Entries from April 2005 ↓

I signed up for a free week at a local gym, for a kick-boxing aerobics class that lasts one hour and keeps you moving non-stop. Yesterday evening was the first time I gave it a shot, and it kicked my ass. It’s a nice, full-body and cardio workout, though, so I figure I’ll keep going until I’m built like a Greek god, Adonis, or at least get rid of my “spare tire”. Today I’m sore from head to toe, but it feels nice to have gotten out and done something physical, and I’m going to do my best to keep it up.

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I applied for a job (yes, I know, again) as a Technology Support Specialist at Saint Martin’s College (which is where I already work at the library reference desk). It’s a full-time gig, and one that opened recently because the previous guy was fired under dubious circumstances. I don’t know how qualified I am for the position, but I’m going to emphasize “trainability” and see how well they buy it. If I get the job, I’ll be nervous as hell for awhile, because honestly when it comes to computers I always feel like I operate through guesswork, and than my supposed “knowledge” about computers is all a big sham. But then, that’s kind of why I would like the job, so that I can get over that and learn some actual computer skills that will help me a lot in the future, hopefully also as a professional librarian one day (which is still the goal).

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Last but not least, I was sent this list yesterday, which I had already read but which was fun to revisit. If you’ve not read it, it’ll get your funny on.

Washington Post’s MENSA Invitational

The Washington Post’s MENSA Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year’s winners. (None of them get through spellcheck.)

1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and thev person who doesn’t get it.

8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It’s like, when everybody is sending off these bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it’s like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you’ve accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you’re eating.

And the pick of the literature:

18. Ignoranus: A person who’s both stupid and an asshole.

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Of course, I had to make up a couple of my own, and I apologize if they are “groaners”.

Laciturn: (adj) used to describe dairy cows that refuse to moo.

Endolent: (adj) prone to falling asleep before the movie is over.

Platidude: (n) just your average, cliché stoner

Morifund: (n) what your greedy relatives would like to get when you die.

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Tonight I’m going to watch “Finding Neverland” at the Capitol Theater. Then we may go swing dancing up in Tacoma. I wish you all equally splendiferous evenings.

Ciao!

I used to play Everquest a lot. Some of you may remember. Today while chatting with Emily she mentioned Neru and my first thought was “Who is Neru?”. It wasn’t a long thought, a split second at most, but still a bit shocking.

Neru was my dark elf enchantress, who liked to run around with Euclidus, Emily’s wood elf ranger, and start shit with bastard orcs, especially if they lived deep down in some cold ice caves in the middle of a frozen waste. Those were, without a doubt, good times. But I’m glad they’re over, and that we’ve both become more productive with our lives. I’m having much more fun now just being alive, and not sitting on my ass quite as much.

However, in memory of Neru, I would like to take a moment to pay homage to all things dork.

The planet looks quite lovely from up here ….

My birthday passed well, if quickly. I don’t think of my age much, but when I do, it’s still hard to think of myself as twenty-five. This isn’t because I feel old, mind, or that it’s some critical landmark in my life. Rather, because a lot happened while I was twenty-four, and it stretched out, and I got used to it. I’m happy to be twenty-five now, and so far the year has started out great.

A brief list of thanks:

Thanks to the wonderful girl in my life. You’re awesome!

Thanks to my friends and family. You all mean a lot to me.

Thanks to my readers. There aren’t many of you,
but I think you all kick ass.

Thanks to the bloggers I read, for making the world seem smaller and more accessible, and for reaffirming my faith that there are indeed good and interesting people out there.

I’m also thankful that I have work I enjoy,
that I have plans for the future that seem both fun and possible,
and that the world remains such an interesting place.

Sin City is a lurid, roiling mass of anger, revenge, violence, and monochromatic eye-candy. It’s tough as nails, it’s funny as hell, and somehow it’s disarmingly moving.

The story opens on the balcony of a high-rise apartment. A forlorn beauty stares out over the city, as lost as a red dress in a gray-scale world. A dapper young man approaches her, offers her a cigarette, and as he lights it her eyes flash from gray to green, then back to gray as the flame is extinguished. It’s not a new technique, splashing color against a gray palette. Abel Glance did it as far back as 1927 in “Napoleon”, Jacques Tati in 1949 with “Jour de Fête”. It’s effective, even so, and fits the feeling and motion of Sin City very well. The city looms, gray above all else, a sprawling monstrosity; but it’s the glimpses of color, in their sparsity, that give it life, that make the stories.

And so we are given, much like glimpses of color, glimpses of story; which is to say, vignettes. And while it’s not immediately clear how these disparate characters tie together, and it’s not an incredibly strong bond even by the end, they do so in such a way that the soul of the city seems clear. It’s dark and it’s murky, but in the end it’s the hero (or anti-hero) of the story more than any of its denizens. The players come upon us suddenly, and some leave just as quickly. Only the city is constant, and it’s its history, and its conflicts, and its rulers and its discretions, that interests us. In this regard, the vignettes serve us well, as we are allowed to see the city from different perspectives, each with its own unique feel and rhythm.

As our main players; Micky Rourke, Bruce Willis, and Clive Owen each do an outstanding job. Rourke plays an ogre named Marv, and of the three is the most likable to a comic book super-hero, if in a bleak and violent way. He’s no Superman, but could easily be likened to The Punisher, but bigger and with fewer guns. Marv is a street-tough goon who downs prescription pills by the bottle, and who sets himself on a grim mission of revenge when he wakes up next to the corpse of the only woman who ever treated him well, even if she was only the angel of a single evening. Of the three, this story packs the most comedic element, as well as the most traditional comic-book style violence. It almost contains the most nudity, though I assure you this was not a factor in my saying that it was probably my favorite segment. Rather, I enjoyed Marv’s tough-as-nails, take-no-shit demeanor and penchant for grim repartée, not to mention his sense of old-school honor and respect for the only beautiful thing he’d ever known.

Bruce plays an over-the-hill cop with a “bum ticker”, named Hartigan. This segment is the most akin to the film-noir detective story, and of the three is the most a love story, though it also contains, in my opinion, the most grotesque imagery the movie has to offer. Having rescued a young girl from an ignoble fate, Hartigan is laid up and shortly after, dishonestly thrown in the slammer. He rots there for eight years, and is released only to emerge back into the same nightmare of a story that he left. He achieves resolution, though it’s no happy ending, to be sure.

If you love Clive Owen like some people I know love Clive Owen, then you’ll certainly enjoy his story in this movie as yet another grim, tough-as-nails hero. And even if you don’t like Clive Owen, you’ll probably appreciate Benicio Del Toro’s roll as a dead-but-still-jeering head. This segment does the most to exhibit the city’s dark underbelly, and explains a bit of the wary tension between the lower and upper crusts. My favorite part of this segment was Miho, a full-on kick-ass ninja prostitute. Oooh, what she does with those swords …

I’ve tried not to spoil it. Though the allure of the movie lies in its grim visuals and unapologetic explosions of violence, in the end the story is the thing. As a whole, the movie gets a full four stars from yours truly, though I suggest that if you watch it, you do so in a big theater with a good sound system. A movie like this demands to be big and loud, much like the city it portrays.