Friday, November 18, 2005

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Horrible

Okay... I'm a horrible person, and I did a horrible thing.

I was grading papers, doing brain-things, and I actually had to stop at one point due to the loss of intellectual activity by the TV in the background, which was tuned to... Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders: Making the Team.

Here is what I learned:

-There is a person in this world named "Starr Spangler," and when she was born, her parents looking lovingly down at hear and said, "Won't she make a wonderful porn star someday, honey? Let's call her 'Starr.'"

-In order to become a professional cheerleader, one must reorder one's priorities. Direct quote: "Well, being a cheerleader is a full-time job. (Pause.) Plus, being a mom on top of that." This was announced by "Whitney," who needs to give her daughter to a foster mother who does not make a living out of setting back the women's movement thirty-odd years.

-YOU'RE FAT. ALL OF YOU, FAT.

-During an interview with the judges, if you are asked "What does wearing the Dallas Cowgirl uniform mean to you?" the correct answer is most likely not "I would keep it clean and return it at the end of the season."

-If you are unattractive, you need to get a fake tan, and some streaky skunk hair, and a big ol' bottle of White Rain. Then, and only then, you will be fit for polite society.

-And even if you do contain some sort of horrible physical defect such as, for instance, having thighs with a circumference larger than .000000005 inches, there are airbrushers on hand to ensure the whites of your eyes are the approximate color of God's beard on the Official Team Photo.

-When speaking of one's breasts, one must refer to them as one's "girls".

rah! at: mb@blondechampagne.com

Monday, November 14, 2005

Background Noise

Sorry I've been unable to update, but Josh the Pilot and I were in North Carolina at a wedding, and you will be grieved to know that what you missed was a whole lotta this:

That is what you do, while driving from Florida to North Carolina. You pray for unconsciousness, and when you don't have it, you feign it, because only then will you be spared Georgia. I'm sure it's full of lovely people, but judging from what I saw along I-95 they all want to sell me like eighteen metric tons of pecans for seven cents. I DON'T WANT YOUR PECANS, GEORGIA.

At nightfall we busted out the DVD of Revenge of the Sith, which we were able to watch with the help of Josh's computer and a battery pack and fourteen extension cords and a 90-foot roll of Reynold's Wrap. And we marvelled at the wonderous technology I balanced on my lap, all, "Lookit! We're watching a movie. In a car!"

In five years, of course, the whole thing will seem like the 8-track of car-movie-watching technology, and what would have been even more impressive was if we'd been able to hear the wonderousness. Turns out a Ford Escort is not the most soundproof vehicle in the world, and we were watching the film with the commentary track on, so it sounded like this:

GEORGE LUCAS: What we have here is a

MACK TRUCK: VRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

GEORGE LUCAS: in the scene and

THE WIND: FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

EWAN McGREGOR: My loyalty is to the Republic, to democracy!

JOSH THE PILOT: What did he say?

GEORGE LUCAS: digitally animated.

ME: Something about Tony Danza?

So I wound up tipping the laptop to a ninety-degree angle and pressing my head against the tiny little speakers with Yoda like two micrometers away from my face. I suppose it was good for him.

The one thing--the one thing-- I did hear clearly was, of course, this scene. The whole "I love you because you're beautiful with the love and the loving" business, uncut and cranked THX high. George Lucas talked for two and a half solid hours over the music and the droid noises and the lightsaber battles, but this part? The worst dialogue in six movies of Worst Dialogue? For that, he fell respectfully silent, so as to allow one & all to appreciate its majesty. Un-shut up, George.

going to Toshi station to pick up some power converters at: mb@blondechampangne.com

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