Movie Review: Jackass 2

This is a perfect movie.

Any complaints I have are so minor, so petty I'm embarrassed to mention them.

In truth, I could use a little less Steve-O putting chugging a beer up his ass and more of Chris Pontius running around in a thong and bowtie.

If you are wondering if this movie is for you.... stop!

Stop thinking and go get it now.

This film is a triumph! It's Gen Y's middle finger to us all.

You think our president is stupid. I'll show you stupid.

It's a great comfort to me that I am able to go to the theater and watch Bam take a flying dildo up the ass in this age of encroaching repression.

The resistance is alive and well!

The fine art of tolerating pain is alive and well!

"I am in a world of shit, and I am not afraid."

This is bullshit! Part 1

Fucking hell!
George Stait played at the Tacoma Dome on Saturday and I missed it.
If you've been paying attention I posted on my adoration for G.S. last week.
It's like I knew, but I didn't know.

If I could only harness this clairvoyancy.... (is that a word?)

And why the fuck didn't anyone tell me!

In other bullshit news- I'm having to work at work today.

Good beginings

"Jewel and I come up from the field, following the path in single file. Although I am fifteen feet ahead of him, anyone watching us from the cottonhouse can see Jewel's frayed and broken straw hat a full head above my own.The path runs straight as a plumb-line, worn smooth by feet and baked brick-hard by July, between the green rows of laidby cotton, to the cottonhouse in the center of the field, where it turns and circles the cottonhouse at four soft right angles and goes on across the field again, worn so by feet in fading precision.The cottonhouse is of rough logs, from between which the chinking has long fallen. Square, with a broken roof set at a single pitch, it leans in empty and shimmering dilapidation in the sunlight, a single broad window in two opposite walls giving onto the approaches of the path. When we reach it I turn and follow the path which circles the house. Jewel, fifteen feet behind me, looking straight ahead, steps in a single stride through the window. Still staring straight ahead, his pale eyes like wood set into his wooden face, he crosses the floor in four strides with the rigid gravity of a cigar store Indian dressed in patched overalls and endued with life from the hips down, and steps in a single stride through the opposite window and into the path again just as I come around the corner. In single file and five feet apart and Jewel now in front, we go on up the path toward the foot of the bluff. Tull's wagon stands beside the spring, hitched to the rail, the reins wrapped about the seat stanchion. In the wagon bed are two chairs. Jewel stops at the spring and takes the gourd from the willow branch and drinks. I pass him and mount the path, beginning to hear Cash's saw. When I reach the top he has quit sawing. Standing in a litter of chips, he is fitting two of the boards together. Between the shadow spaces they are yellow as gold, like soft gold, bearing on their flanks in smooth undulations the marks of the adze blade: a good carpenter, Cash is. He holds the two planks on the trestle, fitted along the edges in a quarter of the finished box. He kneels and squints along the edge of them, then he lowers them and takes up the adze. A good carpenter. Addie Bundren could not want a better one, a better box to lie in. It will give her confidence and comfort. I go on to the house, followed by the Chuck. Chuck. Chuck. of the adze."

Aside from F.S.F.'s "The Great Gatsby" (which I've quoted way too often) , "As I Lay Dying" has the best opening pages of anything else I've ever read.
The title alone gives certain expectations, but the first two pages really set the tone.
Death Dirge from begining to end.
It's wonderful.
Like a black and white photo. Everything has a tinge of melancholy in black and white.
Even clowns.
Ok, that' s a bad example.
Sepia=melancholy=my opinion.

Limitations

This is a little, wooden, three-legged pig Shelly and Josh gave me on my birthday a few years ago. It is supposed to bring luck.
I put it on top of my espresso machine and it really made a difference.
But there is only so much one little pig can do.


This is a bag of bad coffee. I'm not dissing Starbucks unilaterly but this happens to be a bad bag of coffee. It was the only bag of whole bean coffee at Target. This was a bad sign and I knew it. Bottom line... I was too damn lazy to carry my ass down the street to find something better. Something worthy of the pig. And I live in Seattle and have no excuse. Now I'm stuck with my bad decision bad bag of coffee cos it's already installed in the burr grinder. Plus, it would be wasteful to toss it. And I couldn't give it to someone in good conscience. (That consideration is, of coarse, secondary at best.)
My only viable "solution" at this juncture is to get another pig.

Could it work?

God, that is a is a bad ass picture. And Kiefer is a badass mofo.
He is also a crazy sonofabitch. This is well documented.


Forcibly removed from a bar in Australia!?! You have got to be Fucked Up!
Speaking of badasses... here's Sue near the top of Whistler.

I can picture it. "STFU and make me a grilled cheese, bitch ... NOW! We're running out of time!"
And she does it.

Theoretical George

For all you ignorant sonsabitches, that there is a picture of George Strait.
Not only an extremely talented musician, but an outstanding human being as well.
He's kind, thoughtful, witty; simple yet wise. Speaks in a quiet, pleasant voice and has an easy smile.
Slow to anger, quick to laugh. Loved by many, respected by all.
He also has a nice ass. Meet theoretical George.
I believe real George possesses many if not all of the qualities listed above cos when "All my exes live in Texas" or "When did you stop loving me" is on, I actually take on this same persona, as if he were channeling through me. NOTHING bothers me. Nothing any of these fucking people do out in the world bothers me. That's cos I've got nothing to do and all day to do it. So turn left through a double yellow line while we all wait, you fucking idiot, cos I'm in no hurry. Maybe I'll go fishing.... or just sit here at the ranch and watch the dogs play. Whatever.

But inevitably, I get to where I'm going, the phone rings, the playlist ends. And the GeorgeZen state vanishes instantly. No trace. Gone. My flab-ass and hair trigger belligerence are back.
I often wonder if perhaps George Strait was always playing in the background, I might be a totally different person. Reasonable, even tempered, jolly!
If theoretical George were my "special" friend, I might even be like Sara..... bwahahahahaha!
This theory is impossible to test, however, cos so many fucking PEOPLE insist they hate country music. (This has nothing to do with the quality of music, in my opinion, and everything to do with PEOPLE being sheep and slaves to fashion--another post!)

I know what you are thinking. Dana why, why, why would you ever want to be different than you are right now?! In truth, I wouldn't. So fuck you.

And another thing... Part 1

I forgot how old I was yesterday.
Olga asked how old I'm gonna be on my birthday next week and I looked right at her like she was a total dumbass and said, "35, just like you"; in contemptuous tone even.
I mean, we've had this conversation several times. We were both born in 1971, a few months apart. And I'm supposed to be the one who's trusted with math.

I'd like to think this is just a subconcious rebellion against getting older.
But I know that's not the the truth. The truth is I'm just a dumbass who can't even remember I'm 35! I'VE BEEN TELLING PEOPLE I'M GOING TO BE 35!

This is my official correction notice... for anyone paying attention. (crickets)

Sad.

Rules- Gym Part 1

1- Everyone needs a shuffle. It's only $90. Seriously. Give up that broke ass discman.

2- You can't "save" a machine just cos all these "new year's resolution" wannabees are clogging up the cardio. We just have to keep our heads till this blows over mid-February. Yes, and this means you too, bitch. The only reason I didn't throw your US magazine and water bottle in the trash while you were changing is cos a treadmill opened up where I could do some real work..... which segueys into my next topic

3- If you can read, you are going to slow. Take your fat ass back to baskin-robbins if you wanna catch up on the news. If you want to walk. Go to the damn mall. You should be barely able to speak or "get the fuck off my obstacle coarse!"

Don't Panic.

Peyton's thumb is fine. Everyone can just relax.

They said 22's wouldn't fit but they liars!

Riding shotgun, as usual, on the Peyton Manning bandwagon. Ground Floor, BTW.
Tense momments yesterday. I lost faith for at least two quarters as several in attendance at Gordy's on the Green will testify. I started grieving for another lost opportunity after NE went up 21-3. Could barely walk to my car after I was so exhausted (four gin and tonics and the biggest piece of chocolate cake ever didn't help.) To pay penance for my lack of sticktoitiveness (and the cake), I went to the gym for and hour and a half repeating my mantra... "this is the year, this is the year...."
Bummer for NO but at least Bruce and I will have something to fight about!

Pac Man Lives

I had a pretty good haul for Christmas (cool bag, 2 feather mattresses, shuffle, CO detector and a headset I wear 24/7 just cos it looks cool), but Sue recieved the rarest of all gifts from her brother--- something everyone could enjoy.
A joystick/game module with old school Atari Pac Man, Dig Dug, Galaxga, etc...
OMFG.
New Years Eve. Blown turns. Unusally fast clairvoyant pink ghosts. Ergonommic issues. Craziness.
Fun was had by all. If not for the fast paced, danger filled, adrenaline packed "we'll sell you the whole seat but you'll only need half" action provided by Sue it is very unlikely that several of us would have seen the stroke of midnight.

Well....Josh and Shelly one up her Friday by aquiring the Nintendo knockoff. Armed with a more familiar joystick, Josh quickly posted high score and came within dots of unlocking the next level. I feel confident that of this writing, 15000 has come and gone.

Whistler Day 2- Shelly and the Gondola

So Monday Shelly Speedracer is resolved to take beginner ski lessons. As luck would have it, her instructor has never taught beginners but is instead used to teaching Olympic downhill racers. He opts to skip the lesson plan on stopping (it is, afterall intuitive, no?) and go right into losing elevation as quickly as possibly.
Shockingly, Shelly has agreed to attempt this experiment again.

The other two S's and I tried Blackcomb. Sue could take blue's no longer and left us for black runs on the upper mountain combined with an upperbody t-bar workout. Steve and I (neither of us afraid of redundancy) took it upon ourselves to remove all semblence of powder from the slopes under solar coaster. I did just enough runs to justify going to the lodge and eat french fries then limp to the gondola.

We all met at the Dubliner, breifly compared notes and headed back to Seattle. After a harrowing drive by Sue through Squamish construction and few tense moments at the border (what are those silver panels!!??), Steve the Fresh drove the final leg and we were back home and in bed by 10:30.

Whistler Day 1- Before and After

Thanks to Sue's Craig's List addiction and some poor saps back injury; she, Shelly, Steve and I, spent MLK weekend at Whistler. 7 am Sunday in our matching black spiderman base layers (I guess Steve didn't get the memo) and 7pm at Black's Pub. Skiied Whistler on Sunday, mostly Symphony Bowl. Sunny day and plenty of corduroy. But a bitch to get out of on a snowboard (world's longest traverse.) I spent a good portion of the day whining about how tired/fat I was (what's new), Sue constantly tried to trick us into black diamonds, and Steve passed the time insisting he wasn't hungry and implying we were weak and inferior for needing food. Shelly, meanwhile, cheered on the Hawks in a valiant yet ultimately unsuccsessful bid to return to the NFC championship game. Go Saints!
Then we PARTIED! Oh wait, we didn't ... we forgot. We spent a half hour in the luketub and Sue and I were in our bunk beds by 9!

dhp note: Why in the hell is that woman at the liquor store always such a bitch!? I mean, get over it! You live in Whistler, goddamnit!

Fuck you too, bitch! Call the cops!

My name is dana and I hate people. Most people. I intend to devote the majority of this blog to people I don't hate. This will, of coarse, be quite a challenge. There are just so many people who deserve to be hated.
However, I'll attempt to be informative and entertaining here, and save my rage for situations where it is most needed-- spewing profanity at my fellow motorists blocking intersections (Sue's technique may be more aggressive than mine but I think I get my point accross) and dumbasses who wait until they get to the front of the line to decide what they want and/or locate their money ("oh, I have to pay for this"???) The latter recieve "withering looks".

first post

word.