Awful. At the very least, mediocre and I felt I could’ve napped through it. I find myself missing the first 23 episodes of the show, clearly the show’s best.
Look, I’m in a rush here – going to work a nine hour shift in about forty minutes, preparing myself for the first day of class tomorrow, all this good stuff, so I’m just going to bullet this real quick:
As Star Wars opens, R2 is rushing the Death Star plans to the Rebellion. R2, not Leia. The plans are always in R2. What Leia puts into him in the early scene is only her own holographic message to Kenobi. Leia’s own mission, as she says in the holographic message, is to pick up Obi-Wan and take him to Alderaan – or so she thinks. Actually, her father just wants her to meet Kenobi, which up to this point she never has. There’s a reason for that.
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When jomiwi! asked me over Gchat what I thought of Hot Fuzz, I’m sure our conversation — where I thought he was talking about one thing and he thought I was talking about this movie from the creators of Shaun of the Dead — would have made for “the great humor”, if it had been transcribed. In any case, here’s the trailer, so you can educate yourself about the funniest comedy since the the last funniest comedy came out.
Y’know, it wasn’t that I was never going to post photos from the Blogger Happy Hour, it’s just that between working all day Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, I haven’t exactly had a lot of free time like some of you nine-to-fivers. Here are photos from the Baltimore Blogger Happy Hour — here are my criteria for posting photos (since I haven’t asked anyone’s permission):
1. Photos of the bloggers have been posted before on their own blogs. Check, Baltimore Diary, Charissa, Danielle, Charissa, Angie, Charissa.
2. Photos of the bloggers have been posted before on this blog with the individual blogger’s permission. I’m not going to name names, but if I was, I’m sure someone (*cough*Charissa!*cough*Charissa!*cough*) would be named repeatedly *cough*Charissa!*cough*
3. If the following individuals would please e-mail me with permission to post their blogger photos: Double-Dogged, Holy Buck Fatman. No, sorry, you don’t get to see them beforehand.
While I know a lot of people think I’m some sort of Lego genius for building Hogwarts – today, by the way, marks the one year anniversary of its completion — , the truth is that Hogwarts is quite simply a variety of different shaped bricks put together very conventionally: one atop another. In the world of the AFOLs (“Adult Fans of Lego”), I’m quite the novice in technique and form. I’m not complaining about this, rather, I find myself looking forward to when I begin work on Lego Hogwarts II (no time soon) to try to better fulfill my original vision.
In any case, Saturday morning, before leaving to work a five hour shift at the Franchise, followed by a seven hour shift at the Indy, I found a Brickshelf folder from a user named Sachiko. I’ve seen his stuff on Brickshelf before (I’m particularly fond of his Train Bookend), but his Earth Park took my breath away.
Take a look at the Bricklink folder for a lot of photos. Hard to tell the scale of that construction, isn’t it, and particularly since there’s no, like, human there right? That’s fucking huge — want to know how I know? I’ll tell you: because I’m a loser and I counted the pegs on the “island” of this photo. That “island” measures, from my (admittedly potentially flowed) count, as wide as the base of my Hogwarts — which is, at 64 pegs by 64 pegs, constructed on a base of a sizeable 4,096 Lego Peg area. Now, of course, I’m not a math major, but assuming my count is right, what’s the area of a round base 64 pegs by 64 pegs? Mind you, that “island” is probably only half the area of what is concealed under the removeable top globe — don’t even get me started on how difficult Lego sphere building is — and the entire structure (not to mention the detail work!) probably wouldn’t fit in my dining room.
As much as I would like to say the other, there are – on rare occasions – instances where I am the employee who fucks up. I should like to stress that this does not happen often, because, as well all know, I’m the best pizza delivery guy who ever fucking tossed a pizza onto his front seat and tore down narrow streets, dodging reckless drivers and stray deer to deliver to you a pizza. The best, I say. That is, as they say, my story, and I’m planning on sticking to it.
So, anyway, Friday night at the Indy. Starts off kind of slow, but the day shift was okay, so I figure I’ll most likely wind up doing okay at the end of the night (although it does occur to me I forgot to get gas tonight so I’ll have to leave a few minutes early tomorrow morning and fill up before work). As it turns out, the night becomes very busy, and although by six I’ve only got three runs under my belt (having returned from the afternoon off at 4:40ish), that number quickly rises: I get back and I’ve got a four-shot ending with two at Falls Road, one way up Cuba, and starting at Dick’s Sporting Goods.
I run around bagging everything up. One thing I should mention about the Indy is that we don’t have a computer system, we use handwritten tickets, which means – and I swear I don’t mean this as an excuse – that sometimes certain items on certain tickets can be somewhat difficult to, ah, decipher (particularly if Merv is the one doing the writing). So my quick glance at one of the Falls Road stops correctly register that the pizza has a salad accompanying it … however, my eye reads Greek.
As I will eventually find out, double-checking my next delivery’s ticket before leaving my second stop, the ticket doesn’t say greek. No, clearly it reads that the salad is supposed to be a garden salad. Well, eff’ me, and here’s why: bagging up my runs I made a quick fuss over no greek salad being made, theorize that someone took my greek instead of their garden, and made a greek salad quickly, threw it in a brown paper bag, and raced out the door with it and the rest of my orders.
You might be thinking: “Erm, it be ‘eff you’ because the customer’s going to get all pissy wissy?” Um, no, because fuck the customer.
Of course, it turns out that the customer also gave me my single best tip of the night – $7 (“Because it’s cold out!”) – but also never called back to complain or request a remade salad. Either they were happy enough with the greek salad, or thought it was odd that an Indy Garden salad includes giant chunks of feta cheese. It occurs to me, writing this now, that in my rush in making the salad, I forgot to include the peperoncinni peppers. Alas!
There are only two food-related tv shows that I watch on anything that might possibly be considered a regular basis. Those shows are, in no particular order, the Food Network’s “Charm City Cakes” and Bravo’s “Top Chef” (okay, so that would be alphabetical, actually).
I missed Top Chef’s second-to-last episode because of the Blogger Happy Hour Wednesday night. Actually, I got home in time to see a few minutes of the judge’s table while they debated who to let go. I dragged myself into bed before watching who got kicked off, but got caught up the next morning at work (if you haven’t seen the episode yet, I’d stop reading now) Sam and Elia, kicked off. I gotta say I’m surprised – I really thought Sam would’ve gone on to the final round. I’ll make sure to tune in Wednesday night — staying up late before my second day of classes! — to (with God’s good graces) watch Marcell get his vampireishly ass bitch smacked here, there, and everywhere.
I watch Charm City Cakes for a multiude of reasons, one of which might or might not be looking for Dizzy Issie’s or references to that great bar. Last night I learned how to use my sports car to cook a potato and beans. Now, should my oven ever fail, I won’t starve (I assume that my vehicle will heat a potato and can of beans as effectively as Duff’s cargo van). I mean, it isn’t like I watch Charm City Cakes because I want to make a giant cake replica of my giant Lego Hogwarts replica. (God, what a great TV show it is, though).
Six chicas in trouble for writing lists threatening to kill not only their classmates but also Tom Cruise, Oprah, and the Energizer Bunny. Maybe it’s just me, but I have to think they weren’t being entirely serious.
Note To Aspiring Criminals: while baggy pants may indeed be fashionable — if you think everyone else likes looking at your skid-marked undies, that is — you should know that the serious members of your chosen profession wear belts.
Here’s the scenario: a teacher is accused of having sex with a 16-year-old student in the teacher’s car and at the student’s summer workplace over the summer of 2005.
Here’s the sentence: the teacher is given a one-year delayed sentence, which means that if the teacher remains out of trouble with the law for one year, the teacher will only have to serve probation.
Fair? Unfair?
In this case, the teacher is Kristin Margrif. I like – and agree with – the opening sentence in the WorldNetDaily’s article: “A Michigan woman is following in the path of other female teachers who rape their students and receive no jail time.”
Can you imagine if Kristin Margrif had been Christopher Margrif? I’d bet Christopher would be spending some time bending over a prison cot while some big muscle-bound convict enjoyed carnal knowledge. The sentencing of Kristin Margrif reminds me of a line Debra Lafave’s lawyer said regarding his own client: “To place Debbie into a Florida state women’s penitentiary, to place an attractive young woman in that kind of hell hole, is like putting a piece of raw meat in with the lions.”
And indeed, “Debbie” wound up doing no jail time at all — probation and house arrest. I’m reminded of the line: “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the crime.” Besides, “Debbie” looks like she might enjoy some forced woman-on-woman action.
Yes, it’s nice and fun to joke, “Where were these teachers when I was in school?” but if women can commit statatory rape and sexual offenses that would get men long prison terms, then the whole aspect of sentencing needs to be reevaluated and reexamined. I think everyone agrees the answer isn’t to eliminate jail time for male offenders — rather, it is to determine sentencing based on offense, as opposed to gender.
Have sex with a student? Go to jail. End o’ story.
A few days ago, I posted a photo of the nineteen books I bought for next semester’s courses and asked hot women to guess how much I spent. A lot of people guessed, and a lot of people were waaaaay off. In the end, the two closest guessers were JuJu with “$235-ish”, and S*, with the very specific $248.65.
And the winner is …
Actually, that title is wrong — Tristan is the one who sucks. Or, rather, James Franco, who plays Tristan in last year’s Tristan and Isolde
Somebody needs to help James Franco pick good movies to be in. Yeah, sure, great, he’s in the Spiderman films – yeah, well, James, people don’t go to those to see your pretty little face. Everything I’ve seen you in? Either sucks or look like it should suck: The Great Raid, Flyboys, Annapolis. C’mon, James. Let’s try to diversify, instead of going for the paychecks. Quality, quantity, y’know, I’m sure you can figure it all out …
Other Capsul Reviews:
I loved Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line
Flirting With Disaster
I’m letting this speak for itself; I do think my grade could’ve been higher, the Prof was perhaps a little misleading on what would be on the final (in my opinion). Don’t get me wrong – I’m thrilled with my grade and I’m going to do the Dance of Joy!
What a great time was had by all who attended. All of you who didn’t show are clearly losers. And by losers I mean “clearly you have a life that does not 100% revolve around the internet and should be congratulated on fearing the internet.”
The attendees (in no particular alphabetical order):
Ancestral Pile
Anger Hangover
Anonymous Coworker
Bags in Trees
Baltimore Diary
Baltimore Mick
Box89E
Broadsheet
Double Dogged
Fruit Loops & Porn
You Are Not Your iPodHolyBuckFatman
Jennetic
jomiwi!
JWER
Live From Bawlmer
Malnurtured Snay (me!)
Messy Hair Girl
So, As I Was Saying
Your Neighborhood Librarian
Zenchick
I’m pretty sure this is a comprehensive list, but should I have happened to neglect someone, please chalk that up to my drinking and full night of restful but brain erasing sleep. I’m off to drop my car off at the shop before work so I need to run, but I will come back and hyperlink all of the above later today *update*: hyperlinked!
Most – if not all – of these blogs can be found on my blogroll (the Baltimore/Maryland section), and any not there can be located on Blogtimore.
I don’t know what makes me feel more retarded – that I don’t know how to spell “vacuum” (or is it “vaccum”?), or that I’ve actually got this little fun story to tell.
So, last Christmas, my parents bought me a vaccum cleaner. My old one bit the dust in August, and the little cheap thing I bought at Target a few days later wasn’t doing the trick. However, I didn’t recognize the brand-name on the vacuum cleaner, so I returned it to Linens & Things and upgraded.
I had some folks over Saturday night to watch Snakes on a Plane, and as I finished vacuuming my apartment that afternoon, I realized I’d probably reached the point where I’d filled the container enough to empty it. Plus, when you’ve got a pretty vaccum cleaner like mine, you don’t want to stuff it into a closet, and I wanted to put it on display without a dirty filled container.
Look, side note: I’m a guy. I don’t like instructions. This? There are no instructions for that — it was built free-hand, if you will. I’m an instruction free kind of guy.
Anyway, getting back to what I was saying: so, I unhook the container device thing from the vacuum cleaner and I was trying to figure out how to dump it. This is where reading the instruction manual would come in handy, because just when I thought I had everything figured out, I realized it worked differently than I expected and I wound up dumping nearly a full month’s worth of vacuumings onto the bare carpet.
I think I stared at the mess for about five seconds before letting loose with a very vocal “motherfucker!” It was all good, though — I picked up most of the dirt, threw it — by HAND — into the trash bag, then vacuumed up what was left and properly dumped it out. And now I know how to properly empty my vaccum cleaner.