Write write write. I need to write something. Got the itch, got it bad. My hands keep straying into “power move” position, and no by that I do *not* mean anything pornographic.
A few months ago I had an image pop into my head. I imagined myself as a super (villain or hero, it doesn’t matter) and imagined myself in an anime-style power move. You know the kind of thing I mean, that pose that anime characters go into when they’re summoning all their battle aura for a full-on, all-out, must-kill-my-opponent-or-I-will-die move. The pose and subsequent yelling typically goes on for a good minute or so. You know the kind.
Anyway… when I envisioned myself in that kind of “power pose”, yelling something like “hadoken!” or whatever, the pose had me in crouched stance, feet braced, shoulders hunched a bit… and my hands directly in front of me, fingers clearly positioned for… typing.
So apparently writing is my “power move”. At least in my mind.
I don’t know where that came from.
The weekend was very good. Friday night Ronya and I had Dianne and we took her out to the pub for beer, pub food, and dart flailing. I’d say “dart throwing” but, really, that would be giving us much too much credit. We were definitely Dart Flailing.
Saturday Tony joined us for a matinee showing of Casino Royale. It started out as the best Bond film I’ve ever seen (which, you know, isn’t saying that *much*) but gradually degraded into a meandering, boring denouement that felt longer than the multiple endings of Return of the King. I do think Daniel Craig is possibly the best Bond they’ve ever had, and Mads Mikkelsen is quite honestly the first Bond villain I’ve ever found to be the least bit scary, or creepy. Other than Judi Dench the rest of the cast were competent filler at best. Eva Green was a weird, watery-eyed school girl with big tits… and that’s all. Her emotional depth wasn’t much more than puddle deep. I had no real compassion for her at all. I was much more attracted to Judi Dench. But then I’ve always loved strong women.
After that we enjoyed a quiet christmas party at Michael and Marci’s place with plenty of drinks and baked goods. From there Ronya, myself, and the boys walked over to Mary Ann and Tony’s place to play some head to head halo action. I’m ashamed to say that I… kicked their butts. Both separately and as a team of one. Michael was particularly frustrated that I seemed invulnerable to his rockets and grenades. Since it was my personal Xbox I suppose there could be some potential … favoritism from the machine. But only if you believe in animism. Otherwise I just kicked their collective butts all up and down the street.
Late into gaming Tony took a break for a while (apparently alcohol and FPS don’t mix well for some people) at which point Ronya entertained him with our recent discovery of a massive collection of cat pictures, including one of our current favorites.
“I’m poopin! I’M POOPIN!”
I’m sorry, I don’t know why, but that makes us giggle every god damn time.
On Sunday Ronya and I slept in until mid morning, had ourselves a nice pancake breakfast, and then joined Dianne and her boys for a walk around Heritage Park. While the place is kind of interesting I wasn’t really drawn in. Much of what they presented as “history” was reminiscent of things my great aunts and uncles had laying around their farms. So for me it wasn’t so much “history” as “things you haven’t seen in a while.”
Some notable events:
It’s always interesting to watch someone walk up to a display piece, in this case a century old washing machine in the Prince house, read the sign mounted right on it that says “please do not touch the displays”, and then reach out to open the washing machine and look inside. It’s amazing how people can reinterpret “don’t touch” to exclude them or what they’re doing. Because obviously the sign doesn’t refer to *them*.
We got trapped in the church. In our defense Tony and I were just following Ronya, but she was just walking down one pew to look at the construction of it. Before we knew it they’d closed the door and begun singing hymns. Lucky for all of us we managed enough social chutzpah to stand up and walk out before any of us burst into flames.
Standing in line, waiting to pay for fudge (”Fudge Packing Goats!”), and having Tony singing along with the “Christmas CD” display. His renditions of Elvis and Bing were fine, but his rendition of Ertha Kitt’s “Santa Baby” was a bit… scarring.
Not half as scarring as the movie later on.
After Heritage Park we had dinner at Big T’s BBQ on Heritage and MacLeod. It was a challenge to get a reasonable sized meal, but since we’d just barely squeaked in under the wire we were still able to buy Lunch Specials and avoid having to consume full plates of pulled pork or whatever. The place just serves Huge Food, both as a description of the portions and what those portions will eventually do to you.
From dinner Dianne took her Irish Horde home with her while Tony joined us at our place and subjected us to Clerks 2. The mental scarring may take years to fade. Those of you who’ve seen it will know what I’m talking about. Especially when I mention how, after the movie, while we were preparing to play some Roborally, Tony heard the opening strains to some techno tune we had on the stereo and went “ooooh!” while miming putting on lipstick. I screamed. I ran. I couldn’t escape.
Ronya then did the same thing to me later in the evening… just as we were going to sleep. I was awake all night, staring at the ceiling, paralyzed by the horror.
In all honesty Clerks 2 wasn’t too terribly bad. It wasn’t terribly good, either. Brian O’Halloran and Jeff Anderson, also known as Dante Hicks and Randal Graves, are not very good actors. There’s a reason they’re only in Kevin Smith movies: they’re Kevin Smith’s friends. While they did each put in a noble effort, neither of them have the depth of experience worthy of a major production film. I got a sense that Kevin Smith’s newly acquired directing skills were brought to play heavily, but it wasn’t enough. As Ronya put it, she was relieved every time one of the “real” actors came into the scene and saved it. But the writing was still good, and the dialog priceless. I certainly wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re already a Kevin Smith fan, though. You need prior exposure to Jason Mewes just to survive, I suspect.
Ronya kicked our butts in Roborally, at least partly due to my mistake that caused my robot to jump into a pit with Tony’s robot in it’s loving metal embrace. But, really, she was pretty much ahead of us from the start. I tried my best to stop her towards the end but she still managed to fling her robot’s bullet riddled carcass across the finish line before us.
This morning I got up with Ronya at 4:30 and gave her a kiss goodbye as she started her next tour. Unexpectedly, I did not go back to bed. Instead I stayed up and started configuring my Google newsreader. Livejournal is capable of reading rss feeds, but Google lets me sort through them and organize them. So I’m slowly converting my rss feeds over from livejournal to google. Yes, I am that much of an online info whore that I will spend a couple of spare morning hours doing nothing more than playing with a new google app.
As we were fond of saying over the weekend: It’s my particular “geek”.