Thursday, August 26, 2010

Birthday

Tomorrow is my birthday. As usual, I'm working. I never get my b-day off. Not that it's a huge deal; I mean, I'm over 30 now, so birthdays are just an excuse to eat cake and not much else. Who my age wants to be reminded that they're another year older? Meh. (Not that I'm OLD. Just oldER.)

The Husband bought tickets to STOMP! for my birthday gift. The show isn't until January, but by buying early we're in the 2nd row. Woot! It's not the first time we've seen it but it never fails to be full of awesome. Something to look forward to during layoff season! I'm stoked.

Avatar in IMAX 3D is re-released on my birthday as well. I so want to see it in an IMAX theater, but there are none within reasonable distance. One of the downsides to living in the boonies, I suppose... pretty sad when you have to plan two days off and a hotel room to see a damn movie. (Even if the movie is eleventy-billion hours long.) Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but seriously the closest IMAX is over two hours from here. I'll probably go watch it at the local film dump. Note to self: wear old shoes. Theaters have evolved a lot, but as long as children and flimsy soda cups exist, so will sticky floors.

I want to visit New York City. People are amazed that I live three hours or so from NYC and still have not been there. I want to do the touristy stuff, ride the subway, all that... but I also want to find a street table, have a drink and people-watch. Humans never fail to amuse me. We're an odd species and are only rivaled by cats in doing dumb shit, pretending it didn't happen, then walking off looking smug. New York is cannon fodder for someone like me who finds humor in just about anything. My talent is sarcasm, what's yours?

I had a chat with the boss today about places we'd like to go. Brazil and Australia were two we both agreed on (and I have friends in Sao Paulo, so if the money thing ever happens, I'm set.) Hubby wants to go back to Oz. He loved it the first time. Most likely because he was a young Marine who could drink and fight with the best of 'em and as a result probably has pretty skewed recollections. If I knew we could go I'd have to start training my liver for tolerance well in advance. (Side note: this discussion spawned another on which side of Oz is east and which is west... and there was some actual turning of heads upside-down... yeah, I'm just going to stop there. It was a long day. Shuddup.)

I want to go up in a parachute glider. I've said this before, haven't I? There was one flying over at work today and as usual, my response was to immediately stop what I was doing, stare up at the glider and say "Cooooooool." Parasailing would be fun too; hoping we get to do that at Virginia Beach next month, providing the weather cooperates this time.

Speaking of: 3 weeks till the airshow! Woot woot! Dear Oceana, please don't have hurricane conditions this time. I wanna see my Blues FLY, dammit. Love, Me.

Tomorrow night we're going to the Cell Block again. I will take certain liberties in exploiting my birthday, and some of them will be the right to consume vodka at will, dance like a dorky teenager and indubitably make an ass of myself at least once. Gonna be a good night.

Cake. That is all.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Sam Worthington, Recaptioned

Last night I revisited icanhazcheezburger.com, because, come on, caption cats are funny. (Cats in and of themselves are frickin' hilarious, so no surprise there.) As previously stated, I don't care how old the meme is, if it makes me laugh it's still valid. Also, once I get on a kick I have to let it run its course. Herewith, then, some LOLSams. (If he's not going to do comedy I will entertain myself, thankyouverymuch.) If you see any more photos of dude making stupid faces, pass 'em along so I can make less lame ones. Kthxbai.






Monday, August 23, 2010

Average Joe... errr Sam

This post is purely to indulge my inner fangirl. Sort of.

So... a friend told me I should google this actor, because he has nice eyes. Sure, okay, eyes are good. I don't fawn over celebs much (Johnny Depp being the occasional exception) but what the hell. I googled. She wasn't kidding. Then I discovered dude was in this movie some people might have heard of, called Avatar. Queued it up on Netflix, because I'd wanted to see it when it came out, but as usual I forgot about it.

My review:
  1. Too f'in long. No matter how good the flick is, I don't want my involvement in the story interrupted by my bladder telling me I need to pee NOW, birdbeast action scene be damned. Remember when movies had intermissions? This needs one.
  2. That was a crapton of cliches all rolled together. I pretty much knew how it was going to play out, but the CGI effects kept me watching to see how the cliches were delivered. It gets a pass for the transitions; that was some nice work.
  3. Just how many of those ideas were swiped from Second Life, anyway? Several times I swore I'd just logged in to SL and was flying around my own virtual world, not watching a movie. The floating mountains? I actually said, "Hey, I have one of those!" and tried to mouse over for a better look. And SL has had futuristic machinima and hybrid human/animal avatars for years. Granted, it's not a new concept by any means, but the similarities bugged me at times. At least it was something I was familiar with.
  4. Sam Worthington: now we're getting into the good stuff. The avatar character was okay, but Jake Sully, ex-grunt in the wheelchair, was more my style. And holy heck, he does have nice eyes.
I could watch it again (though possibly in two parts) and now that it's been re-released I may just do that for the 3D experience. And more Sam.

Meet Sam Worthington:





I want to feed him steaks, pick his brain and ply him with offbeat t-shirts.


I looked up some of his other movies. I have no interest in watching a Terminator sequel, the remake of Clash of the Titans (stop screwing with my childhood nostalgia, Hollywood!) or a sappy romantic drama. However, an old one about tapdancing construction workers is on its way here, because hello? Cute guy, workboots, dancing? I'm on it. This guy needs to do comedy.

Naturally I looked up photos, read some interviews, watched some clips and laughed/eyerolled at the slobbering fangirls on the forums. (Despite my first line, I have standards, and they do not include describing what I'd do to X actor or hating on his girlfriend.) I don't spazz around celebs. I'm the kind that would rather buy 'em a beer or three and talk.

Sam doesn't have the physique of an action star. He's not buff, he's not tall, he doesn't leave testosterone footprints everywhere he goes, and judging from some old movie clips he doesn't pad his britches for effect either. He's Everyman. Pasty, paunchy at times, grungy and unkempt at others, furry, with a clothing style straight off the street... someone on a forum said he looks like he should be driving a forklift at a Wal-Mart distribution center. That's what I'm talking about. His nonconformity to Hollywood's expectations of Action Hero is a relief in an age when even Stallone has to wear fake muscles. Go Sam! Now make some funny. I'll be here watching Bootmen.

Gratuitous bonus pic:


Aussie accents rock. That is all.

Monday, August 09, 2010

City of Brotherly Foodz

Saturday's trip to Philadelphia was a win. We dropped our friends off at the airport around 9:30 and took off for Center City and Reading Terminal Market. What we did all day was mostly eat and people-watch, although a fair amount of time was spent driving in circles downtown (dang construction and one-way streets!)

Downtown was crowded. People bounced off each other like pinballs, but surprisingly, every person who bumped one of us apologized even if it wasn't their fault. I don't know if it was because my husband is 11 feet tall or if people really *are* that polite in Philly.

We had a nice chat with an elderly man about fedoras and the train mural in the Metro station. We saw avoided a street demonstration (I still don't know what happened August 8, 1978, because I didn't ask any of the sign-carriers.) Several times, we drove past a huge building with an elaborate Pennsylvania Horticultural Society mural painted on the side; when we were finally able to get back, it turned out to be a Salvation Army. I was mildly disappointed.

On to the food. First stop was Beck's cajun grill in Reading Terminal Market (RTM, henceforth.) I had a bowl of crawfish and shrimp etouffee over white rice. Hubby had to have Gator on a Stick (gator sausage) and seafood salad. Good stuff. I'm a fan.

Moving on, I hit up my must-stop, Flying Monkey Patisserie, which has deliciousness everywhere you look. They're mostly known for their gourmet cupcakes. One went home with me along with a MonkeyBar for the husband.

I kept passing a southern-food diner, drooling over blackeyed peas, cabbage, collards, some beautiful golden fried chicken, and cornbread, but after reading the prices I said to hell with that. 13 bucks? I don't THINK so. I'll wait till we're down south in a few months. Crazy Yankees anyway, thinking Southern food is high gourmet... maybe it is up here in the Land of Scrapple but not where I'm from, Paula Deen aside. (There was, in fact, a man giving out scrapple samples on toothpicks.)

We finished our noshing with ice cream (hubby) and a vanilla malt (me) at the original Bassett's ice cream stand, the oldest business at RTM. Quite a feat, considering RTM is the oldest farmer's market in the country, having opened officially in 1892. We got a few packs of gourmet chicken sausage at Martin's (looking forward to the artichoke and mushroom flavor.) Then we did our produce shopping at Iovine's, picking up plums as big as apples and some taters before lugging our bags and ourselves back to the car 3 blocks away.

Afterward we attempted to get lost in the city. Wound up driving through West Philly (cue DJ Jazzy Jeff) and then up through the north side. Didn't get lost, but we did find a Checkers (Rally burger elsewhere) so I begged hubby to stop for me. That pushed my gastrointestinal limits, and hub had already learned that gator sausage bites him back, so we called it a day and headed home.

Next Saturday we get to do it again, though the friends we're picking up have requested cheesesteaks from Pat's in the Italian district.

Chilled buttercream cupcakes rock. That is all.

Sunday, August 01, 2010

There's Nothing Like Prison Sax

Last night the husband and I made plans to go out. We were going to take one of our college exchange kids to a club so she could dance, but she didn't get back from the waterfalls in time, leaving us with the option of staying home or going out anyway. Since we were dressed and hadn't been to a city club in years, we went. I was feeling old and a bit apprehensive about going to a place full of young hipsters and club kids. I shouldn't have worried.

First off, we didn't go to one of the trendy, elitist or microbrew bars. We went to the Cell Block, which is exactly what it sounds like... it's a former, very old, downtown prison converted to a club. The stone archways and cells are still there, sans metal bars, so one can walk through and grab a hidden table around a corner or sit at one of the bars. The perimeter catwalk on the second floor is still there and overlooks the dance floor. It's a maze of rooms and semi-hidden bars, with one upstairs, at least one outside in the cellyard, and two or three downstairs. Last night there was a DJ spinning dance music for the main room/dance floor, a guy in a tiny upstairs bar singing and playing classics on guitar and sax, and a live band in a third bar/dance area in the back. I still don't think I've seen the whole place... I had a hell of a time just finding which archway led to the ladies' room. Tip: It's not the one with the stuffed prisoner mannequin.

Summary:
1. Cells make good coolers.
-Hubby thought it was neat that one of the cells was turned into a beer cooler, with a custom arched door to fit the old stonework.

2. A woman who sings lead (competently) on Journey and Guns n' Roses songs is awesome.
-The Big House Band featured an extremely large guy and the aforementioned gal on vocals, and they were impressive. Her voice did not match her appearance at all. His did... think John Popper of Blues Traveler. He also played some good saxophone. In my own personal opinion the bass player was the highlight of the band. I'm a sucker for bass. I had to thank him after their set and I think he appreciated it... bassists are notoriously overlooked.

3. A man who will sing Neil Diamond in a club full of twenty-somethings deserves a tip.
-Domenick Swentosky was the upstairs performer. He sang a lot like Willie Nelson in that his vocals seemed to be half a beat behind the music. Impressive setlist, great sax and harmonica, a very unique performance in a world of cookie-cutter artists. He performed Sweet Caroline by request and pulled off Tom Petty quite well also.

4. Bullrider or not, some scars need to remain hidden, mmmkay?
-Our first interaction was with a tattooed, very intoxicated and exuberant bullrider from Texas, hat and all, who insisted on simulating his riding technique on the barstool next to me. Repeatedly. He also had to show off all his rodeo scars, which involved removing his shirt at least once. Fortunately he found another audience so if he had any scars below the belt I was spared from seeing them.

5. Any pizza is good at 2 AM.
-In the main hall to the club there is a small snack-bar type counter (sign on wall: "If you grab pizza you will be charged double!" Despite the plexiglass shields I guess there are some enterprising drunks who made this a problem.) I'm not a big fan of plain or pepperoni pizza, and I'm picky about it besides. But we'd eaten early, so by closing time that pizza was smelling gooood. The clubgoers seemed to have a custom of buying a slice as they filed out of the door, so we joined in, then sat on the prison steps outside eating our pepperoni pizza (which was just as good as it smelled, by the way.) Having that snack bar there as people leave is genius.

6. What seems to be a lucky break- getting a free parking spot directly in front of a downtown club- is not so great when it's blocked in by police cars.
-As we finished our pizza, a fight broke out across the street. I hadn't seen a good fight in ages so naturally I went to observe/pick a side/cheer on the bruisers. However, I learned a city fight is serious business, unlike a redneck bar fight where the only stipulation is "take it outside, y'all!" In this case, bouncers with headsets acted like a SWAT team, swarming the lot across the street and yelling for those not involved to get back on bar property. Police were there in seconds. (The last redneck fight I saw lasted a good half-hour before a squad car pulled in; I believe they deliberately delayed showing up so they'd miss most of the confrontation. Also, that was a GREAT fight.)

A policeman detained my husband as a witness. We couldn't leave anyway because a squad car was blocking my car. Three more blocked the fight area and two more waited on the street. I counted at least eight police officers (husband says ten) and all for some guy who punched another one in the mouth and a very loud, belligerent drunk woman throwing a slew of foul language around. The reaction was overkill, if you ask me. Let 'em fight... there are shootings and drug deals and other far more serious crimes all those policemen could be stopping.

7. If a bartender doctors a drink by adding sugar, find another bartender.
- I hate sugar in my drinks, with the exception of coating a lemon wedge for lemon drop shots. I asked the lady for a bubblegum Three Olives shot because I'd never tried it. She gave me the shot but added cherry vodka and something else, with the result tasting *exactly* like gagnasty cough syrup. When I made a face, she took the shot and dumped it in a rocks glass with some other stuff, then added sugar... that was the only drink I did not finish. Bleh. I decided it was time to test-drive the downstairs bar and stuck to Hypnotiq on the rocks after that.

8. Sequins are never completely out of style.
-There was a woman standing on the patio outside the bar, in the dark, but I could see her thanks to her collection of glow-stick bracelets and her sparkly sequined dress. After roaming the rest of the club I realized she was not alone in her bad taste. There were enough sparkly people to fill the cast of the next Twilight movie. Also, the eighties comeback is official thanks to the large number of people wearing blowsy off-one-shoulder belted shirts (one was zebra-striped, even!) And for once *I* was not the one in non-trendy clothes, since white tanks, jeans and black leather NEVER go out of style. I had at least five clones running around.

9. Don't act stupid in front of co-workers.
-This should be a no-brainer, right? Well, we hadn't seen anyone we knew until around midnight, when one of my co-workers found us. By that time I had a nice happy buzz going on. Now, one of the things Hubby and I do is point out attractive people (usually females) to each other. I mean, he usually just sits around while I dance or chat, so a bit of eye candy keeps his boredom at bay. We've done this since we first started dating. Co-workers who have never seen us outside of work don't understand this and immediately suspect us of being swingers when I come up and say "hot chick in the black mini, check her out!" Gonna be some fun gossip at work this week. Woot.

10. My husband is not always the tallest guy in the bar.
-Last night he was out-sized by a musclebound meathead in a pink polo shirt and a biker who looked like he ate the last person who crossed him. Good times.

Pizza with red chile and parmesan rocks. That is all.