Category Archives: nablopomo

thoughts while watching Re-Animator

It’s that time again – movie club time!

The choice this week was one that Sam and Jason made together, for reasons that they worked out with their cyclist brains that are beyond the comprehension of a normal person. I’m on vacation today, and this is my last NaBloPoMo post. I was hoping to end with something a little more closurey, but you can’t deny movie club day when it comes upon you. I give you… my thoughts on Re-Animator!

  1. What is it about German heritage that seems to go so well with being a medical professional? It’s like sugar and spice. Peanut butter and jelly. Exploding eyeballs and crappy horror films from the 80s.
  2. We’re zooming in very very closely on the words ‘external rectus’. Maybe I’m just 12 at heart (ok no maybe about it) but did they just do a close up anatomical drawing of the body part I think they did? Heehee- butts.
  3. Since when do we call flat lined patients ‘straight lined’? I call bullshit – you’re making up your own language, H.P. Lovecraft, and I’m not going to let you get away with it. Also, I’m pretty sure that a normal autopsy doesn’t involve burning a hole in a skull and sticking a q-tip into it.
  4. The boob shot! And only ten minutes in. Point, Re-Animator.
  5. Was anyone else tempted to try pulling the skin off of a head after the doctor described it as ‘like pulling the skin off a large orange’? No? Yeah, me neither.
  6. I think our hero is wearing women’s scrubs. Either than or men’s used to have a much deeper v-neck than they do now.
  7. HE KILLED THE CAT!? Are you kidding me? I’m about two seconds from turning this off – that is unacceptable. Unacceptable, I say. Also, if you kill your roommate’s cat and he finds you bringing it back to life and is forced to kill it because it’s attacking you, the appropriate response is not to pretend the cat is coming back to life again behind him and then point and laugh.
  8. I will never take any medicine that glows or creates light of any kind. We can go ahead and add that to my fuck it list.
  9. They’re re-animating a dead body without taking him out of the morgue. How are they going to explain that, srsly? ‘Oh, well, we uh… this guy with the y-incision, turns out uh… he wasn’t really dead. Oh, that slavering he’s doing? That’s nothing, don’t worry about it. We’ll be leaving now.’
  10. Remember how I wrote about men not asking women’s father’s for permission to get married? I think that my boyfriend creating a zombie, allowing that zombie to kill my dad, and then re-animating my dad would be worse. Nothing like a little perspective.
  11. I think zombie dad just used his zombie powers to protect his daughter from a lecherous old man. An unexpected zombie upside.
  12. Herbert West, the anti-hero, apparently thinks doing the robot dance is how people act sneaky. Because nothing says ‘don’t look over here’ like popping and locking.
  13. According to this man’s facial expressions, having your disembodied head carried around by your body is sort of orgasmic. I have a hard time believing that’s what he was going for, but to each his own.

     

    This is pre orgasm face - I didn't think you needed to see that. I certainly didn't.

  14. The disembodied head keeps losing his breath. It is just me or does breath have something to do with, you know, lungs?
  15. Full on nudity at 1:09. In case you were waiting. Of course the nudity is slightly marred by the bodyless head grossly ogling it.  EWEWEW EWWWWW headless body is feeling up the unconscious girl! Thank you Re-Animator, for my next six months worth of nightmares. I was getting tired of the stuck-in-the-mall one from Dawn of the Dead. Oh… oh… the head is … ok this is the grossest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
  16. Pale zombie makeup really brings out the yellowness of your teeth.
  17. I swear the heroine’s name has gone back and forth from April to Megan in each scene.
  18. ZOMBIE DAD COMES THROUGH. Awww, I knew you would, zombie dad. That’s what dads are for.
  19. Apparently zombies have control of body parts that regular people do not – for example, intestines. I could not strangle someone with my intestines.
  20. I think the last zombie is a Klingon. I find that incredibly confusing, but who am I to judge.

All in all, a good watch. Possibly the best not-good movie we’ve watched since we undertook this crazy mission.

Emmanation rating: A dozen delicious vanilla bean cupcakes from your local bakery that your friend licked before giving to you.

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Ingenues with dark glasses

In my family, we make Christmas lists. They aren’t always honored, but they’re exceptionally helpful for a family in which three people bike and one can’t tell a Schwinn from a Bianchi, in which two read obsessively and two are lucky to find one book a year that holds their interest, and in which three eat dairy, one(ish) eats meat, and one eats none of the above.

I was the first to send out my list, although I have a sneaking suspicion that the tiniest sprinter has been working on his for awhile and is just waiting for the key time to distribute it – possibly after he next falls off his bicycle or talks about his migrating facial implants and we all feel bad for him. I wasn’t going to publish mine here because I thought there would be nothing interesting about it – and then I realized, I’m a blogger. I talk about uninteresting shit every single day (especially during NaBloPoMo) so there is really no valid reason to stop now.

So, here’s what I requested from my family.

1) A sewing machine. As I may have mentioned a bagizilllion times, I’m not the world’s tallest girl. That goes with me not having the longest arms and legs, and normal length shirts being long enough that they can’t be comfortably tucked in. Hence, I would like to become my own tailor. I realize that I could just hire a tailor, but that would reduce the chances of me discovering that fashion design is my calling and winning the next season of Project Runway (even though it’s lame now).

 

That could totally be my head on Heidi Samuel's pin.

2) A salt bowl. Preferably a beautiful ones in either dark or reclaimed wood or green. I have a little white porcelain bowl that I use now, and have absolutely no reason whatsoever to get a new one… but that’s what Christmas is for, right? Getting those little things you covet that you can’t justify buying for yourself? Oh, and something about virgins and mangers…. we didn’t really focus on that part, we were more interested in early morning croissants and those chocolate oranges you have to whack on a table. If whacking chocolate doesn’t spell Christmas, I don’t know what does.

I would more appropriately salt my cooking if I had this bowl, I'm sure of it. Positive.

3) Grey’s Anatomy, starting with Season 2. No explanation needed for this one – me and Meredith are soul sisters.

4) Art, baby. This is all from Gallery Nucleus, which I discovered after the boy bought me the absolutely fantastic Use Technology to Collect the Women.

The Host by James Jean

Torotoromarillaz by Mari Inukai

Tightrope by Vera Brosgol

Unsuited by Vera Brogsol

So there you go. That’s the list I put together every year to make sure I don’t end up with strange circular gears that I don’t know what to do with. I would of course also accept baklava, Whole Foods gift cards, and love – in that order. Of course, baklava and Whole Foods gift cards are synonyms for love in some languages, right?

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Filed under money to burn (apparently), nablopomo, the people I love, things I think are pretty

Yes, I'm ridiculous

Not only because I went skating again today after seriously taking out my hands and knees yesterday.

Mom and I were driving home from Thanksgiving (which was delish, thanks Cousin!) and I got to blabbing, as I am wont to do after a few glasses of wine. Damned if I can remember how we got onto the topic of jealousy, but there we were.

Here is what a day in the life of the boy looks like, on average – just the parts that are key to my point: He gets up. He goes to work after a couple of hours, where on a big day he works with two other men, some days there’s one guy there, and quite often he works alone. Sometimes he doesn’t even go to the office, preferring to work from home. Either way, if we don’t have plans, there’s a not horrible chance that he’ll stop in at one of the restaurants on Main Street for lunch or an after work drink – or both. He knows everyone who works in all two of said restaurants, some of whom are female. He does not generally talk about them and is not shy about bringing me up in stories when the occasion is called for.

Here is what one of my average days looks like, with the same parts highlighted: I get up and run and go to work. I drink coffee with a friend of mine who I’ve worked with for several years (male). I IM with five other friends about lord knows what all freaking day long (Shovonda, my brother, and three male coworkers). I stop by the office of my sort-of mentor to gossip and have him trim my bangs if there are any stray hairs (male and while it doesn’t sound like it, straight). I go to a bazillion meetings with my team (all male). I then come home and incessantly repeat every morsel of the day in this fashion ‘I was with Allen in the cafe and Bob stopped by and told me that Corey was having a breakdown, but on my way up to his office Devon called me in to ask about the interview…’ etc. I don’t talk about him much at work – I do everything that I can to avoid reminding the men I work with that I’m a young woman, which having a boyfriend certainly does.

In our social lives we’re much more likely to hang out with people of our own gender. While he has lots of female friends, most of them are attached to a man that he knew first. I have fewer male friends outside of work – my besties are pretty much female.

He is a mild flirt. He has charisma that he’s not fully aware of, and I’ve seen firsthand the effect he has on women. Even with me sitting there. (Coughcoughbitchescough.)

I am a passionate and ambitious flirt. A couple of examples of the things I’ve done at bars while the boy was actually there with me: accept a sip from a stranger’s drink while deciding if I should order it, huddle in the corner with a man I just met listening to his dating philosophy, and … actually, I think that’s enough examples. Because my dad is reading.

Are you waiting to hear why I’m ridiculous, or have you caught on?

I get jealous – he does not. He sees maybe ten women a week who aren’t me and pays them no undue attention – he appreciates them for who they are when they’re worth appreciating and that’s where it stops. I see triple digits of and spend not insignificant amounts of time with men who aren’t him, and have been known to get details of the lives of strange men that their therapists don’t know.

If our places were switched, I would have a little green fit every single day of my life. He sees who I am, knows that I love him and would never do anything to hurt him, and doesn’t give it a thought. I know that he loves me and would never do anything to hurt me, and yet.

Hence, I am ridiculous. He is awesome.

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Yes, I’m ridiculous

Not only because I went skating again today after seriously taking out my hands and knees yesterday.

Mom and I were driving home from Thanksgiving (which was delish, thanks Cousin!) and I got to blabbing, as I am wont to do after a few glasses of wine. Damned if I can remember how we got onto the topic of jealousy, but there we were.

Here is what a day in the life of the boy looks like, on average – just the parts that are key to my point: He gets up. He goes to work after a couple of hours, where on a big day he works with two other men, some days there’s one guy there, and quite often he works alone. Sometimes he doesn’t even go to the office, preferring to work from home. Either way, if we don’t have plans, there’s a not horrible chance that he’ll stop in at one of the restaurants on Main Street for lunch or an after work drink – or both. He knows everyone who works in all two of said restaurants, some of whom are female. He does not generally talk about them and is not shy about bringing me up in stories when the occasion is called for.

Here is what one of my average days looks like, with the same parts highlighted: I get up and run and go to work. I drink coffee with a friend of mine who I’ve worked with for several years (male). I IM with five other friends about lord knows what all freaking day long (Shovonda, my brother, and three male coworkers). I stop by the office of my sort-of mentor to gossip and have him trim my bangs if there are any stray hairs (male and while it doesn’t sound like it, straight). I go to a bazillion meetings with my team (all male). I then come home and incessantly repeat every morsel of the day in this fashion ‘I was with Allen in the cafe and Bob stopped by and told me that Corey was having a breakdown, but on my way up to his office Devon called me in to ask about the interview…’ etc. I don’t talk about him much at work – I do everything that I can to avoid reminding the men I work with that I’m a young woman, which having a boyfriend certainly does.

In our social lives we’re much more likely to hang out with people of our own gender. While he has lots of female friends, most of them are attached to a man that he knew first. I have fewer male friends outside of work – my besties are pretty much female.

He is a mild flirt. He has charisma that he’s not fully aware of, and I’ve seen firsthand the effect he has on women. Even with me sitting there. (Coughcoughbitchescough.)

I am a passionate and ambitious flirt. A couple of examples of the things I’ve done at bars while the boy was actually there with me: accept a sip from a stranger’s drink while deciding if I should order it, huddle in the corner with a man I just met listening to his dating philosophy, and … actually, I think that’s enough examples. Because my dad is reading.

Are you waiting to hear why I’m ridiculous, or have you caught on?

I get jealous – he does not. He sees maybe ten women a week who aren’t me and pays them no undue attention – he appreciates them for who they are when they’re worth appreciating and that’s where it stops. I see triple digits of and spend not insignificant amounts of time with men who aren’t him, and have been known to get details of the lives of strange men that their therapists don’t know.

If our places were switched, I would have a little green fit every single day of my life. He sees who I am, knows that I love him and would never do anything to hurt him, and doesn’t give it a thought. I know that he loves me and would never do anything to hurt me, and yet.

Hence, I am ridiculous. He is awesome.

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Tryptophan induced coma

But tomorrow, expect a post on why I am freaking ridiculous.

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love hurts

I did it. I went to see New Moon.

New Moon, I love you. I would go see you again if I … well, I will go see you again if anyone wants to go with me.

I read several reviews before going, because I didn’t know that I would be going. It was sort of a last minute some of my mommy friends got free so lets go see it kinda thing. I was all ‘well sure if you ladies want to see it, I could sit through it… I mean I’m not a Twihard or anything but I read the books’.

Remember how people use to say ‘my bad’? I always hated that and won’t say it, but if I did say it, now is when I would say it.

Because New Moon was fucking fantastic.

I’m not even going to google Taylor Lautner to find out how old he is, because there is no answer that isn’t going to make me feel like a dirty old woman. I think I literally moaned the first time he took his shirt off. Even if the movie had sucked, he would have made it worth it.

The reviews I read all said that it was just slow – slow enough that you lost interest. To those reviewers I say ‘pahh’. Yes, pahh. Pahh because they clearly were not paying attention when Jacob and Laurent ran into each other for the first time, for example. Nor did they notice the subtle face twitches that made Bella actually look like the cranky overly emotional teenager that she is.

Don’t get me wrong, I still hate Bella. I still find her dependent and kinda whiny and clearly a shitty friend to anyone who isn’t a vampire. Which is why I’m glad that she’s going to stick with Edward and leave Jacob for me. He’s too good for her.

Yeah, that's right.

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there will be snacks there will

Recently I’ve been getting caught up in the ‘fatosphere’ blogs. Two of my favorites, Shakesville and Shapely Prose, are closely tied to Jezebel, and Jezebel is my online home away from home. In many cases, fat politics share themes with feminism and trans and cis* issues, so I’m lately just as likely to get worked up about a headless fatty picture as I am a gratuitous naked woman or a commercial in which a man protects his wee little wifey from the big bad thunder that somehow relates to diamonds.

I love the fatosphere because I love the bloggers. I love Kate Harding, who is interviewed on fat politics in magazines and on tv, and I love Melissa McEwan who started Shakesville all by her lonesome. I adore the anonymous bloggers who join them. I love them because they are everything that I work on being every day – they are smart and well spoken, they are proud of themselves and willing to stand up for themselves and others, and they do not apologize for who they are.

I’ve written a few posts that address the issue of body image, and I would like to throw in on the comments in some of the postings I read. I never do, though, because I feel like, in that atmosphere, I would apologize for who I am. I am not fat. I have never been fat.

Body image and dieting have been a not inconsiderable issue for me at a few different times in my life. I consider it a serious subject. And yet, in this forum, I feel as though I would be the equivalent of a man commenting on a feminist blog. Men can be and are feminists, and they have vital contributions to make to the movement. But most men can only imagine the kind of subtle objectification that many women go through daily, and likely have an even harder time with the sense of vulnerability that we live with. (I know that’s a sweeping generalization, and I allow right now that there are many exceptions, including men of differing sexualities and gender identities.)

I want to help. I want to help counteract the idea that fat = unhealthy and therefore less deserving of respect, just like I want to counteract the idea that being female = needing protection and therefore deserving less respect. Spend three minutes on one of the blogs above and you’ll read about individuals with good blood pressure, good cholesterol levels, and healthy levels of activity who are denied insane things like the ability to graduate from college. I’m not kidding.

I just don’t know how to do it as a thin person. Which means I’m not like the bloggers I admire – I am apologizing for who I am.

Sigh.

 

 

 

*I didn’t know what cis meant when I started reading Shakesville. Now I do and I am glad of it. If you also don’t know, it’s the opposite of transgender – i.e., a cisgender person is one who associates with the gender of his or her body.

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Filed under it's all about me, it's hard being this beautiful, nablopomo, turns out I'm a feminist