, CHEF!" And then I cried. And he liked it.
Then we tried to play hide-and-seek but I think he was cheating. Look at the smirk on his face, the smarmy little bugger.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
The fact is, I love David Cook. As a friend once put it, I don’t love him like I love peanut butter. I mean, I luuuuuvvvaaaahhh him.
From the first moment Cookie walked in with his faux hawk and argyle sweater I was hooked. It turned out to be a bonus that he could actually sing. And once he sang his emo/rock version of Hello I knew I’d never think about American Idol the same. I guess you could say “He had me at ‘Hello” but I’d like to maintain SOME semblance of dignity here.
But what really gets me? He’s so darn articulate. Every time I see him on a talk show I giggle to myself then sigh in recognition that I will never be that eloquent. I want to use my feminine wiles to trick him into a philosophical conversation that requires a delicate formulation of logic and necessitates explanations of complex ideas. Then I’ll lean back in my chaise lounge and watch him articulate. And yes, you can watch someone articulate. At least I can. I don’t know what your problem is.
Also in my fantasy he’s pacing back and forth in a black tee-shirt and intermittently flashing his crooked half-smile.
Some people would accuse me of rapidly jumping from obsession to obsession, claiming that I’ll be over him in another month. But only idiots with shiny new ‘stangs would actually believe something stupid like that. Unbeknown to most Shia’s likeness still lives on my door, Danny Wallace’s book still lives on my shelf, and Brand New's croonings still live on my ipod. Perhaps the initial intensity wears off a bit, but I never go back on something I truly love. (Good Charlotte I’m still rooting for you! Even if it’s just for old time’s sake.)
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
So this weekend I bought a pair of jeans that were more expensive than I’d normally go for. But they were ridiculously on sale and there was only one pair left that someone had returned and so, in my shopping equivalent of a blood-frenzy, I snatched them up and hauled them home.
Only today did I discover the best thing about these jeans. Behind the zipper of the fly there is stitched a small and unobtrusive lightning bolt.
I wish I could describe the rush this discovery gave me. It was like I was instantly teleported the psyche of a man who was greatly endowed and asserted this confidence in his everyday life. Like I could suddenly get away with anything, and more importantly anyONE, I wanted to.
I immediately stormed into my office and confronted my boss about the bug report I’d been working on all morning, waving it wildly in his face and proclaiming that his inability to grasp simple explanations should not constitute hours of redundant work on my part.
Ok, so I didn’t actually do that. Partially because everyone I work with is fairly pleasant and quite competent. But I could feel myself just waiting for someone to cross me because then I could jab my finger in their shoulder and say, “Oh yeah? Cross THIS.”
Finding this hidden treasure was like free admission to the world of ego centric men who think they’re the best thing since sliced bread despite all evidence to the contrary.
As if my mind rationalized all outlandish actions because I have a hidden force to fall back on that would shock and amaze all if they only knew! The fools! They have no idea of the power I wield!
I guess the Justice League will have to wait a little longer for my services.
Oh, and this also means that I WILL NOT be showing up uninvited on David Cook’s doorstep with any unfounded confidence. But I will still show up on his doorstep. Just without the confidence part. You never know.
Friday, May 02, 2008
This is a blog by John Scalzi and while he talks a lot about the sf/f genre and writing world, he also throws in lots of other amusing tidbits which should allow all you closet SciFi fans enough of an excuse to read guiltlessly. Also he seems a bit enamored with his cats, which also makes it a good fit for anyone who likes to divert all their unrequited love on the feline race.
And if you like sf/f AND you have seven cats . . . well.
Also, his actual novels/short stories are really good too. Even if you DON'T like sf/f OR live in MEOWtropolis.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
-For once in my life it made sense to plan an outfit based on the shoes, for which I received several compliments. One was even from a guy who felt the need to shout across a crowd of several thousand graduates, "JANAY'S SHOES ARE HOT!!!" which, let's face it, they kind of are. (These are not my feet but these are the shoes. My feet are much sexier. And the shoes look even hotter sticking out of a judge's robe.)
-We stood lined up for said commencement for at least 45 min outside. Which wouldn't be so bad on a spring-y April day, but this day was less spring-y and more snow-stormy. So instead of looking pleasantly flush from the quiet breeze meandering throughout the trees, we looked red-nosed and purple-knuckled as we tried to cut off the breeze meandering up our skirts. Also looked a bit like Harry Potter which is not very dignified.
-I finally saw the fish in the basement of the Widtsoe building. It was kind of anticlimactic but would be cool if you had an office down there. When my 2 year old nephew saw the big lobster he spent the next several minutes explaining how if the lobster tried to pinch him he would kick it, then poop on his head. I told him he should teach a self-defense class.
-My Mom and I graduated at the same time. This meant that while walking in together I had to listen to her whine that everyone was pointing and laughing at the "old lady." Then when we got our fake diploma's, "Janay's mother graduating with a degree in Family Life" got way more applause than Janay did. Plus it was the only applause that wasn't followed by an adamant "Shhhh!" *sigh*
-I FINALLY got to get IN the fountain in the courtyard of the JFSB. Of course, we had to tempt all my nephews away with the promise of ice cream to suppress a riot when "Aunt Nay" got to go in. The wet foot prints walking away from the fountain were a bit incriminating but I'm just glad I didn't slip on the marble and dunk myself.
-I had my suspicions confirmed that graduates are not exempt from just being plain stupid. Especially when they're trying to be seen by their parents across a crowd of 20k people in the Marriot Center. One guy I know struggled for at least 20 minutes saying, "Can you see me? How can you not see me I'm RIGHT across from you. Can you see me? Ok, now I'm pointing to my head. No . . . everyone ELSE is waving I'm the one pointing to my HEAD. Now I'm jumping up and down. Can you see me now? I'm pointing to my head and jumping up and down. I'M RIGHT ACROSS FROM YOU!"
-While walking to our designated areas my Mom and I ran into some family friends. Greetings were exchanged. Smiles were shared. Congratulations expressed. And all by exclaiming, "Heeeeyy! Hey! Haaaay! Heeeeyyyyyy!"
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Step 2: That night in my dream accuse me of always showing up for work (class, synchronized swimming) hours late and generally tell me what a bad employee I am and therefore an awful human being.
Step 3: Ensure that I have at least a momentary understanding that what is happening is not reality and therefore I feel justified in giving you the railing of your life, complete with brightly colored words that I secretly admire the potency of but never use out due to an inclination towards a modest vocab. (You in your perfectly tailored, pin-stripe suite. A pathetic attempt at professionalism.)
Step 4: Immediately following said railing politely suggest that my dream is NOT in fact a dream and that I have just deeply offended you and all your posterity.
Step 5: The next morning at work (class, D&D sesh) smile at me, reminding me that in reality you're NOTHING like my dream version, consequently making me feel horrible about myself for belittling you so effectively. (Although I am quite pleased with the clever execution.)
Following these simple steps will ensure that for at least the following 24 hours I will bring you your printing (hand-out, moon-boots) I will rummage through the snack table looking for the best fruit-snacks available, and send you helpful hints on creating a local DocLibrary replica of a Notes database which doesn't replicate with the Domino server (ain't work excitin'!) All out of guilt. In short. I will become your B-word.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
B - Best Friend: anyone who gets this reference: “The time for talking is over. Now call it extreme if you like, but I propose we hit it hard, and we hit it fast, with a major, and I mean major, leaflet campaign.” Which will be no one. Oh well.
C - Cake or Pie: unless James McAvoy is going to jump out of the cake, pie.
D - Day of Choice: Thursday. I don’t really know why except that I hate Thursdays and that’s more than I can say for any of the other forgettable slacker-days.
E - Essential Item: several random notebooks that I fill with genius ideas then never look at again.
F - Favorite Color: green. It has all the austerity of a blue or red without that stigma of over-popularity.
G - Gummi Bears or Worms: bears, but only because they come dipped in chocolate.
H - Hometown: Bothell, Washington, the Snohomish side, where we welcome you for “a day or a lifetime.”
I - Indulgence(s): anything British or Canadian, or in particular hilarious and unconventionally attractive men from England or Canada. Oh, and I’ve been reading a lot of SciFi novels recently so, yeah.
J - January or July: January. I’ve decided to balk the dictating conventions of the Gregorian calendar and rename all the months after my favorite literary heroes. In that case I prefer Jude-ly. But Rochester-uary is right out.
K - Kids: Let’s just say I’m headed down to my brother’s place for Easter. He has four boys under the age of 7 and it’s about time for my bi-annual birth control.
L - Life is Incomplete Without: oxygen. Well, technically only 20% oxygen and about 78% nitrogen. (See SciFi above.)
M - Marriage Date: no thanks. I prefer marriage raisins.
N - Number of Siblings: three. None of whom would ever make me fill out a stupid questionnaire.
O - Oranges or Apples: apples. Fuji.
P- Phobias or Fears: spiders. And alphabetic-themed tags. (Tired of this yet?)
Q - Quote(s): "Smooch my big, white alien forehead."
R - Reason to Smile: this.
S - Season: where I come from we don’t have seasons. There’s only rainy, and slightly more rainy. But I really prefer fall and spring because they writhe with inner turmoil.
T - Tag Seven: I don’t want to be held accountable for tagging anyone else so I hereby allow seven people to tag themselves. You know who you are.
U - Unknown Fact About Me: I've self-diagnosed myself with reverse seasonal-affective disorder. I get depressed when it's sunny for days on end.
V - Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animal: oppressor. I just can’t get enough of waiters telling me “it’s nice to see a girl who can eat” when I order a steak.
W - Worst Habit: thinking that my life is too boring to have anything to blog about.
X - X-Rays or Ultrasounds: x-rays, the more x-rays there are the less times “xylophone” will have to show up in alphabet books.
Y - Your Favorite Food: watermelon. “Just plant a watermelon on my grave and let the juice slurp slurp run down.”
Z - Zodiac: Taurus. But only by one day which is lucky because I am SO not the same sign as Haras.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
As if I weren't planning it anyway, I'm hereby officially doing a road trip home the end of May. Yes it's awhile off but that just gives me time to ponder the wonderfulness of this triple threat.
First, there's really no need to laud the magnitude of said author. Seriously? Just check out her blog and prepare to be converted. 'Nuff said. But what makes it better is that she's condescending to do a signing at one of my favorite bookstores, which happens to be within 10 minutes of my house.
Pretty much the only thing this bookstore DOESN'T have going for it is that it's not in a creaky old building with misshapen, wobbly wood floors and tight, jagged corners wherein to crack open monstrous tomes filled with Russian disparity. Ahhhh.
Luckily, they DO have several restaurants, over sized chess games, and weekly literary readings to make up for it. And the best bit? The used books are mixed right in with the new ones! I know some people prefer the crisp whiteness of new books but old books have history. HISTORY. Reading a used book is like constructing an emotional connection with some unseen spirit of the past. Unless it's a really crappy book, then you can feel all elitist for not having such awful taste.
As if it weren't enough the same week we have the Folklife Festival. This is my all time, hands down FAVORITE thing to do in Seattle. Every year that I go I leave feeling like I need to start wearing more tie-dye, and that my (limited) jewelry collection is gaudy and crypto-fascist. I resolve to eat nothing but gyros and peroshki from that point on, and to finally pursue my obvious talents as the key member of a drum circle. In my opinion, if you're too self-conscious to get up and bang along with the group then you shouldn't be allowed to stare at the bra-less hippie dancing next to you. And that's half the fun.
So if you're in Utah, you're invited on my road-trip. And if you're in Seattle, well, you're invited on a one-way road trip back to Utah.
One word of caution, I WILL be singing my family's favorite road trip song . . ."Country roooooooad take me hoooooome to the plaaaaace I beloooohooooong!"
Thursday, February 14, 2008
I think my path to enlightenment started in high school when, in an obscenely romantic gesture a guy showed up to my early morning seminary with a bouquet of roses and a bucket of chocolate (you heard! a bucket!)
Terribly sweet right? (Definition Sweet: Used to describe an act that has the potential for excellence but only if it came from someone else. See Great Personality)
Yeah, it would have been nice if I wasn't dating someone else at the time (holy awkward moment Batman!). . . someone else who thoughtfully forked out the dough for a bouquet of baby's-breath (FYI guys? Not good. Nooooot gooooood.) It didn't make matters any better that Casanova lived about two hours away putting his start time to somewhere around the 4am mark. Yeah. I inspire greatness . . . just out of the wrong guys.
But this year I'm optimistic. Any guy bearing flowers and chocolate will be received graciously and not with the adolescent awkwardness I'm still trying to shake.
Therefore here are my reasons why it's great to be a single girl on Valentine's Day:
- Everyone EXPECTS you to go out with your girlfriends and yet staying at home in sweats is equally acceptable
- You can smile at the tension in the faces of the married men you work with as they try to finagle some time alone with their wives
- It's not quite so sad when you tell someone that the best gift you received was from your Aunt
- Or that that gift was complete with a mini-teddy bear, a bottle of body spray in "cotton candy fantasy" and a "glamour pack" with sparkly accoutrements for "the young at heart"
- You can get as glammed up with the afore mentioned sparkles without anyone assuming you're going to put-out at the end of the night
- While all the other smug couples are crammed into their chick-flicks you can sneak into the only Sci-Fi flick playing and have plenty of leg room
- In future years you can look back on the day and not remember a two hour wait outside Olive Garden, but the announcement of another Star Wars movie, which fills you with glee that Lucille's admonition that Annyong go "see a Star War" is now entirely possible!
Friday, January 25, 2008
It's official. If you haven't heard about Flight of the Conchords by NOW you're officially uncool. I can say this with confidence because I've already forced it on most of my friends (aka the only people who read this blog anyway) and if you've somehow managed to dodge out of the line of fire well, we'll just consider you cool by association.
I haven't been this overtly obsessed with something since the first time I saw Little Shop of Horrors and I watched it 12 times in that first week. To this day I still have something of a latent crush on Rick Moranis.
So when I realized that I was spending an average of an hour each day re-watching clips of their show on youtube I knew something needed to be done. Kari and Shawn, I apologize. I didn't mean to go behind your back and purchase the full season on dvd but I couldn't help myself. I saw it on the shelf at the store and it just looked up at me with these big, baleful eyes what was I supposed to do? I'll tell you. I did what any self-respecting person would do: I brought it home, made up a bed with an old blanket in the corner and laid out a piece of newspaper for it to piddle on.
FotC was previously New Zealand's fourth most popular digi-folk parody group, they've now been upstaged by an FotC tribute group, and their HBO show is the story of Bret and Jemaine's quest to expand their solitary American fan into a full-blown fan base. (Because if you put base on the end of it it sounds bigger.)
I have promised Shawn and Kari that I wouldn't watch any episodes without them so thus far I've just been replaying the first 5 over and over again and giggling manically to myself. So far my favorite moments include:
- Jemaine finally getting tired of Bret's nagging and conceding that the reason he's moving out is because Bret eats too loud and it's "deefining"
- Bret's helmet that looks like his real hair
- Jemaine accusing Bret's girl friend (Cocoa) of trying to break up the band, then slurring "Cocoa, oh no!" to sound like Yoko Ono
- Jemaine's face when asked what his rap name is to which he replies "Hip-hopapotamus. But you can call me Jemaine if you like."
- Jemaine swiping his hand across his throat and nodding towards Cocoa indicating that Bret should break up with her and Bret saying "no man, I'm not gonna kill her"
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
So far the score is Janay at scary movies:2 Haras at SF&F movies:0
Haras has a unique talent for wriggling out of commitments that might expose her closet obsession with SF&F.
Although Rambo technically isn't a scary movie, I've decided to categorize it in the general "I don't really care about it but Haras is obsessed with seeing it so I know she'll make me go anyway" category, and I'm require that she go see a movie with me. But not just any movie. This movie.
So far my favorite reviewer quotes include gems like : "Is this movie so god-awful bad that it's hilariously good? Can't be bothered deciding. Figure that's an answer in itself."
And, "Just where this kingdom is I don't know, but since the king of the title is played by Burt Reynolds, I'm guessing it's the Lost Continent of Atlanta. "
And, my favorite, "Uwe Boll isn't the worst director in the world, but In the Name of the King might be more enjoyable if he were."
Thus far Haras is proving resistant. Feel free to harras Haras (eh? ehhh??) on her blog to convince her that being an old married couple means making concessions.