rants & ramblings

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Snotting Hill/the American Actress

In preparation for my upcoming jaunt to London, I have been immersing myself in Brit-flavored videos. Just watched Notting Hill, and am a bit disgusted, I must say. Another otherwise charming London comedy lethally muddled, as was Four Weddings & a Funeral, by the American Actress. Both of these films were written quite ably by Richard Curtis. However, the casting agents proved less adept... first with the truly dismal Andie MacDowall, then with Julia Roberts. Good lord.

Though I much prefer the newer, nastier Hugh Grant of recent years, Notting Hill (like Four Weddings before it) features the fumbling, slightly-foppish Hugh Grant that people came to either love or hate during the 90s. Personally, I loved him. Yes, he was a bit blinky and questionably unmasculine (and prone to incredibly bad choices like Mickey Blue Eyes and Nine Months, which are too awful to even link to), but I fell hard in high school and never quite let him go. He has a pretty narrow range as an actor, but at least he (well, usually) knows what he's doing with it.

There are things that really work for him in Notting Hill... The loopy sister, who looks enough like him to make him seem accessible, as though he had quite accidentally come out the handsome one in a family of normal-to-odd. The clever friends who create an enviable and complementary social group—Blackadder's Tim McInnerney, darling Hugh Bonneville, lovely Gina McKee (I adore Gina McKee in everything I see her in and wish she did more... what an interesting and intelligent beauty she projects!)... Even now iconic Spike, in all his mayonnaise-eating Y-fronted glory (and the role that cemented Rhys Ifans's place in the Millennial BritCool Factor, which I blabbed on about to some length in my Amazon review of Formula 51—scroll down to Customer Reviews), contributes to the presentation of a nicely human Hugh by bringing him down a notch—the simple fact that he is able to live with Spike makes him a bit less-posh (and let's face it, when he's posh he's intolerable).

But what doesn't work for Hugh, or for the film overall, is Julia. Notting Hill was made in 1999, before she'd won her Oscar and was entirely free to abandon obligatory roles in romantic comedy projects and Grisham-y thrillers. Watching her awful performance now, you can tell the woman is exhausted and bored, yet on some level champing at the bit for better stuff. Since the Brockovichian freedom granted to her by her Oscar win, Roberts has taken on much more sober, choosy projects and is still the most highly paid actress in Hollywood ($20 million a picture, as reported today), even after taking time off to spawn twins. Notting Hill suffers as a casualty of an actress in transition. The woman is weighed down. You can feel it. Even at the end when she is happy and pregnant (vomit) and in happily-ever-after mode with ever-bookish Hugh, she is missing the spirit that made her a star. She smiles a lot in the film, but the smile is strained. She is going through the motions here, and it nearly ruins an otherwise charming film.

Like Four Weddings, the worst parts of Notting Hill are when the American Actress is onscreen. In both films, the VERY WORST lines are delivered by the American Actress (Andie: "Was it raining? I didn't notice?", Julia: "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her"). Remove the American Actress, and you have nicely functioning comedies with interesting characters (yes, yes, all presenting a relatively narrow view of British society but at this point it's become a genre). Sigh. I guess it's about money. Otherwise it makes no sense to me why the American Actress gets included at all. In my experience the British aren't especially keen on Americans anyway—why keep throwing them in as the unlikely objects of British male affection? Alas. It's not as though the Hugh comedies will tank if they have no American Actress—About A Boy was nicely done with legitimately non-American females in the roles. But no, Hugh always gets stuck with the American Actress. I really wish Kate Winslet would have been Bridget Jones. But no, Kate got herself pregs and was replaced by... sigh.

Anyway, Snotting Hill has really contributed nothing to my London adventure planning, other than provide me with a map of the stalls on Portobello Road, which I probably won't visit anyway. Shaun of the Dead didn't prove to be rewarding research either, but at least it was a damn good time. Maybe I'm ODing on these London movies. Don't get me started on Gwyneth's accent.

Daily View, 11/30

December is almost here. Sheesh.
  • Brilliant: How Swearing Works, complete with brain diagrams. (Love that "Bounty Hunting" is the most popular search on howstuffworks.com)

  • Junk mails of note—poetic subject line: Of sleep my keeping ethical; obscure german subject line: Aufspaltungsmuster; just plain weird subject line: I've pig your slugging afterword; and one spammy gem sent from some disturbing fake person named Insightful H. Raping.

  • According to this article, I am already somoething of a Virtual Anthropologist... I can definitely live with that.

  • Am I a hopeless hopeless nerd because secretly I want my own R2-D2 replica?

  • Some guy dyed his dog to look like a panda. I guess that's better than making the dog wear booties... ?

Not much else going on. Blah.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Thanksgiving Chez Lane, or Who is Paris Hilton?

I have returned to the Midwest for the turkey holiday. It is a strange land, full of strip malls and religious billboards. The local people display lots of flannel, bulging waistlines and very puffy hair. Frankly, it's all a bit terrifying.

My parents have morphed slightly since I last saw them. They now drive a Hybrid (which they are a bit environmentally smug over) and dissolve frequently into prayer (which I find worrying/infuriating/laughable, depending on the context—is it really necessary to verbally thank a diety before quietly consuming a handful of wheat thins?). My mother has developed a relatively extreme gluten allergy (so it was my dad eating the wheat thins), so family dinners have thus far consisted of lots of cheese (which is apparently one of the few foods she considers "safe"). Oh, and eggs—I don't remember the last time I've been offered eggs with such unfailing regularity (every meal so far for two days). There are a number of cardboardy excuses for faux bread products floating around but in general the grub situation is pretty damn dismal. Hopefully the actual "big meal" (as the hygienist at the dentist I was forced to visit this morning kept saying in drooling, eager tones) will have some non-egg, non-cheese options—after all, turkey is wheat free. Otherwise, my brother and I are going to rebel and celebrate our Thanksgiving at Taco Bell (BYOB). Hmm... it occurs to me now that maybe my dad prays over his wheat thins as a gesture of gratitude... as in, "Thank you, O Lord, for not making my intestines combust when they encounter glutenous consumables." Sigh.

The most amusing moment yet came earlier during a family dinner of gluten-free pancakes (foul) and, you guessed it, eggs (fowl? har har). My dad, with typical bearded college professor flaky curiousity, sat for a moment seemingly deep in thought before casually asking: "Who is Paris Hilton?" This struck me as extremely funny for two reasons. One, because I really thought he was sitting there pondering some deeper meaning of the universe (or at least praying to himself). And two, because Paris Hilton has finally become so famous for nothing that she has registered on my dad's radar... is it an achievement when a spacy theology professor from Missouri, notorious for being withdrawn into his own private universe and who hasn't watched television in ten years or ever looked at a tabloid, knows your name?

And now I withdraw... to pray for turkey tomorrow. Kidding. Well, half-kidding, anyway... please GAWD, no more eggs.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Harry Potter, Daily View 11/21

Ok, so on a whim my friend and I went to see a midnight show of the new Harry Potter movie on opening night. This was not a camp-out-get-tickets-a-week-early-thrill-like-a-damp-thirteen-year-old type situation, this was more like we had nothing better to do and both were interested (honestly, I had fully intended on avoiding the film in New York entirely and seeing it during the turkey holiday in the midwest, where ticket prices and theatregoers tend to be more benign). But there we were, in a packed house full of teenagers—lots of ratty emo boys in packs... passive girlfriends with shining eyes dragging their twitchy, awkwardly athletic boyfriends towards the good seats... young bookish types with hip frames and stripey scarves.. etc. Between the lot of them, they made a fuck of a lot of noise. Oh well.

I have to say, watching the movie was a bit like a drug trip. Puberty... what an odd thing, and what unexpected and giggly subtext it creates. During a tense moment between Harry and Ron, someone down front cried, "KISS!"... and, to be honest, I wouldn't have blinked if Harry and Ron had indeed embraced (though things were hardly in Frodo and Sam territory... come to think of it, someone cried "KISS!" during LOTR too... haha). Meanwhile, poor Hermione didn't have enough to do—Emma Watson and Rupert Grint are clearly going to have to make out at some point and that is clearly going to be extremely uncomfortable for both of them.

Ralph Fiennes was good stuff, of course, though why he had no nose is a mystery to me. He has said in interviews he was doing "lizard meets Hitler"... sure, works for me. I'm just glad he's around. Mmmm, Ralph.

But meanwhile, the teens were a bit outta control. The asshole behind us had clearly never cracked a book in his life (Potter or otherwise) and had to keep grunting monosyllables at his simpering girlfriend asking for explanation or making homophobic cracks. One of his unfortunate friends would periodically yell out stuff like, "Pimp it, nigga!"... which, given the relatively whitebread world of Hogwarts and the extremely un-pimp (non)acting style of Dan Radcliffe, was just stupid.

Fuck. I'm blogging about Harry Potter. This must end now.

Seen today online:
  • Am marginally interested in this cable winder, though I am trying to stop buying plastic crap with faces (because, you know, that makes me more mature... sheesh)

  • Slate has a slideshow on the late, great Calvin & Hobbes comic.

  • People keep asking me wtf emo means. In future I'm just going to send them to Wikipedia and tell them to piss off.

  • Uncharacteristic political commentary: How the hell is George W. the first president to go to Mongolia?? All the others couldn't be bothered? If I were president (hahahahaha) my ass would be all sorts of global.

  • Monster Scope!! Yes, telescopes are cool but really I just wanted to say MONSTER SCOPE WILL DELVE DEEPER THAN EVER BEFORE, etc.

  • See, it wasn't just me—good old Defamer has the obligatory blurb on Potter sexual preferences: "the unexpected subplot involving Harry and Ron Weasley’s classic English schoolboy explorations were just as touching. We would never dream of printing a spoiler about that tender, poignant moment of awakening, but suffice it to say that come Oscar time, Jake and Heath won’t be the only onscreen couple buzzed about." Aww...

  • Another Defamer moment: glad to see my old classmate Nelly likes a bit of charity with his strippers. Gotta credit the U. City upbringing, baby. Woo.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Daily View, 11/18

  • Loving the photos of Jan von Holleben. Actually, I'm digging many of the photographers on his PhotoDebut site— Maxine Beuret, Lisa Barber

  • The Darwin exhibit is opening at the AMNH! Am psyched!

  • Am delighted Madonna uses ABBA in her new single Hung Up—Gimme, Gimme, Gimme
  • is one of my fave ABBA songs. It also warms my heart that she's paid them for usage rights: ABBA TO EARN MILLIONS FROM MADONNA SAMPLE. Blessya, Madge.
  • Target and Costco have started selling good old fashioned stand up arcade machines. Fucking yessss... says the girl who has recently been lamenting her lack of adult lifestyle cred. Sheesh.

  • Usually this kind of thing turns me right off, but for some reason today I am drooling over the idea of a laser-etched Powerbook...

  • Triumph works his poopy genius on the Michael Jackson Trial and, brilliantly, on Star Wars Fans

  • And, I admit it, I'm excited about the new Harry Potter. We Hermiones have to stick together.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Daily View, 11/17

  • Today I discovered the beautiful illustration of Ed Tsuwaki...

  • The rumored Perfume Phone has become a reality... yikes

  • Some geek genius has made a plush robot version of the Killer Rabbit from Monty Python

  • Liked this sentence from a review of the new Harry Potter film: "Cinema doesn't just immortalize actors, locking them into youth, it also solicits our love in a way that books do not, since it isn't just the characters we fall for, but the actors playing them, too."

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Daily View, 11/16, Spam, London Shrug

I get a ridiculous amount of spam. I'm sure partly because I've had my mainstream Earthlink email address for over five years (yikes). Meanwhile, I know people have started making poetry from the ridiculous subject titles of their spam. While I'm not going to go that far, I have decided to start making note of some of them. Spam sucks, but it's a fact of life—I don't get these people who wage full-out wars against spam. Anyway, spam of the day:
  • From: Benito Garcia      Subject: she said you raped her
    I also got one that had a subject line of "Haley Steward pickle", but the random rape accusation is more interesting. Sheesh.

  • Oh, now that the white people are doing it, it's controversial? They've had anthropomorphized pee & poo in Japan forever already. Get with it, Sweden.

  • Hahahaha... go to Google, type the word failure into the search field, then hit the I'm Feeling Lucky button... excellent.

  • Why does everyone love graffiti so damn much? Now the trendsters are even wearing graffiti ties. Oh, I'm sorry—VINTAGE graffiti ties.

  • Wow. Eyes eaten alive by ants, babies born with hearts in their hands, a new plan for asteroids... this is my kinda news.

  • Quite liked a lot of things about this site: DL&Co. However, points off for YET ANOTHER MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA PRODUCT. Wtf is with this movie and the aggressive asian-themed product tie-ins? Jeeeeeeeeeezus.

  • One of the most extreme sentences I've ever read in a movie review came from the Onion's review of Ellie Parker: "it's filmed on nauseous, headache-inducing digital video that makes the film look like it was shot entirely within the rectum of a syphilitic hobo"... damn. (Poor Scott Coffey!).

  • This is silly and pointless but I laughed out loud: Strongbad "meedley meedley meedley meedley..."

  • Overheard at 14th & 3rd: Hipster chick: "Omigod, he's like Adonis...like a geeky, comic book-loving Adonis..." Really. Where can I find one of those? Actually, no... the comic book thing kills it for me at this point. Backlash from years of too many comic book boys. Read real books, already.

  • Also Overheard in Park Slope (no real surprise): Little girl: "I'm tired of thinking about ponies! Now it's time to kill!

Ok, so I was going to go to London. Someone I was interested in getting to know better was also going. Now he has flaked. I believe the term fuckwit pretty much sums it up. But I think I'm still going to go... sans fuckwit. Why not? Yes, I may burst into tears at the top of the London Eye, or have a horrible creeping feeling of loss in the Design Museum, but... screw all that. Beautiful, frigid London in January will cure what ails me... right? Sigh.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Daily View, 11/11

  • Why the hell are regular old fashioned Chuck Taylor's the usual $40 and the laceless versions over twice as much? 95 hot ones so I can slip it on? Not worth it. Am bummed because I had just gotten around to wanting some of these.

  • For better or worse, I've become someone who lives in jeans and sneakers. An upcoming trip to London where I will be in situations for which I need to be a bit more posh has hammered home the fact that denim and kicks are not always appropriate, but I am at a loss. I have a feeling, half sinking, half celebratory, that I am never truly going to be an adult. For now I'm just going to buy a copy of British Vogue and feel awkward about myself.

  • Great article in Slate today, complete with music clips, about Weird Rock in New York. Some interesting stuff... I think I like the Animal Collective.

  • Must remember to fully explore linkdup.com for web-design inspiration.

  • Elizabethtown was the worst movie I've seen in a long ass time. I guess I just needed to vent that.

  • Next big thing? Smell tones for your phone. When someone calls, the phone emits a fragrance. Apparently the porn industry is all a-buzz with the possibilities. Eek.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Strawberry Sundae. Black Coffee

Out and about in the city on Saturday, I swung into the McDonald's on 8th Ave near 26th for a caffeine hit. Waiting in line, I witnessed not one but FOUR separate people step calmly up to the counter and order "Strawberry Sundae. Black Coffee." Exactly those words. I noticed the order the first time because
  1. I hate strawberry sundaes and coffee and thought this was a particularly nasty combination.
  2. I had a moment of panic thinking that sounded like something people would order on a Sunday... is today Sunday already? Wait, it's Saturday, right? Shit, what day is it? etc.
  3. I'd noticed the old woman who placed the first order because she looked particularly annoyed at having to wait in line.
I do not consider myself a conspiracy theorist by any means but after the second person placed the same order I started to think something was up. After the fourth person, I became convinced that this was some sort of code. Sucking down my legalized drugs Coke, I waited around briefly to see if anything was going to happen... bomb, aliens, something... but nothing did. Sigh. I think I've been watching too much Alias.

Burnout, Stephen Rochester

I am sick of work. I am sick of seeing the same crap on the internet. I am sick of people. Ok, I've vented.

Started my day waking from a dream that featured a cameo by the kid I had a crush on in 7th grade, Stephen Rochester. We were all grown up, but of course he looked exactly the same, which was both comforting and creepy. In the dream, I wanted o say hello but we were separated by a crowd and eventually the dream went on into other territories. In real life, Stephen Rochester moved away before high school (after dating one of my friends, which was the story of my junior high life. Holy shit, actually, looking back, it was ONE friend who dated all the guys I liked. Damn.). I was very sorry to see him go (though I doubt he had any clue). Some months later, we ran into each other at a band competition (go band geeks!). We both played the saxophone (hey, it was the 80s). He seemed happy to see me and said, "Hey!! How are you? How have you been? How are you?" with surprising enthusiasm. My stupid dramatic tween ass, shaken to the core by the drama of the moment and feeling short of breath, stammered out, "Fine... until I saw you..." Of course I mean that my world had been in place until his crushable reappearance. Of course this was a truly awful thing to say, but I was (and arguably still am) socially inept. His face clouded, he frowned and said, "Fine." Then walked away, leaving me clutching my sax and feeling like the world's biggest idiot. And I never saw him again.

I still feel bad about it. And he pops up in my dreams every now and then. I think I heard someplace that he went to Yale, where he became deeply involved with his Jewish roots and then got married. Who knows. I'm sure on his junior high radar that event was a blip. But if our paths ever do cross again I will apologize... for that odd moment almost twenty years ago... that I'm sure everyone but me forgotten.

This is a sad bastard of a blog post. Blech. I'm having a crap day at work.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Daily View, 11/4

Not much of worth today.

But really, that's about it. Am actually kind of hating the internet today... but that's because I've had to use it all day for work related projects and now my eyes are falling out of my head as my brain threatens to implode. Sigh.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Weren't you the one who prized this dark meat on my thighs?

My roommate sent me an email—an extremely rare occurrence since a) we're about fifteen feet away from each other, give or take a few walls and b) I'm always hogging the internet. It links to a turkey with a disco-fro singing a Thanksgiving rendition of I will Survive. Initially I objected to the cheese factor and the crappy animation, but then I was won over by the lyrics (which, in case the link goes down, are printed below). I love that the line about the wife's cranberry sauce manages to say so much with so little.

At first I was an egg, I was petrified... kept thinking I'd be lost or I'd get cracked or fried...
But you took me to your nest before it was too late and kept me warm... and you helped me incubate.
And now you're back... think you're the boss... want to put me on a plate next to your wife's cranberry sauce.
I should have known this day would come, I should have known not to relax... If I thought for just one second you'd come in here with that ax
Go on now go! Walk out the door! Just turn around now... ain't chopping my head to the floor
Weren't you the one who prized this dark meat on my thighs?
You think I'd gobble... you think I'd lay down and die
Oh no not I, I will survive! As long as I know how to peck I know I'll stay alive.
Got my wings so I won't fall, ain't selling me to butterball
I will survive, I will survive... Hey hey!

Daily View, 11/3

  • Aw, I know it will never be realized (a next-gen cast? BLASPHEMY. Like the world needs more Ben Stiller), but the idea that Ackroyd and Ramis even sat around thinking this up gets me excited: Ghostbusters 3: Ghostbusters Go To Hell

  • Brilliant: the new Lightcap is a water bottle with a solar-charging light in the cap. For hiking, night running, whatever. Man, summer camp would have been so much cooler with one of these...

  • I heart Gothamist: So Every Parent Can Grow Their Own Maureen Dowd

  • From National Geographic news: "Medieval lion and leopard skulls found in a Tower of London moat are revealing secrets about big cats kept inside the English royal palace." Why this fascinates me, I'm not certain, but it does...

  • Hans Memling is at the Frick... the man in the red hat haunts me as well, Gridskipper.

  • Someone on Threadless randomly quoted Withnail & I this morning: "You can stuff it up your arse for nothing and fuck off while you're doing it." I need to see that movie again—it's been years. I have an odd soft spot for Richard E. Grant, who looks like he's up to not much lately (though of course he was a voice in Corpse Bride... how could he not have been?)

  • Oh hell yeah. They're making Final Destination 3!!! The first FD was ok... but in FD2 they really nailed the cheesy suspense thriller ride by dispensing with plot altogether, and it was nothing but fun. I saw it on a pseudo-date. Nothing like constantly jumping out of your skin with a silly grin on your face when you're sitting next to someone you still delusionally think is promising. Best part about FD2 is that you know each death is coming, yet you still jump and scream and laugh everywhere they tell you to. Ah, I loved it. Good cheesy fun. I can only hope FD3 is as plotless and empty and brilliant. There is a roller coaster (hey, and rollercoasters by nature are plotless and empty and brilliant) so it looks promising.

  • More fodder for my eventual post about accents (who knows if that will ever happen but this quote is immortal): "People from Louisiana can't have accents. That's for people from different parts of the world, like the Canadians in Europe. Canada's such a fuckin' weird country, but they got hot accents. If you from Louisiana, you sound just like you do if you from New York, and if you from New Jersey. If you from Canada, you sound mad different, because it's on the other side." Thank goodness for Overheard in NY.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

MoDo shot down, Daily view, 11/2

  • Katie Roiphe retaliates against Maureen Dowd in Slate. "Dowd's aphorisms, amusing and pithy in the morning paper along with a cup of coffee, are precisely what the conversation about sexual politics does not need." Thanks, Katie!

  • These paper lamps from ShadyShade are kinda cool... though not as cool as good old Tord Boontje. While neither is practical (I'm sorry, does no one else live in a vortex of pet hair and dust?), there is a do-it-yourself factor to the ShadyShade lamps that makes me want to make my own. Because, you know, I have so much free time for crafts.

  • More cool lamps: I have always wanted this cheesy ass pigeon lamp, which is finally available in in the US (the Brits have had it for years now).

  • All the New York Public Library Plaques (you know, with the quotes) are available to view online.

  • Am having a bad workday, but damn, this google search for "hate boss" yields some frightening results.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Gwyneth (the Bride of Coldplay), Celebrity, Katrina

What is it about Gwyneth Paltrow that pisses people off? Oops, I meant "The Bride of Coldplay", as some more irreverent media outlets have started referring to her (excellent). TBOC baffles me, to be honest. On one level she comes off as the accessible pal-around jokester, down to earth, even a bit plain, just kinda cool. Then you blink and she's this prep-glammy bitch with a fruit baby and an ego larger than the Atlantic that currently separates her from her former provenance of NYC. (Though wait, I should make it clear that I thought the Apple thing was brilliant. Who cares? There are people named Chastity and Craddock and Wayne, for chrissake. At least Apple is pleasant. Name your babies whatever you want. Like Trilby. Heh.) But I dunno. She does seem a bit smug and self-satisfied... there is an off-putting sense of entitlement about her, even when she's playing fragile. I also find her English accent annoying. Better than most, definitely, but too precise... like those typefaces that try to replicate handwriting but then all the vowels look exactly the same. You know it's fake because those A's are exactly the same. You know she's working too hard because she nails exactly the same things every time... "per-Fect", "An-uh-thing" (hmmm, I will have to wax on about accents in another entry).

Why do we respond to celebrities at all? Sometimes because we sense something in them that we recognize in ourselves. I'm sure I've enjoyed TBOC in movies because it occurred to me on some level that she and I would get along. Yes, yes, you respond to the character, but the actor is inhabiting that character and so therefore you project all your shit onto them like you know them, blah blah blah. I think this happens across the board, consciously and un-, from the stalkers and psychos who then hunt the poor celebs down and swear they are their kindreds... to the average joe who likes what he's seeing but can't identify why... to the elitist who insists she is immune to celebrity but then has seen everything a certain artist has ever done.

I am just kind of rambling now (crazy workday... needed a break), but speaking of names (I was, wasn't I?), I need to document this story before I forget it. I have the misfortune of belonging to the full name Katrina. Yes, like the hurricane (and that woman who is, to this day, still Walking on Sunshine). Though I shun this name (have since the 3rd grade) and Kate is a much better fit, my full name is still printed on things like my debit card. Though the recent hurricane has resulted in many headlines that are funny as hell when taken out of context and applied to me (my favorite was "Flipper the firing dolphin let loose by Katrina", though anything that says "Katrina victims" is good too), it has also resulted in some unforunate behavior. Recently, at the corner deli, the woman behind the counter saw my full name on my debit card and let out a disapproving little half-scream before crossing herself against my evil. The Dominican grannies in line behind me discovered the cause of her upset and clicked their tongues at me. For a minute I honestly thought I was going to be tossed out of the deli. "I had never heard that name before... before YOU KNOW," said the woman behind the counter in ominous tones as she curtly handed me my receipt. If there was ever a time to have meteorological superpowers, that would have been it... They didn't call me Firestarter on the elementary school playground for nothing—I can blaze a mean glare when I need to, and how I would have loved to have given the grannies "the Look" combined with a bit of high wind or flashes of lightening. Ah well.

Damn, this is a random ass blog. But then, I guess that's what it's for. Anyway, ranting has enabled me to procrastinate a while, so... cheers.

Hermione & the Daily View, 11/1

Since the rise of Harry Potter, I have been both admiringly referred to as and accused of being a Hermione. The new movie is coming out soon, so inevitably this is all beginning again. To be honest, I choose to take being called Hermione as a compliment, though I realize that some people intend to imply that I'm being a bossy little bitch. I have no problem with that—people are idiots, and sometimes you have to tell them so. But what upsets me about this whole thing is that I have always liked the name Hermione (no, JK Rowling did not make it up... idiots!) and now it has been ruined for future use. In the 7th grade I wanted to name any future female children Trilby and/or Hermione. I still like those names, though as a heroine of literature Trilby is a questionable role model (and if you remove the literary reference then you're left naming your child after an unfortunate style of hat), and Hermione has little mythological significance beyond being the daughter of Helen of Troy (and the name of several comic musical actresses in the 60s: Gingold, Badderly, etc.). So, between Hermione now belonging wholly to the Potter phenomenon and it being my college nickname, I think I have to cross it off my list. Sigh. Not that I really have much of a list these days. In 7th grade the idea of having kids was much more fun—I guess it's the puberty version of playing with dolls. I had lots of lists of names—I used to play with my name dictionary like Margaret Dashwood played with her atlas. Now I just worry about how much a kid is going to cost. Sheesh.

Anyway, things I've seen online that are worth noting:
  • the Margaret Mead film festival is coming up at the AMNH.

  • The Ice Hotel Canada is opening soon. I have wanted to go to one of these since I was a kid (hell, it was the only thing I enjoyed about the Halle Berry James Bond movie. Well, the ice hotel and the discovery of the mojito).

  • Must check out Pandora, a music service that apparently scrutinizes your musical preferences and then recommends obscure bands for you to fall instantly in love with. Am skeptical.

  • If being referenced by a major online publication hadn't crashed his server, I'm sure Clay Shirky's article Power Laws, Weblogs, and Inequality would be a fascinating read. Maybe the link will work later. Sigh.

  • There was an article yesterday about parapsychology (apparently it can be studied at the college level... which kicks my childhood fantasy of becoming a Ghostbuster into high gear!) and today there is one about cryptozoology. I have never heard that term before, but I love it. Apparently "popular culture is currently going cryptozoology crazy" and "mythological creatures are also a diversion from the Iraq War" (you know, as opposed to their usual role in peacetime... ?). One artist is quoted as saying "I'm happy they've found the giant squid, but now I have to fantasize about something different." What, because the actual reality of the giant squid isn't awesome enough? What an idiot (says the cleverest witch of her age).