It was Christmas Eve and the snow on the ground covered perfectly, as if in a dream,
All by my lonesome, cooking is pointless, so I bought a pizza, DiGiorno- Supreme,
I curled up on the couch to enjoy a seasonal moment with Bing and his Holiday Inn,
After, I learned relationship pointers from Lauren, Betty and a blind Marilyn.
Christmas day came and I wrapped the last few, with one more favorite story,
I know I couldn't get carried away with Darkly Distracting Darcy in all of his glory,
I traveled far to Oakdale to display wrapping and exchange gifts on this wintery day,
Ribbons went flying, with exclamations of joy as cookies disappeared from the tray,
As time went by our stomachs did grumble, take-out was scarce or so it would seem,
Dad returned in from the cold, triumphantly displaying pizza, DiGiorno- Supreme.
We ate our dinner and watched Tony Stark, beat up villains with large metal fists,
I said good bye and thank you with hugs as I departed with my mountain of gifts.
Still I do wonder, how I managed to have on these holidays a saucy spicy theme,
A puzzle with no answer, a curiosity no doubt of: Pizza, DiGiorno- Supreme.
My Dearly Devoted Dad gave me the first season of Dexter on DVD. I watched the first season with an excitement and anticipation that is difficult to imagine. I read the first book last year and was hooked. I was let down a little in some of the aspects of the show. It was padded quite a bit, however I figured that would be the case. While the actor that plays Dexter is a fit for him physically, his orange spray tan became irritating after a while, especially with the white lipstick they had him wearing. It was just unnatural, also where are his obnoxious brightly colored shirts? The rate that Dearly Disturbed Dexter killed was alarming. The Dark Passenger that was motivation for his killings was only mentioned once in the entire show. Of course it is a different media, and should be presented differently it lacked the playfulness of the books. Our favorite lovable monster became Disappointingly Diluted Dexter, with more of a capacity for emotion and less capacity for pulled pork sandwiches.
If I were not already enamored of the books I most likely would have found fewer flaws in the show. As it is, I enjoined the show, and will watch it again most likely and attempt to do my best to accept the glossed over details and extra made up characters (Rita's ex husband). The most profound effect it had on me was a heightened anticipation of The fourth book Dexter by Design.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
MAK-ING CHRIST-MAS! LA-LA-LAAAA!
(number two, the first one was deleted somehow)
As the holidays are upon us, I feel I can share some of my wrapping adventures.
Me: I found the cutest wrapping paper at Target last night. They really went all out. They have all the different color schemes, rather than one or the other. Natural tones, Traditional (bright red and green), jewel tones (the burgundy and emerald we like), black and white, and bright Danger Carrie Colors. I only bought one roll (crazy bright colors that says "Season's Greetings" Dr. Suss style) because I am waiting for it to go on sale. They actually have platinum metallic paper with a black velvet pattern on it! I KNOW! Two different shoppers were talking to me because I kept Ooohing and Ahhing out loud. Glitter, iridescent, shiny, sparkly, sheer... ribbons and present jewels! It is two isles of happiness!
Mom: Don't you ever wonder what they are thinking when they listen to you?
Me: No, I pretty much know what they are thinking:
Me: GASP! (picks up roll of paper turning it slightly to catch the light on the sparkly parts)
Them:(thinking) Wow, that coat looks warm and soft. She Certainly loves wrapping paper. I wish I were as tall as she is.
Me: SQUEE! (moves cart quickly to pick up textured roll and feel the texture)
Them: (thinking) Her hair is fabulous, it is in a braid and strands have been pulled loose by the old man hat she was wearing, and it still manages to look great. Also, the color is breathtaking.
Me: Sigh (contemplating gift tags)
Them:(thinking) She is so thoughtful when picking out wrapping paraphernalia, I bet she is even more thoughtful when picking out gifts. I wish I was special enough to get a present from her.
I brought all the gifts for my mother home and began to wrap... and wrap... and wrap. I managed to wrap five gifts eleven different ways. Sometimes this made sense, for example I wrapped each bottle of a grilling sauce set then placed it in a box and wrapped that box. Some did not make sense, I wrapped a CD, then put it in another box and wrapped that box.
After surveying my handiwork the next day, I realized I had unconsciously wrapped each present with a different color scheme. I used eleven different wrapping papers, curly ribbons, cloth ribbons, what would be considered "Notions," at a craft store, beads, charms, present jewels, garlands and... feathers.
Some time later, I figured one (or more) of the following must be true:
a) I have a wrapping disorder that will soon lead to me wrapping random household objects like my hair dryer or serving spoons.
b) I am the descendant of the Roman Goddess of Gift Wrap and Presents (what? they have one for door knobs, why not gift wrap?) whose name has been lost in the annals of time. Shortly, I will be approached by the Uber Secret Society of the Shiny Ribbon (USSSR, no relation) to lead them against the evil sect of Crumpled Infinitely Reused Tissue Paper, because they are unstoppable now that they have made an alliance with the order of One Roll Per Year. Our double sided tape of Valor will foil the tissue paper Sect, and our Scissors(that only cut paper) of Truth will tear through the camouflage of the identically wrapped Order! And then, the Ewoks will dance.
c) I have become a mad scientist of gift wrap and will be featured in the next superhero movie of the month as THE GIFT WRAPTOR where I will use my talents to make shiny beautiful deadly tricks and traps that the hero simply can't resist because they must know what is inside! The people of Metropogotham cityopolis will know the terror of the ribbon shredder of DOOM!
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Ahem.
Knowing my uh, affliction I decided to not use paper for the salsa sampler I bought for my step-mother. So I bought a basket and filled it with the salsa, some tissue paper and a poinsettia, two jeweled pears, a pine cone, some berries, an apple, two different kinds of leaves, and a bronzed pomegranate. I put the basket in a clear bag and tied it with gold cloth ribbon and red velvet on one side, gold shiny on the other curly ribbon.
I did stop before it went too far... I hope.
Code of Morgagod, Rule 861: If the giftee declares the present too pretty to open, you have succeeded.
As the holidays are upon us, I feel I can share some of my wrapping adventures.
Me: I found the cutest wrapping paper at Target last night. They really went all out. They have all the different color schemes, rather than one or the other. Natural tones, Traditional (bright red and green), jewel tones (the burgundy and emerald we like), black and white, and bright Danger Carrie Colors. I only bought one roll (crazy bright colors that says "Season's Greetings" Dr. Suss style) because I am waiting for it to go on sale. They actually have platinum metallic paper with a black velvet pattern on it! I KNOW! Two different shoppers were talking to me because I kept Ooohing and Ahhing out loud. Glitter, iridescent, shiny, sparkly, sheer... ribbons and present jewels! It is two isles of happiness!
Mom: Don't you ever wonder what they are thinking when they listen to you?
Me: No, I pretty much know what they are thinking:
Me: GASP! (picks up roll of paper turning it slightly to catch the light on the sparkly parts)
Them:(thinking) Wow, that coat looks warm and soft. She Certainly loves wrapping paper. I wish I were as tall as she is.
Me: SQUEE! (moves cart quickly to pick up textured roll and feel the texture)
Them: (thinking) Her hair is fabulous, it is in a braid and strands have been pulled loose by the old man hat she was wearing, and it still manages to look great. Also, the color is breathtaking.
Me: Sigh (contemplating gift tags)
Them:(thinking) She is so thoughtful when picking out wrapping paraphernalia, I bet she is even more thoughtful when picking out gifts. I wish I was special enough to get a present from her.
I brought all the gifts for my mother home and began to wrap... and wrap... and wrap. I managed to wrap five gifts eleven different ways. Sometimes this made sense, for example I wrapped each bottle of a grilling sauce set then placed it in a box and wrapped that box. Some did not make sense, I wrapped a CD, then put it in another box and wrapped that box.
After surveying my handiwork the next day, I realized I had unconsciously wrapped each present with a different color scheme. I used eleven different wrapping papers, curly ribbons, cloth ribbons, what would be considered "Notions," at a craft store, beads, charms, present jewels, garlands and... feathers.
Some time later, I figured one (or more) of the following must be true:
a) I have a wrapping disorder that will soon lead to me wrapping random household objects like my hair dryer or serving spoons.
b) I am the descendant of the Roman Goddess of Gift Wrap and Presents (what? they have one for door knobs, why not gift wrap?) whose name has been lost in the annals of time. Shortly, I will be approached by the Uber Secret Society of the Shiny Ribbon (USSSR, no relation) to lead them against the evil sect of Crumpled Infinitely Reused Tissue Paper, because they are unstoppable now that they have made an alliance with the order of One Roll Per Year. Our double sided tape of Valor will foil the tissue paper Sect, and our Scissors(that only cut paper) of Truth will tear through the camouflage of the identically wrapped Order! And then, the Ewoks will dance.
c) I have become a mad scientist of gift wrap and will be featured in the next superhero movie of the month as THE GIFT WRAPTOR where I will use my talents to make shiny beautiful deadly tricks and traps that the hero simply can't resist because they must know what is inside! The people of Metropogotham cityopolis will know the terror of the ribbon shredder of DOOM!
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Ahem.
Knowing my uh, affliction I decided to not use paper for the salsa sampler I bought for my step-mother. So I bought a basket and filled it with the salsa, some tissue paper and a poinsettia, two jeweled pears, a pine cone, some berries, an apple, two different kinds of leaves, and a bronzed pomegranate. I put the basket in a clear bag and tied it with gold cloth ribbon and red velvet on one side, gold shiny on the other curly ribbon.
I did stop before it went too far... I hope.
Code of Morgagod, Rule 861: If the giftee declares the present too pretty to open, you have succeeded.
Monday, December 15, 2008
But what about my couscous?!
A few weeks ago, I went to the Greek Deli for a delicious gyro (with veggies, no onion), freshly prepared coleslaw, a home made brownie that defies all description…(just thinking about all that gooey chocolate makes my mouth water) and a pickle spear. I entered the tiny little shop to find a little less clutter on the ordering counter. This did not alert me, I was focused on my craving for cucumber sauce. I filled out my little order request form and set it in the basket. I looked up and was nearly poked in the eye by a bonsai tree. As I was standing there looking at the old faded pictures of Greek wonders, that no doubt had been put on the wall as a reminder of their greatness so we could thank them for the pain of taking our money, I noticed a shrine set up in the window by the door. A giant orange Buddha, some flowers and produce. While waiting, I was interrupted no less than twice with an offering for a sample eggroll. A new sign on the counter “Eggroll $1 for 1.”
I might have been a little slow on the uptake at this point, I was in a craving haze of pita and slow roasted meat. My Greek Deli has been transformed! No longer will there be a grumpy man singing in Greek in the back kitchen, grumbling when he took my money and snapping at the cooks. My Gyro won’t take a half an hour to make while I stand there and keep myself from making little whimpering noises while staring at the other diners devouring their gyros. I now get welcome, kindness and efficiency (and eggrolls?) in a Greek Deli. I must confess it seemed a little peculiar.
I contemplated this while driving back to the office and proceeded to eat my food. The coleslaw had a different vinegar, however it was not a drastic change. The Gyro meat was a little greasier, again, nothing to get worked up about. The pickle was the same as always. Then I reached for my brownie. I should have noticed something was amok, but it was hiding under the napkin. It was a SARA LEE BROWNIE! This, is blasphemy. I am a tolerant person, I can tolerate Buddha, and egg rolls in my Greek Deli, but I draw the line at prepackaged brownies of indeterminate chocolate paste flavor! I don’t want to know how many calories are in my lunch dessert. I want to eat it (and possibly lick the plastic wrap it came in) guilt free! I nearly threw away the brownie in a huff of indignation, however I decided that would be brownie abuse and ate all 290 calories. I did not lick the wrapper. Rest In Peace Greek Deli. You are dead to me.
Today for lunch, I was invited to get buffet to go from Falafel King. From what I had heard about it, I considered it fast food falafel, only for the desperate and ignorant. I was in for the surprise of my life. They had favorites and delicacies. Mediterranean food of numerous descriptions. As I was filling my to go container the owner, who was possibly the chef came to tell me to make sure to try the chicken couscous, which I promptly loaded up on. There was crusty bread with vegetables and mozzarella baked inside, lamb stew, gyro, falafel (of course) Greek salad, saffron rice, sauces of all kinds and amazing things displayed for dessert. While waiting to check out, the chef, who was possibly the owner was being condescending to the person he was on the phone with that was trying to place a large catering order. As much as kindness is appreciated in nearly all ways it was still nice, nearly comforting, to hear a Greek accent discuss an extra order of falafel balls in such a haughty manner. This arrogant and rude (he hung up on the caller) man took pity on us and gave myself and my coworker our meals half off, because we over filled our containers in excitement and they were obscenely expensive.
In retrospective, it is probably best there was a Sara Lee Incident, otherwise, I would have never found this fantastic resturant with the perfect mix of elitism and service. I can hardly wait to try everything on the menu, and spend each 45 minute wait listening to the chef singing in the kitchen and bellowing at the staff. The couscous was second to none.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
JCVD Review
I waited a few days to write this, to see if I could mentally filter through all of the elements of the film, and possibly to recover.
I had wondered why this movie was only released in small theatres, and how I would manage to get my father to the mysterious wilds of Minneapolis to watch it. This became evident within the first 10 seconds of the film. This is not a typical Jean-Claude action movie, this movie is in French.
Have a moment to digest this: Two hours of Jean-Claude speaking in French.
***
Is your breathing back to normal? Heart beat less erratic? Now you understand why I needed some time, I am not entirely sure I have recovered all my senses. While most men I inform, groan and make other guttural noises of disappointment, women usually take a moment to imagine how completely fantastic this would be.
As a fan, but not a creepy-stalker-fan, I didn't actually know the events in the movie occurred. So this real-life-made up-true story was very interesting. This movie manages to pay homage to his older and somewhat cheesy action movies (that I happen to love), it also brings into sharp relief the reality behind the scenes. He manages to poke fun at himself, and take himself seriously at the same time. A delicate dance superbly executed.
The Monologue: This was the winning or loosing point of the movie for most people. They saw it as a washed up actor begging, or a man laying him self open to ridicule. As he was playing himself, it seemed a little of both. It sounded like possibly something going through his mind he promised himself that he would tell "the world" if he lived through the events. I happened to like it, when he wept, I shed a tear for him, and the inspiration for his sadness.
This was a drama with a small amount of action thrown in, and a few humorous parts woven in seamlessly. There was a short segment of Jean-Claude talking to his Agent that seemed poorly shot (you only saw the side of his head and his forearm and it was edited roughly), other than that, the possibly choppy, flashback heavy, script flowed remarkably well. I did break out in applause at one pinnacle moment, and I was not the only one.
Overall, I was very satisfied with the first big screen presentation of Jean-Claude in a decade, even if no one shot the taxi driver in the head to shut her up.
I had wondered why this movie was only released in small theatres, and how I would manage to get my father to the mysterious wilds of Minneapolis to watch it. This became evident within the first 10 seconds of the film. This is not a typical Jean-Claude action movie, this movie is in French.
Have a moment to digest this: Two hours of Jean-Claude speaking in French.
***
Is your breathing back to normal? Heart beat less erratic? Now you understand why I needed some time, I am not entirely sure I have recovered all my senses. While most men I inform, groan and make other guttural noises of disappointment, women usually take a moment to imagine how completely fantastic this would be.
As a fan, but not a creepy-stalker-fan, I didn't actually know the events in the movie occurred. So this real-life-made up-true story was very interesting. This movie manages to pay homage to his older and somewhat cheesy action movies (that I happen to love), it also brings into sharp relief the reality behind the scenes. He manages to poke fun at himself, and take himself seriously at the same time. A delicate dance superbly executed.
The Monologue: This was the winning or loosing point of the movie for most people. They saw it as a washed up actor begging, or a man laying him self open to ridicule. As he was playing himself, it seemed a little of both. It sounded like possibly something going through his mind he promised himself that he would tell "the world" if he lived through the events. I happened to like it, when he wept, I shed a tear for him, and the inspiration for his sadness.
This was a drama with a small amount of action thrown in, and a few humorous parts woven in seamlessly. There was a short segment of Jean-Claude talking to his Agent that seemed poorly shot (you only saw the side of his head and his forearm and it was edited roughly), other than that, the possibly choppy, flashback heavy, script flowed remarkably well. I did break out in applause at one pinnacle moment, and I was not the only one.
Overall, I was very satisfied with the first big screen presentation of Jean-Claude in a decade, even if no one shot the taxi driver in the head to shut her up.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Jon-Can I get some more bagel dogs?
Jams came over so we could get ready for the JCVD premier together. She had to wait outside knocking on the door while X and I were still arguing on the phone. I was listing the many reasons I enjoy Jean-Claude Van Damme (I always say it VON DOM and he kept insisting it was VAN DAMN) and he was arguing why all of those reasons were foolishness, and that "can crack walnuts with his ass" as an example of ass perfection was, in fact, the stupidest thing he could imagine.
I uninvited him to the show.
He said he couldn't talk to me because of my unparalleled bad judgment.
All of this while Jams was growing increasingly more impatient while alternately knocking and pounding on the door.
I finally open the door to Jams and she gives me a look because I am still in a robe and the towel that I wrapped my hair in is skewed and falling off my head to reveal the disaster that is my hair. I hurry to get ready because I always take forever and I have no idea what time it is, I assume we need to leave in less than 20 minutes because whenever X and I are on the phone the space/time continuum eats itself and huge chunks of time pass without our knowing.
I unwrap the towel and sigh, my hair is irredeemable tonight (I blame it on X and his quest for a frock coat, and mesmerizing pictures of a half naked, Amina Munster) after 10 minutes of hair product to curl resuscitation, I give up. I am going to uptown and I console myself with the pseudo poor (I can't afford to pay for an apartment and therefore have 19 roommates, because I need to buy $6 cups of coffee) artist/philosophers (I may bathe but I never wash my hair) with the I-don't-believe-in-materialism-and-all-of-my-clothes-are-charmingly mismatched-look that half the population adapts there. I washed my hair this week so it looking horrible is a close second. Jeans that a cat clawed up and a cardigan will have to do.
On the way to to uptown:
Me: You have to try this. (shoves a Mexican vaguely cookie related treat in her mouth)
Jams: NOM NOM NOM (chewing)
Me: Do you like it?
Jams: I don't know.
Me: They are bizarre.
Jams: Yeah the are...bizarre.
Me: Do you want another one?
Jams: Yes.
It took us f-o-r-e-v-e-r to park because it was uptown on a Friday night, and everyone is crazy and the streets all one ways, except when they aren't. Which of course makes perfect sense to them. Luckily it was still early enough there weren't too many drunken pedestrians taking advantage of, "Dude, I have the right of way!" Which they do, all I ask is the common courtesy to look both ways so I don't get rear ended when I slam on the breaks to not hit you. "Crosswalk" seems to be a charity fundraiser for people that like to make promises they don't intend to keep, rather than the designated spot for people to walk from overpriced pretentious coffee house to all organic free trade coffee house with a display gluten free raw food and wheat grass.
We finally park by taking the back way into the parking lot that had a full sign on it which was right behind the theatre, and were charged $7 for the privilege. It was worth it to just stop driving in circles through the maze of uptown.
Inside the theater we had to wait about 40 minutes for the movie, so we took in the ambiance.
They had a coffee bar at the theatre (not a Starbucks/Caribou in the theatre, but actually part of the theatre concessions), which I looked at curiously, then remembered where I was. Evidently, it is impossible to be at a existential foreign film without brooding into an overpriced cup of coffee.
Jams (in a whisper): Do those trees have light sabers? (referring to the abstract minimalist tree-esque lighting coming from the walls and in pillars in the lobby)
Me: Those aren't light sabers, the trees are just happy to see you.
We waited impatiently until Jams decided it was time to get our tickets ripped, weather they were seating or not. We stood just inside the theatre area and watched everyone come through the line going to see the movie "Milk" which the guy at the gas station recommended when he inquired where we were going that night, and my response was "To JCVD, at the Lagoon."
Then over the walkie-talkies (even though the concession stand is less than 2 ft away from the ticket ripping station) "Jon- Can I get some more bagel dogs?" and off went the manager with the comment of "JCVD women, watch this and make sure no one comes through." We stopped our discussion and critique of the dubious genetic origin possibilities of Sean Penn's nose to blink at him blankly while he rushed to his bagel dog emergency.
Then CHAOS! Luckily, just as an attendant returned, two theatres emptied and two theatres were seating. The two that were seating were the same movie and people were getting mad that the only seats available when they show up the last minute were in the front row, and why were they not allowed to go to the second theater and take up its seating with their ticket to the first theatre? Jams and I watched in awe as the three (four?) people working, seamlessly dealt with, selling tickets, angry customers, spills, cleaning, last minute concession purchases, tickets ripped and not ripped, and a seemingly endless bagel dog emergency.
After the movie, we went to Perkins, as it should be. We had a fantastic waitress and were nostalgic about other times we have had at Perkins in our life. Sipping tea comfortable in is awfulness, and chatting while negotiating items on the appetizer sampler (she ate the onion rings, I got her second mozzarella stick) when she stopped talking in mid sentence.
Jams: (eyes following something behind me) There's my boyfriend.
Me: (looking over my shoulder) Which one?
Jams: The one in the green shirt that barely covers his beer gut, crazy hair and mutton chops.
Me: Ooh, that one... (his shirt was straining over his faux pregnancy type potbelly, the grease on his sallow skin and bedhead hair glistened in the lighting from across the restaurant, his wolverine mutton chops looked like brillo pads on his cheeks) He looks like he plays way too much World of Warcraft. (imagines him screaming a Cartman-esque "More HOT POCKETS!")
Jams: More like Dungeons and Dragons.
Me: (flash of him in a cloak with a necklace around his head) Oh yeah, he's totally old school.
Full of grease and happiness we head home after the meal with leftovers and Jams is excited to play a game. We can't find any, the only ones that I know the location of are in the storage space and that is entirely too much effort, so I show her a few clips from Hard Target and TimeCop so she can understand a fraction of how my affection of JCVD started. I was a good friend and did warn her about Yancy Butler's eyebrows.
I uninvited him to the show.
He said he couldn't talk to me because of my unparalleled bad judgment.
All of this while Jams was growing increasingly more impatient while alternately knocking and pounding on the door.
I finally open the door to Jams and she gives me a look because I am still in a robe and the towel that I wrapped my hair in is skewed and falling off my head to reveal the disaster that is my hair. I hurry to get ready because I always take forever and I have no idea what time it is, I assume we need to leave in less than 20 minutes because whenever X and I are on the phone the space/time continuum eats itself and huge chunks of time pass without our knowing.
I unwrap the towel and sigh, my hair is irredeemable tonight (I blame it on X and his quest for a frock coat, and mesmerizing pictures of a half naked, Amina Munster) after 10 minutes of hair product to curl resuscitation, I give up. I am going to uptown and I console myself with the pseudo poor (I can't afford to pay for an apartment and therefore have 19 roommates, because I need to buy $6 cups of coffee) artist/philosophers (I may bathe but I never wash my hair) with the I-don't-believe-in-materialism-and-all-of-my-clothes-are-charmingly mismatched-look that half the population adapts there. I washed my hair this week so it looking horrible is a close second. Jeans that a cat clawed up and a cardigan will have to do.
On the way to to uptown:
Me: You have to try this. (shoves a Mexican vaguely cookie related treat in her mouth)
Jams: NOM NOM NOM (chewing)
Me: Do you like it?
Jams: I don't know.
Me: They are bizarre.
Jams: Yeah the are...bizarre.
Me: Do you want another one?
Jams: Yes.
It took us f-o-r-e-v-e-r to park because it was uptown on a Friday night, and everyone is crazy and the streets all one ways, except when they aren't. Which of course makes perfect sense to them. Luckily it was still early enough there weren't too many drunken pedestrians taking advantage of, "Dude, I have the right of way!" Which they do, all I ask is the common courtesy to look both ways so I don't get rear ended when I slam on the breaks to not hit you. "Crosswalk" seems to be a charity fundraiser for people that like to make promises they don't intend to keep, rather than the designated spot for people to walk from overpriced pretentious coffee house to all organic free trade coffee house with a display gluten free raw food and wheat grass.
We finally park by taking the back way into the parking lot that had a full sign on it which was right behind the theatre, and were charged $7 for the privilege. It was worth it to just stop driving in circles through the maze of uptown.
Inside the theater we had to wait about 40 minutes for the movie, so we took in the ambiance.
They had a coffee bar at the theatre (not a Starbucks/Caribou in the theatre, but actually part of the theatre concessions), which I looked at curiously, then remembered where I was. Evidently, it is impossible to be at a existential foreign film without brooding into an overpriced cup of coffee.
Jams (in a whisper): Do those trees have light sabers? (referring to the abstract minimalist tree-esque lighting coming from the walls and in pillars in the lobby)
Me: Those aren't light sabers, the trees are just happy to see you.
We waited impatiently until Jams decided it was time to get our tickets ripped, weather they were seating or not. We stood just inside the theatre area and watched everyone come through the line going to see the movie "Milk" which the guy at the gas station recommended when he inquired where we were going that night, and my response was "To JCVD, at the Lagoon."
Then over the walkie-talkies (even though the concession stand is less than 2 ft away from the ticket ripping station) "Jon- Can I get some more bagel dogs?" and off went the manager with the comment of "JCVD women, watch this and make sure no one comes through." We stopped our discussion and critique of the dubious genetic origin possibilities of Sean Penn's nose to blink at him blankly while he rushed to his bagel dog emergency.
Then CHAOS! Luckily, just as an attendant returned, two theatres emptied and two theatres were seating. The two that were seating were the same movie and people were getting mad that the only seats available when they show up the last minute were in the front row, and why were they not allowed to go to the second theater and take up its seating with their ticket to the first theatre? Jams and I watched in awe as the three (four?) people working, seamlessly dealt with, selling tickets, angry customers, spills, cleaning, last minute concession purchases, tickets ripped and not ripped, and a seemingly endless bagel dog emergency.
After the movie, we went to Perkins, as it should be. We had a fantastic waitress and were nostalgic about other times we have had at Perkins in our life. Sipping tea comfortable in is awfulness, and chatting while negotiating items on the appetizer sampler (she ate the onion rings, I got her second mozzarella stick) when she stopped talking in mid sentence.
Jams: (eyes following something behind me) There's my boyfriend.
Me: (looking over my shoulder) Which one?
Jams: The one in the green shirt that barely covers his beer gut, crazy hair and mutton chops.
Me: Ooh, that one... (his shirt was straining over his faux pregnancy type potbelly, the grease on his sallow skin and bedhead hair glistened in the lighting from across the restaurant, his wolverine mutton chops looked like brillo pads on his cheeks) He looks like he plays way too much World of Warcraft. (imagines him screaming a Cartman-esque "More HOT POCKETS!")
Jams: More like Dungeons and Dragons.
Me: (flash of him in a cloak with a necklace around his head) Oh yeah, he's totally old school.
Full of grease and happiness we head home after the meal with leftovers and Jams is excited to play a game. We can't find any, the only ones that I know the location of are in the storage space and that is entirely too much effort, so I show her a few clips from Hard Target and TimeCop so she can understand a fraction of how my affection of JCVD started. I was a good friend and did warn her about Yancy Butler's eyebrows.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
JCVD! and The Code of Morgagod
Dec. 12 COME ONE AND ALL TO:
Lagoon Cinema
1320 Lagoon Ave.
Minneapolis, MN 55408
(612) 825-6006
http://tickets.landmarktheatres.com
(2:10, 4:50, 7:40, 9:40)
After all this time, it is finally here! While I am excited, this negates my sporadic road trip to Chicago to see the movie idea. It has been far too long since Jean-Claude Van Damme has graced the theatre marquis. I am willing to suffer through the traffic in uptown to see this movie, and so should you!
Allow me to introduce The Code of Morgagod: Rules that everyone should live by, snippets of information that you may or may not use at some point in your life, and or life lessons learned. Also a secret language that might need interpretation now and then.
The Code of Morgagod: Rule # 342 Thou shall support your favorite action hero.
Morgagod Strikes Back!
Greetings and Salutations,
While the next several months might be a dismal drought of time without me, this perhaps can be your oasis. I will do my best to keep this full of the excitement, random useless information and general tomfoolery that everyone knows (and loves!) about me.
Also, to set the record straight (looks at Jenni and Sarah).
~M
While the next several months might be a dismal drought of time without me, this perhaps can be your oasis. I will do my best to keep this full of the excitement, random useless information and general tomfoolery that everyone knows (and loves!) about me.
Also, to set the record straight (looks at Jenni and Sarah).
~M
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