Spider-Man, Spider-Man, Does What Broadway Actors Can April 27, 2007

Extra extra, read all about it, here or here: Spiderman is in the works for Broadway, with music and lyrics by Bono and The Edge.

“They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway…”

Hey, I like musicals as much as the next person (probably even more), but in the words of my friend who told me about this: “worst idea ever.”

Since when do Bono and The Edge write musicals? Are they channeling their inner Elton Johns? Can we also expect some sort of humanitarian agenda underlying the entire musical? Will Spider-Man bring about an end to starvation in Africa? Or will this be a by-product of the Sinister Six in cahoots with Kim Jong Il killing half the world before Spidey wraps them all up in a great big webby mess and then does a solo dramatic movement number to guitar riffs written by The Edge (which is why there are no words).

The scariest quote from those articles was this one:

“Marvel continues to look to every entertainment medium to support the enduring popularity of our Super Heroes.”

Great. I guess this means that after Spider-Man, we can look forward to these fancy Broadway productions–

The X-Men, wherein Hugh Jackman reprises the role of Wolverine. Music by Paul Simon. Every song is a lyrical poem about introspection. It will get pulled a week later.

Fantastic Four, wherein Jessica Alba reprises the role of Susan Storm and spends most of the show pole-dancing. Music by 50 Cent and Andy Samburg. It’s hip and comedic.

The Hulk, starring the one, the only DAVID HASSELHOFF. Music by him. (Genius! Genius! Genius!).

Captain America, starring Clay Aiken. As an added bonus, Captain America will kick Simon Cowell’s ass in the middle of show.

Can’t. Hardly. Wait.

How… DARE you!!!!!!!!! April 25, 2007

Today’s post brought to you by the Notorious F.O.X. (all the bitches in the house go he-ey, ho-o, he-y, ho-o)

Dear Riley,

I hate you. You got beef with me? Do it like a man and say it to my face. Don’t be hiring some lowlife to come to the house with a blade.

Here I am, enjoying my morning cuppa and newspaper–

and lo and behold, some blondie in an apron shows up and THIS happens–

I hate you.

HATE you.

Now why don’t you just go to sleep.

F.O.X.

P.S. Yo, Fox, it’s the start of summer and I didn’t want you to be hot. I swear, if I had known the tail would look like that, I wouldn’t have done it. — Riley

P.P.S. Bitch, You a lyin’ sack o’ shit. — F.O.X.

Little Beauties April 23, 2007

My Darling Daughter,

If you would like for me to curl your hair in big rollers and wash you in Aqua Net and spray tan you and make you wear bathings suits and tight clothing and fake teeth and demand you do dance routines while yelling the instructions at you as though I should be saying “dance little monkey!” and then not comfort you when you cry over the fact that you lost and won’t get to wear the extra large plastic tiara that could give the Pope and Abraham Lincoln combined a run for their money in added height, then please, allow me to put you in an upcoming beauty pageant.

With high hopes for future therapy sessions,

Your Dedicated Mother

(This post brought to you by the Little Beauties of VH1, and the letter K, as in Special K, as in I wish I had had some to make it through this show. And I’m not talking about the cereal.)

Slow Ride, Take it Easy April 20, 2007

Lately, The Boy has been watching a cheaply made Peter Pan-brand DVD called Little Cars. It is, for all intents and purposes, a complete rip off of Pixar’s Cars. What’s extra funny to me is the fact that the name of the company that makes the videos is called Peter Pan. It’s like they’re just rubbing Disney’s face in it that they’re getting away with it.

We’ve been watching a lot of Little Cars because I lent Pixar’s Cars to my brother-in-law, Auto Man. He is so named because he is a car aficionado, which is why I was excited to lend him Pixar’s Cars because I knew how much he would enjoy it. When I first met Auto Man, he was the boyfriend of my then-boyfriend-now-Husband’s sister, Mary Kay, so named because those are her initials. One of the first things I remember Auto Man saying to me, when he saw me pull up in a Toyota pickup, was “I can lower your car for you” and Mary Kay said (in that sigh voice that girlfriends often use with boyfriends), “She doesn’t need you to do that.” I was a little taken aback, because I didn’t know him at all, so I didn’t know what he was getting at, suggesting he could lower it. Was he weird? Was he making fun of my car? Was he making fun of me?

As it turned out, he was just really into cars. Since I have known him, he has belonged to a car club, raced in legal street races, and showed his truck at car shows. He himself drove his own lowered truck—with hydraulics of course—and my Toyota pickup happened to be the same model as his first car.

Inspired by his love of cars, here is a list of Ten Things You Won’t Hear From the Mouths of Car Aficionados:

1. There is such a thing as too low.
2. Gone in 60 Seconds sucked.
3. No, I haven’t seen that new model car. What’s it look like?
4. No one will notice that scratch.
5. Yes, I’d love to go through the gas station car wash.
6. I hate waxing.
7. That woman in the bikini does nothing to enhance the photo of that car.
8. Sure, you can drive my car!
9. Hybrids rock.
10. I just use the standard sound system that came with my car.

And now, for any of you who may be wondering what Auto Man’s car looked like, here’s a clip that I think does it justice:

How ya like that, baby?

There’s Mold in Them Thar Hills! April 19, 2007

I have a Chia Head. I’ve had it since high school. People like to make fun of Chia Head, but the fact remains that if he is out, everyone notices him, asks me questions about him, want to discuss the seeds, the watering, the everything. THEY ALL WANT TO KNOW ABOUT CHIA HEAD. It’s a guilty pleasure. Like what Eddie Murphy describes as “deep down, people want to smell your farts.”

Chia Head moved with me from high school to college to California, and seven different moves within California. A stalwart compadre, that Chia Head. And never have I had problems with Chia Head. Until now.

I’ve been trying to grow him a brand new head o’ hair and NOTHING is happening. I considered the possibility that the seeds dried out too much when I was out of town for two days, but I watered him just before leaving and as soon as I got back. He was half full on my return:

Half empty, if you ask me.

Finally, I see growth. Not sprout-y greens, though. Instead, I see 2 small patches of whitish fuzz. It is mold. MOLD growing on my Chia Head!

A missile! A missile in my house, Gary!

I know I’ve told you before that I have a brown thumb with indoor plants, but really, failing at Chia Head is an all-time low. Sigh. Back to the drawing board… I hang my head in shame.

Or submerge it, as the case may be.

Yo Mama So Tacky She Done Gone Bought All These Postcards April 17, 2007

Yo mama so poor when she asked me over to dinner I took a paper plate from the kitchen and she growled “Don’t use the good china.”

Yo mama so poor when I took the cobwebs out the window she yelled “Somebody stealin’ the drapes!”

Yo mama so poor I saw he sitting around with a bunch a cockroaches singin’ “We are fam-i-ly!”

And finally,

Yo mama so fat she uses the interstate as a slip n’ slide.
(you didn’t think I was out of the Elvis recipes yet, did you?)

Not a postcard. But should be.

A Video is a Poor Excuse for a Blog Post April 14, 2007

But I’ll be tarred and feathered if this isn’t fooking hi-larious.

It reminds me vaguely of that Paul Anka CD that came out a couple years ago in which he covered songs like “Jump” by Van Halen and “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana, and they’re all sung to the tune of Vegas show songs. It’s actually a good CD. It led me to believe the Tony Bennett Duets CD would be equally good, but it isn’t. Not that it’s bad, it’s just not great. But back to the video at hand — does anyone else hate Black Eyed Peas as much as I do?

I don’t know how long it will be up there, but currently, their description on Wikipedia begins with

“The Black Eyed Peas is really cool, i like them lots. i think they are the best in da world. go go go!!! yay! i can type. sorry to anyone who wants info. ahahaha gogogo! aha aha ha ah dkhnfignet blah blah blah goodnight everyone one….my bum hurts.”

If loving Black Eyed Peas is wrong, I DEFINTELY want to be right. And Alanis Morrisette is with me on this. Which makes me like her. A lot.

Every Step You Take I’ll Be Watching You April 13, 2007

Kristi and I are girls of the 80s. We get tagged for a meme about obsessions and we both think of the song “Obsession.” She already used the lyrics for her post, so I had to choose another obsessive song from the 80s. And what’s more obsessive than the entire Synchronicity album? Whenever I think of this album, I immediately want to say/yell, “Well, the telephone is ringing, is that my MOTHER on the phone? The telephone is screaming, why won’t she LEAVE ME ALONE!” That is one seriously jacked up song. Ah, the 80s. Home to jacked up songs. For more 80s nonsense, read Under Construction’s post. In the meantime, here are some other good 80s song lyrics that define my personal obsessions:

1. Doctor, doctor, can’t you see I’m burning, burning.

Eczema. What causes it. What cures it. In specific relation to my son. It is my enemy. It is the infidel. I am a crusader.

2. All the cops in the donut shop say, ay oh way oh, ay oh way oh.

Food. What to, and not to, eat. And regrettably, no matter how I angle it, donuts are not healthy. I also obsess over finding good vegan recipes, because a life of beans and rice is no life at all.

3. The West coast has the sunshine and the girls all get so tanned.
(I know you’re thinking that this isn’t an 80s song, but let’s not forget one Mr. David Lee Roth’s cover of it)

Surfing. Even though I never get to do it since I never have adequate childcare, I sit on the beach watching other surfers while the kids play in the sand, and I count the days to when they are old enough for me to leave them unsupervised while I go in the water.

4. I’m going to Graceland, Graceland, in Memphis Tennessee, I’m going to Graceland.

Kitsch. And what better embodies kitsch than Elvis Presley’s Graceland? If you didn’t already guess from my tacky postcard collection, I like all tacky things, not just Elvis-related paraphernalia. OctoDog, Barrel Man, Chia Head, Bigfoot magnets, the requisite Filipino extra large fork and spoon on my kitchen wall… come to my house… be amused (or scared, as the case may be).

5. My love! My love! My endless love.

Movies. What I LOVE to do, more than anything else, and more than anyone I know, is quote movies. I do it so often, sometimes I don’t even realize it. I wrote my own movie quiz some time ago, wherein I listed some actual examples. And just because I actually do think this is a fun thing to do, if I were to have listed my obsessions with movie quotes instead of song lyrics, this post would have read:

1. It burns us! It burns us, precious!

2. Here at Globo Gym, we understand that “Ugliness” and “Fatness” are genetic disorders, much like baldness or necrophilia, and it’s only your fault if you don’t hate yourself enough to do something about it.

3. Vaya con Dios, Brah.

4. And hire a decorator to come in here fast, because… Damn.

5. What? Friends listen to Endless Love in the dark.

Top Ten Reasons All Moms Go To Heaven April 12, 2007

A contest! With prizes! Brought to you by Crazy Hip Blog Mamas and All Moms Go To Heaven.

10. Moms have a Get Out of Purgatory Free Card. They’re standard issue with potty training seats.

9. When she arrived at the pearly gates and told St. Peter she was a mother, he misunderstood her to be Mother Theresa.

8. Moms have already been everyone and done everything, so there’s nothing left for us to be reincarnated as.

7. Unless her great-great-great-great-great-great to the nth power-granddad is Zeus, chances are Mom ain’t getting into Elysium. And if she was, in fact, a descendant of Zeus, she wouldn’t want to go to Elysium, because she wouldn’t approve of Zeus’ extra-marital affairs. (Silly Hera, goddess to divorce-attorneys-or-marriage-therapists-I’m-really-not-sure-which, what was she thinking, staying married to that guy?)

6. Based on substantial evidence from children’s movies and that episode of the Twilight Zone, all dogs go to heaven. Therefore, all moms must go there to care after them, even though the kids will claim to do their share.

The soul of sweet delight can never be defil’d.

5. Only warriors can go to Valhalla. Hmmm. On second thought, I think all moms could go to Valhalla.

4. With the exception of Katie Holmes, moms certainly don’t expect aliens to take her away when she dies.

3. Moms go to heaven “because she said so.”

2. She entered the online survey on the back of the IHOP receipt and won a random drawing to get into Heaven. She also won $1,000 so she was able to enter Heaven dressed in style. And I’m NOT referring to the Angels underwear line from Victoria’s Secret (because we all know what the tummy looks like post-child, except in the case of Heidi Klum).

Clearly the alien who will take Katie Holmes away when she dies.

And the number one reason all moms go to heaven,

1. She’d take one look at hell and do some serious damage control.

Home is Where I Know My Address April 11, 2007

I was out of town the past few days, visiting a place in central California where Husband and I want to build a house and move. It’s really pretty, tons of trees, very removed–so removed, in fact, that my cell phone has no coverage. I have to drive my car a half hour away before I start getting spotty cell phone coverage. Which is why I have a landline. It costs me $25/month to have the phone there, and we don’t even go there every month, but I feel it’s worth it in the event of an emergency (my main emergency concern involving rattle snake bites).

We arrived late Sunday night to discover the phone didn’t work. When we drove into town the next morning, I took out my cell phone and called the phone company.

Because I am not the poster child for “Having Smarts” or “Being Prepared” I did not – I repeat, NOT – bring with me the phone number to the house or the address, neither of which I have memorized. Through this phone call, I learned what I now refer to as

The Eight Stages of Annoying The AT&T Phone Operator:

Stage One: She’s pleasant.

Me: Hi I need to schedule a repair because my phone isn’t working.

Her: Okay! No problem! What’s your phone number?

Stage Two: She’s used to people not always being prepared

Me: I’m sorry, I don’t know the phone number. Is there any way you can look it up?

Her: Of course. Can you tell me what state you live in?

Stage Three: She thinks I’m a smartass.

Me: I live in California.

Her: Northern or southern?

Me: I don’t really know how AT&T maps it out, because it’s technically central California.

Stage Four: She thinks I’m a dumbass.

Her: (sighing) Okay, why don’t you give me your address?

Me: I was afraid you were going to ask me that. I’m really sorry, but I don’t know that either.

Stage Five: She doesn’t know WHAT to think.

Her: Is this YOUR phone account or someone else’s?

Me: (all in one breath) Well, it’s mine, but I don’t normally live at this place, it’s more of a vacation place and the phone wasn’t working and there isn’t cell phone service so I had to drive away in order to call you and it didn’t occur to me that I didn’t have any of that information until I actually called you. Is it possible to look up my phone number by my social security number or by the city?

Stage Six: She only knows that she hates me.

Her: No.

At this point, like manna from heaven, I discovered on the floor of the car the architectural plans for the house we want to build that Husband fortuitously brought along.

Me: Oh! Oh, wait! I just found the address! It’s on the floor of my car!

She looks up the information, we discuss the phone problem, she makes an appointment for a serviceman to come out, and then asks me the standard questions they ask when scheduling a repair.

Stage Seven: She repeats inside inside her mind, ‘Find a Happy Place, Find a Happy Place’

Her: Do you rent or own at this location?

Me: Sorry, what?

Her: Do you rent or own at this location?

Me: (a little nervous now) I’m sorry, one more time?

Her: DO YOU RENT OR OWN AT THIS LOCATION?

Me: (scared now) Um… ‘dislocation’ what?

Silence. (Find a happy place, find a happy place…)

Her: DO. YOU. RENT. OR OWN. AT. THIS (pronounced very severely) LOCATION??????

Me: Oh! We own. Sorry about that.

Stage Eight: Good bye and good riddance.

Me: Thanks so much for your patience and your help. I really appreciate it. I’m really sorry I didn’t have any of that information for you.

Her: No problem. Have a nice day.

To all the phone operators of the world, I apologize. In the words of Michael Keaton as Dogberry in Much Ado About Nothing:

Remember, I am an ass.