Affleck was the bomb in Phantoms, yo.

Say it out loud. It sounds good to say.

Carboard sword.
<a href=http://www.salon.com/news/wire/2005/01/25/fcc/index.html>FCC rejects 36 indecency complaints over "Friends, " "The Simpsons."</a>

WTF,
mate? I'm glad the FCC realized how silly this is, but still. It's silly. It's silly, and it makes me mad.

Here's a quote:
"In what community in America are graphic terms for genitalia decent?" said Lara Mahaney, a spokeswoman for the council.

What's the difference between graphic and medical? One of the complaints involves an episode of "Friends" where a scene in a medical office where the conversation is about fertility options. I found the script, and here's the offensive part:

<em>Chandler: (To the nurse at the nurses' station) My specimen is in the room and I just want to thank whoever knocked on the door while I was in there. Really helped speed the process along! (walks towards the common area and sees Janice is still there) Janice! You're not… gone?

Janice: Oh! Sid is still in his room. I don't allow porn at home so this is like a vacation for him. So did you do it? Did you make your deposit?

Chandler: Yeah! yeah… The hard part is over!

Janice: That's not the hard part honey! The hard part is what comes next, I mean aren't you worried about the results?

Chandler: I haven't… I haven't even thought about the results yet… I just assumed that everything was gonna be ok.

Janice: Oh! Well, you know what? It probably is.

Chandler: (Slightly panicky) Yeah, but what if it's not? What if there is a reason why we can't have a baby?

Janice: Oh, Chandler, look. You and Monica are meant to have children. I am sure it's gonna be just fine.

Chandler: (smiling again) oh, oh, yeah, ok, thanks. I can't believe I didn't even think of that. I guess I was just so worried about having to… come here and do… 'that'…

Janice: What, you can do it in the parking lot of a Taco Bell, but you can't do it at a doctor's office?

Chandler: (stares at her intently, then yells) It was a "Wendy's!! "</em>

A complaint over "The Simpsons," which airs on Fox, included a scene from a November 2003 episode in which students carried picket signs with the phrases "What would Jesus glue?" and "Don't cut off my pianissimo."

I don't even know what that's referring to. I must have missed the episode. In any case, the whole thing is hilariously out of control.

It's great that in our Republican-dominated government, we're adding more and more control, (which, I believe, is not the Republican credo) and completely ignoring the fact that this really wouldn't be a problem if parents monitored their kids' TV consumption, and maybe didn't let them watch TV all day. What if we smashed half the TVs in the US? I think there would still be plenty left.
Reading "Eats,
Shoots, and Leaves" has done me in. Even though I think the author mentioned that there was a difference, I absorbed the British way to end sentences that involve a period and a quote.

In American, it should "always be like this."
In British, it's 'like this'.

Wow, huh. I mean, I've been fixing people's work to conform to British puntuation rules. How embarassing.
Last night I watched Garden State. Jason and I both enjoyed it thoroughly. The Green Test of a Good Movie is whether or not you think about the movie the next day.

I'm still thinking about Garden State. I wonder if the absence of brain drugs accounted for the main character's ability to fall in love. I wonder how much of his attraction is due to the change in his temperament. I wonder how old Natalie Portman's character is supposed to be. I wonder if the couple will stay in New Jersey,
giving the main character an opportunity to create a better relationship with his father.

The intrigue of the movie is that we're not given all of the information we need to wrap everything up. If it did,
it would be contrived. If there was less information,
it would be one of those "oops, you're going to have to imagine for yourself how it all works out" endings that piss me off because I can only think of the inevitable contrived ending anyway.

Soundtrack-wise, Iron and Wine's version of Such Great Heights packed great impact. I've been used to hearing Postal Service's version of the song for so long that to hear it slow and acoustic aroused great emotion. I don't know if I can listen to the Postal Service version again without feeling just a tad jumpy.

Last night I had a dream that I was fishing with Anton, Alena and Uncle Marlon. The river was engorged with rainwater, but not flowing deadly fast. We were wading in the river as we fished, and Marlon was laying on a tree trunk that leaned out over the deeper side of the river. Lena had cast badly, and I was demonstrating how to properly cast. I flicked my hook out into the river, then turned to Lena to explain my technique. As I finished, I realized that I had aimed my cast into the deep pool on the other side of the river. I also realized that during my test cast, I had caught something. I couldn't pull my line back, so I waded out further, and ended up swimming out to Marlon's perch with my rod and reel held above the water with one hand. I could see an arm-sized catfish come to the surface and dive back down. Marlon looked exasperated that I couldn't net the fish by myself. I climbed up onto an adjacent branch over the water, and Marlon grabbed my line to haul the fish in. He did so successfully, and slapped the catfish up on the limb I was on. It was huge – not Uncle Jeff sized, but definitely as big as my arm, and with a head the width of my hand. Marlon stuck a knife into the base of the catfish's head to sever the spinal cord, and handed the knife to me, explaining that I had to field strip it right there on the bark. I was having trouble getting the skin off, and I was trying to pick every bit of skin off instead of grabbing the majority of it with some pliers and yanking.

Then I woke up. The dream wasn't unpleasant – Marlon was acting like a gruff uncle, which he is, and I was supremely happy that I had caught such a huge fish.

I think I need spring, and a river to fish in. Maybe this is the year that I try fishing in Lake Michigan.
OK,
not in my life,
but my best day at Abbott yet. This is not due to high praise for something I accomplished professionally, nor because it's pizza day. Today, from an open doorway down the hall, I heard the magic words.

"Showgirls".

Two of my co-workers were discussing the merits of this movie. I added that I, too, was a fan of Showgirls. From his chair, one co-worker reached up into a cabinent and pulled out a copy of the script. My heart sang with joy.

That moment replayed in my head at least a dozen times before lunch. How often do you find someone who is willing to talk to you about the famous "you don't have your period" – "yes I do. check" – "oh I guess you do" dialogue. Especially at 8:45 in the morning.

I did my famous move from Showgirls, and had the crowd rolling on the floor.

Just last week we were discussing how there isn't any sexual tension in corporate public affairs. I mean, affairs is in the title, yet everyone is happily married or happily engaged or happily in a relationship, or unhappily single. All those single are women. None of them are gay.

So there's been a quandry of how to make work more interesting. I believe the problem has solved itself for the time being.
Correction to the recent post about the Parent's Television Council's complaint about a Friends episode. As it turns out, the PTC is witchhunting use of genital-related words, not references to masturbation. Apparently,
somewhere else in the scene, someone explains that they're leaving for "an invasive vaginal exam".

I was hoping to rant on this last time (alas, led astray by my desire to post quickly) that it's one thing to not want your children to hear about explicit sexual stuff (even vaguely referenced), but it's quite another to shield them from reality. The term is medically correct. Unless in the context of the scene they're actually referring to sex, I don't see how the quoted text isn't a phrase used by medical professionals.

I mean, come on. I have no patience for people who insist on referring to their genitalia in stupid kid terms. Don't tell me that if you grew up hearing that you had a 'wee wee' you wouldn't look at your now-grown body and think of that term at some point.

I don't see why we have to use euphemisms. It's not like 'penis' is sexy or anything.
I have a proxy statement to edit,
and green tea to drink, but I can't help but snerf around the web. It's become a habit, creating a schedule to my day.

First thing in the morning, it's the Gmail.
Then I'll leave the computer alone.
Then I'm back on, checking <a href=http://www.jeaun.com>Jeaun</a> and <a href=http://www.jakemohan.net>Jake's blog</a>.
Then, depending on work load, I'll bounce through Jake's list of blogs.
After I fetch my lunch, I religiously read <a href=http://www.salon.com>Salon</a> and check <a href=http://www.nerve.com>Nerve</a> for the weekly "Scanner" summary of all hilarious news. If there's a Scanner, I usually then post something related back on <a href=http://www.jeaun.com>Jeaun</a>.

It's a wicked cycle. I also use Nerve to pick up unaware software programmers from their personals section.

Then there are the sites I forget to visit, and only check every few days. <a href=http://www.chronicd.com>Jason's blog</a> is one, but only because it rarely changes. Same with <a href=http://www.blogger.com>Blogger</a>, because my homies just don't post that often.

If I'm really having a decadent day, I'll go through the list of pure sugar:
<a href=http://fuggingitup.blogspot.com/>Fugging It Up</a>
<a href=http://viceland.com/>Vice Magazine's Dos and Don'ts</a>
and my favorite seasonal knitting website <a href=http://www.knitty.com/>Knitty</a>.

So that's my meta-post about posts.
I'm wearing new cords today,
and I forgot why I loathed them so much the last time I owned a pair, in 1990.

I have to walk bandy-legged to not make a fairly alarming corduroy pants sound. See, this is why you should always get your pants second hand from a friend who has already worn the sound out of them.
Since my birthday (ahem,
Monday if you didn't know) is during the Chinese New Year, my mom would make homemade egg rolls when I was a child. It was the only time the DeWitt grocery store had the ingredients. To this day, I believe her egg rolls are better than any restaurant I've been to.

Since Anton and Alena celebrate their birthday so close to Christmas, and Christmas is practically ruined for us anyway, I've also decided that my New Years (as far as resolutions go) shall coincide with my birthday. It gives me a full month to take ideas from other people, and maybe the gym will be less crowded.

<strong>My Chinese New Years Resolutions </strong>
1. Work out more. I don't want to "feel it" in my legs after climbing three flights of stairs. I remember a day when this was the case. I remember.

2. Become tolerant of caffeine. I have been drinking decaf coffee for the past few days, and I'm hoping I can make my body tolerate low levels of the stuff, so maybe I won't die if I eat a chocolate-covered espresso bean.

3. Come up with the next phase of my life. I've given up on the "career" path for now, and will be happy if I can find a next project to throw myself into. This may very well be a masters of Library Science. If not, don't be surprised if I start talking about the Peace Corps again.

Now, come on over for my birthday party this weekend in Waukegan. We're going bowling.
I know,
I know, leave it up to <a href=http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2005/writers/stewart_mandel/01/31/grinnell.preview/index.html>Grinnell to come up with a fancypants way to play basketball</a>, but I like the part where everyone gets to play. Jason told me about the strategy before, but somehow SI, well, illustrated it better. This sounds like a fun way to play, especially if you're handicapped by your lack of scholarship kids, and the weight of your brain.

I do have to say that this makes me want to watch some sports on tv – any sport – specifically at my aunt and uncle (Rathje)'s house. They have a wood-paneled ground-level basement with a wood-burning fireplace and a leather couch. Now give me some cheddar flavored popcorn and a Guinness (the only beverage allowed) and I'd be a happy camper.
Although it's already started badly, I swore today that I would not use the internet as a source of amusement at work. After reading <a href=http://jakemohan.net/index.php?m=20050203>Jake's post</a> responding to <a href=http://www.livejournal.com/users/sundaykofax/2005/01/31/>my post about the internet</a> as a source of novocaine for the soul,
I realized that I should wean myself a little. This is an exercise in fortitude and mental strength. Yeah.
Indeed,
it is again February 7th – the day I proclaim as mine and smile when people say the date, even if it is for scheduling a dentist appointment.

I predict that 26 will bring some slowing of the wunderlust, as I shed several more ideas of what I want to be when I grow up. I will move again, undoubtedly, but hopefully not four times like this year.

On Saturday morning, I went Goodwill hunting for a whisk, a kettle, a bowl for chips, and even though there's no point because I don't have a truck, a couch. Miraculously, I found all of my desires. Not only did I come away with a perfectly good kettle, but I found a papasan COUCH that I could cram in my trunk and tie rope around and around for the trip home. Bliss upon bliss.

As for the celebramos, I invited a whole Evites-worth of people up to Waukegan to my apartment, and for bowling next door. I have to say, I was not expecting the sheer number. It makes me gleeful. It was nice to see the place packed with peeps. Previous to the party, there had never been more than two people in my apartment at one time.

I'm not going to lie, folks. I don't host much, and I think I kept myself at a stress level of orange all night. Are my friends from work going to play nice with my other friends? Where's the other bag of Bugles? Why hasn't Abbie come back from picking up Kandy at the train station?*

*answer: because I gave them directions to two separate stations.

By the end of the night, I was tuckered and spent. I think I need to practice hostessing more, or maybe just give up and take it on good faith that my friends will all float on their own. I'm such a hen sometimes.

As for my birth DAY, I plan eating sushi with Jason, watching a movie, and waxing nostalgic on the phone tonight as I beg my parents to tell me stories about when I was born.

This came in an email from my mother this morning:
<em>26 years ago your dad was outside hurrying through chores because his wife was inside the house in labor. They were pretty excited. Love, Mom</em>

Best parents ever.
Today's lunch cost $1.60. That includes a turkey sandwich on rosemary bread and chocolate pudding. You really can't beat that.

The opposite of a cheap,
good lunch is a .gif that won't stop looking crappy no matter what I do. Ah well,
I'd rather have the good lunch.

I think that <a href=http://jakemohan.net/index.php?m=20050204>Jake's post from Friday</a> was even better than my lunch. Amusement is like a balloon filled with oxygen. My explanation of that analogy is both tedious and long winded (and a bad pun). Anyway, I was amused – genuinely amused through the piece. If Jake's post was something tangible, I would hug it to my chest.

Oh, I'm sorry, you wanted to know what I did for my birthday last night? I used Yahoo Local to find a sushi place nearby and instructed Jason to get off the Metra at the stop closest to the restaurant. Located in a Lake Forest strip mall, it is called Sushi Kushi. Although it was swank looking, and the waitstaff asked as to our contentment about 27 times, the sushi was sub par. The most disturbing thing was that my favorite roll, spicy tuna, was presented as a sort of pate, or puree really, within the confines of rice and seaweed. It really changed the texture, and I was disappointed. Now you know. And we all know that that is half the battle.

Back at Casa Pequeno Verde, Jason and I had our choice of Das Boot or Basic Instinct for the movie portion of our date, thanks to Netflix. I'll let you guess which one we watched.* We drank White Russians and ate Bugles while sitting in the coziest place ever: the papasan couch.

*hint: it did not take three hours to watch and there was a lot of stabbing
I've begun reading a book called Eleanor Rigby,
by Douglas Coupland. I'm 14 pages into it, and I want read it all night long. I kind of can't stand being at work right now, because I would like to be reading it instead. It's like Wally Lamb's <i>She's Come Undone</i>.

Man, I love straightforward novels. The opposite of this would be <i>Mrs. Dalloway</i>. I hated, loathed, and despised that book, nevermind the fact that it was required for a class. Rar.

That class was good though – "Fiction to Film". We read a book then watched the movie. The class met once a week, right after dinner. My best friend and I would pop popcorn for the class on movie night. The concept was great as was the instructor. I hear they dumped <i>Mrs. Dalloway</i> for <i>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</i>.

Book clubs are a fine institution, but I would love to have a Fiction to Film club. You could read the book, then all get together to watch the movie, then afterwords discuss both. I wonder if this exists somewhere. It almost certainly must. <a href=http://www.jeaun.com>Hmmm, what would I put on the list</a>?

I suppose the ruiner would be if you've seen the movie before you read the book. Then the magic is gone, and all the characters would look like actors in your mind's eye and the changes from the original text would probably bring some to tears. (Jurassic Park, hello?)