Random Monday Volume II: The Rainy Day Edition

Random Monday, round two. GO!

Best thing I heard all day? When Teja explained that Emaline couldn't have a glass of water to dip her paint brushes in because the last time she drank the cup of paint water. And Em's reply?

"Yep. It tasted good."

Kids are awesome.

My Monday off was totally busy. I had lunch with Bill Keller (who in his Bill Keller way, managed to drive me crazy before he even got into the car. It's actually a talent and impressive). After that, I went to my aunt's to borrow her scanner to scan some old pictures into the computer. And then picked up Samantha from school (man, you know you live in the 'burbs when the area where parents pick up their children is filled to maximum capacity with minivans and SUV's). Then came pretty much straight over here to watch Em. And here I sit. Keeping Random Monday alive. Trying not to fall asleep.

I like chocolate and cheese more than should be allowed. I think things from a cow are the greatest gift the Universe has ever bestowed upon us. The only thing that would make a cow's contribution to my life better would be if pierogies also came from a cow. Then I would understand completely why the Hindu's worship the cow. Maybe in India pierogies DO come from cows.


The Olympics make me patriotic in a way that might be unhealthy. I get all fired up. Like US v. Canada in hockey. I was super serious about that shit. Screw Sid the Kid. GO TEAM USA! I'm usually all about other cultures and not being too cultural bias-y (which, I'm thinking isn't a real word. WELL YOU KNOW WHAT? IT IS IN AMERICA!), but during the Olympics there's like a switch in my head and instead of being like, yeah, other countries are awesome too, I'm all like, "Dear Other Countries, Sorry that you are not as awesome/amazing/crazy good at all things like we are. I'm also sorry that you don't seem to realize that we are better/more awesome/generally just superior in all ways than you are. GO US! Love, America."


The only thing that is different about this Olympic experience is that I kind of want to be Canadian. And that has never happened before. But do you see how excited they get about EVERYTHING? Canadians are like Canada's biggest fans, and that's awesome. Plus Ryan Reynolds is from Canada. And I would like to do dirty things to him.


That's all I have for the second edition of Random Monday. We're making it just under the wire too. Because in forty minutes it's going to be Tuesday. And Tuesday can't be Random. It's just Reasonable Tuesday where things are orderly and make sense. Suck it Tuesday.

POPCORN Lisa!

I'm currently sitting at Caribou. I have never done this. Others do it. All the time actually. Some people waste hours here. I have about an hour and a half to kill. There are strangers in my home putting in new carpeting. Hence, I needed to get the hells out of there. I think there is a difference between strangers and potential friends and I do not like to cross it. Potential friends? Yes. Strangers? No. Stay the fuck away from me.

Please do not offer me candy to entice me into your creepy van. The answer is no. (Sidebar: If someone offered me Strongbow, or to a lesser extent Woodchuck, to get me into their vehicle, I have a hard time believing I could say no. I have extraordinarily low standards).

So Caribou. It's strange that some people do this every day. I'm going to assume that they have more to do than just sit and read The Princess Bride and write a ridiculous blog about the danger of strangers. But I have no idea. Maybe they sit and play Snood all day long and just pretend to look busy.

I sure hope so. If I could figure out a way to play Snood at a professional level, I would, I totally would. I want someone to pay me to play Snood. Or Zuma.

I'm going to assign this blog Random Monday, because I'm going to popcorn to a different topic (remember popcorn? When you would be in class reading out loud and to get someone else to pick up the reading you would say "Popcorn Meghan!" and then Meghan would have to read about estuaries and tidal flow. I hope that was not just a Marzolf Elementary thing but like a real life everywhere thing).

Bob is throwing beans at me. Kurt also had to try. Bob won. Kurt's landed no where near me. Sorry Kurt.


The Princess Bride is one of my all time favorite movies. I bought the book recently at the Half Price Book Store. I love the Half Price Book Store. But I digress. The book is fantastic. The movie follows the book pretty precisely, which makes me love the movie and Rob Reiner more. I hate movies that screw with the book. Don't make the movie if you don't think you can do the book justice (I'm looking at you Time Traveler's Wife.)

I love the Olympics. I want the Olympics on all the time. But I bet that would make them less awesome. Like Christmas. If you had Christmas everyday I bet it would suck after awhile. Plus everyone would be broke. You can't have the same day over and over again without it totally sucking. Just ask Bill Murray. He'll tell you.

Random Monday. I might make it a thing. Stay tuned.

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

I epically fail at keeping a blog.

In other news, my fortune cookie the other night when Sarah and I ordered from Lulu's was "You will find a way out of a financial mess as if by magic." I thought, hey, that's an awesome fortune, and then forgot about it. UNTIL Tuesday when the fine folks at Pitt called me to tell me that I had a rebate check from 2004 that was never cashed. AND THEY ARE GOING TO SEND ME A NEW ONE.

Fine folks at Pitt, can I please make out with you?

I'm not going to get too excited, because my fortune the next morning when we went to get brunch at Fuel and Fuddle was "The only way past grief is through." WTF kind of fortune is that?! I'm hoping not ALL of my fortunes come true. That would stink.

P.S. The reason we went to brunch on Sunday was because we drank an entire bottle of cherry vodka between the two of us Saturday night while watching Now and Then and the Princess Bride. And also while arguing whether or not the location of Prague is common knowledge. I said yes, Sarah said it was in Russia. When I told her that it was in the Czech Republic, her exact words were, "Yes. Which is in Russia." Nope. Not really, friend, but good try.

And finally, good people of the internet, I cannot leave this first post of 2010 without paying homage to one of my all time favorite authors/recluses.

J.D. Salinger died at the age of 91.

The Catcher in the Rye is one of my top three favorite books of all time. Holden Caulfield is one of my all time favorite characters.

Here's to you J.D. Catch you on the flip side.

"Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be."

You can suck it too Cincinnati

Good People of the Internet! I come bearing news of my terrible, no good, very bad weekend.

First there was this.

Yeah. That still smarts, actually. We were up the whole game! AND WE LOST BY A POINT! I really...can't talk about it.


Then back to Heinz Field I went on Sunday, I was optimistic. I was not worried. I was sure that a Steelers' victory over a sub par Oakland Raiders team was sure to be the aloe to my Pitt loss wound (still...might cry a little over that. ONE POINT.) It would soothe my weary football soul.

And then. Well, I think we all know what happened.

I don't blame myself.

I'm not sure who I blame. I blame the state of Ohio, for sure. I still partially blame WVU (because they always deserve a little blame). I blame Pitt for making me think this would be the year they wouldn't break my heart (Let's recap this year shall we? Final Four? Fail. Sugar Bowl? Fail). I blame the cold weather for being cold. But mostly I blame Heinz Field for not producing the right mojo.

All I know is that Troy would have never let this happen.

I sat in the cold for two days straight for what? For nothing.

There's always next year, right?

Boo.

I'm okay with just voting Uganda off the planet

So, normally, my rants in this blog are contained to things that range from mildly ridiculous to full out ridiculous with some shout outs to Pitt (WTF WAS THE BACKYARD BRAWL ABOUT BILL STULL?!?) interspersed with some love letters to things/people/places I love. I came close once to ranting in all seriousness about Roman Polanski, and while it still makes me irate (HE RAPED A THIRTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL. Roman Polanski, GDIAF. Seriously.) I have stumbled across something that deserves my ire and righteous indignation.

First, before I bring my wrath down upon those who surely deserve it, let's give a rousing round of applause to one Mr. John Marcotte of San Francisco, California. I, for one, want one of those t-shirts with the bride and groom chained together. Make note of that. It's on my Christmas list.


Moving on.

I know I place people on my "Dead to Me" list. And that's all relatively fun and games, but this guy? Pastor Rick Warren? Can go fuck himself.

Apparently, the Ugandan government is pushing for an "Anti-Homosexuality" bill. The penalty for being gay? Lifetime imprisonment. And if you have HIV or AIDS or have sex with a minor or a disability? Death.

Oh yeah, we've come a long way. Hats off to you progressive thinkers in Uganda.

And this douche bag? Pastor Rick?

He said this:

"The fundamental dignity of every person, our right to be free, and the freedom to make moral choices are gifts endowed by God, our creator. However, it is not my personal calling as a pastor in America to comment or interfere in the political process of other nations."


You are a man of God, right? Fuck you. And then after being called out on not condemning the Ugandan government for what is clearly a huge, giant human rights violation (not to mention what should be a huge moral violation, particularly if you claim to love a God that is fair and forgiving, but that's just semantics, right?), he goes on Twitter (for the love of God. TWITTER), and tweets a fairly inaccurate and awfully snarky response: "Globally last yr 146,000 Christians were put to death because of their faith. No one, except Christians, said anything."

Where exactly are you getting your statistics from?

But moreover, I'm sorry? Does that make it okay to condemn to death 500,000 Ugandans because their sexual preference doesn't match up with your own?

I could go on, but I think the nice Wonkette reader, queeraselvis v 2.0, said it best:

"And on the night He was betrayed, Jesus took a bowl of lightly salted poisoned rat dicks and, after blessing it, gave it to Rick Warren and said, 'Take, eat. Do this in remembrance of me.'"

"I knew a vampire once. Cute as a bug. Teeth all sharpened."

Dear New Orleans,


I miss you already.

Remember that time that I came to visit? Remember how we drank Hurricanes at Pat O'Briens and sang along to some rad songs with the piano player? Do you remember the awesome guy playing the tin tray? I LOVED HIM. Almost as much as I love you.

It was a great time, wasn't it New Orleans? Did you have fun too?

There was the swamp tour! ("If a snake gets in the boat, just lift up your feet, we'll get him out." "By we, he really means he right?") And the gators! All those gators! Remember the Swamp Kittens and how Sarah fed them her Doritos? That was fun, wasn't it New Orleans?

And the French Quarter! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVED THE FRENCH QUARTER?! Bourbon and Toulouse and Chartres? Even though Bourbon street smelled like vomit and booze and urine. And even though the number of strip clubs seemed to outnumber everything else. And even when I paid 8.50 for a Blue Moon. Because it only took about a Hurricane and a half before I was good and sloshed. AND I DIDN'T EVEN GET A HANGOVER. Not once, New Orleans. Do you understand how rare that is? HOW WONDERFUL?

And then the cemetery tour! And Priestess Miriam's House O' Voodoo. Remember how our tour guide told us to peek in through windows and doors? REMEMBER HOW CREEPY/AWESOME THAT WAS?! Remember how she dropped us off in front of Armstrong Park where two tourists had been stabbed for their camera? She was crazy, New Orleans, but damn charming.

And the streetcars, New Orleans! And the World War II Museum! AND THE PAT O'BRIEN'S HURRICANES!

I miss you New Orleans. I miss your booze and your Swamp Kittens. I miss that awesome dinner we had at Coop's and the Mango Mangos every four feet on Bourbon. I miss them gators, and Muffalettas at Central Grocery. Mmmm. Muffalettas. I miss the Hotel St. Marie (but not that non-door to our bathroom). I miss the super creepy guy asking us if we want our fortunes read by Jackson Square.

I will visit again, New Orleans, hopefully soon.

Save some gator jerky and frozen daiquiris for me.


Love,

Lisa

I'm not above begging. Or blackmail.

Dear Guillermo Del Toro,

I did not know who you were. Apparently you directed the second Blade movie. I have only ever seen the first one. And also, I did a little research (thank you Google!) and found you also directed Pan's Labyrinth. Friend, I dug that movie a whole lot. But still, you were a mystery to me. An enigma. But you wrote a book. And one of my favorite new regulars let me borrow your book.

And I liked it, Guillermo (can I call you that? Or would you prefer Mr. Del Toro?). I liked it a lot. In fact, I could not put it down.

I did not realize, Guillermo, that it was the first book in a trilogy. Also, I did not realize YOU HAD NOT PUBLISHED THE SECOND AND THIRD BOOK. ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME!?

See, G, I promised myself after waiting two years between H.Potters that I would not do that to myself anymore. I am not very patient, Mr. Del Toro. I am a big fan of instant gratification, and I DO NOT LIKE WAITING FOR SECOND AND THIRD BOOKS TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS.

I know that this is not all your fault. I know that part of this is Paul's fault for giving me a book that was one part of an unfinished trilogy. And not telling me this prior to my reading it. You cannot be held accountable for that part in all of this.

BUT I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. So get your act together, Guillermo. Start writing. See, because I don't know if you know this, but you kind of left everything up in the air. They call those cliffhangers.

I DO NOT LIKE CLIFFHANGERS.

You seem like a reasonable person (actually I have nothing to base this on, this is pure speculation). I'm sure you can figure out a way to hurry up and get the next book published BEFORE I DO SOMETHING WE BOTH REGRET.

I swore, Guillermo, I swore I WOULD NOT GET THIS ATTACHED TO CHARACTERS WHEN I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WOULD HAPPEN TO THEM. If you break my heart like J.K. Rowlings did, I will probably die (WHY FRED, WHY?!?). Just so you know.

Shame on you, sir. For shame. For being so DAMN AWESOME. And for writing a book about vampires that is so much better than that garbage that Stephanie Meyers puked up (I cannot blame her inferior writing on her being a Mormon because Orson Scott Card was a Mormon too, and we both know that Ender's Game kicked some serious ass).

I hope even now, as I write this, you are feverishly writing to finish the trilogy. Oh Guillermo! Think of the children. One child in particular. Me. Think about me. START WRITING.

FOR ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY IN THIS WORLD START WRITING.

That is all.

Love, Lisa