You Have GOT to Be Kidding Me

DAMMIT.

(Update: The National Weather Service is predicting 2-4 inches.)

(BALLS.)

Spring Break

It's Spring Break Week here in Ann Arbor, and the campus is positively EMPTY.

I cannot tell you how wonderful it is when the bus is empty and on time, when there are no lines at a single coffee house or eatery, when I don't trip over undergrads trudging around in Uggs and leggings.

Can't they all just stay in Jamaica?

I always thought that Spring Break meant having a margarita made in my mouth at Señor Tadpole's, but I was wrong.

Spring Break means enjoying the empty campus:

Not a single soul.

LOVELY.

STOP IT

It's fucking snowing again.

Mah Breakfast

Let me show it to you.

Tearjerkers

Who's five feet tall and watched a horribly sad movie Thursday night, JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT?

This girl!

The film? A Walk to Remember.

Yes, I know.

Not only was it horribly sad, it was horribly wholesome (read: boring). To top it all off, I knew how it ended. I knew that I would be bawling like an idiot, and yet I still watched it.

I watched it through the horrifically long commercial breaks on TBS because it was part of their "Movie Extra" bullshit. Seriously, the commercial breaks were like, ten minutes long, and they seemed to get longer and more frequent as the conclusion neared.

To be painfully honest, A Walk to Remember was actually pretty good. The viewer truly believes that two young people actually fall in love. And to make things more interesting, the viewer truly believes that they each know and understand what love really means. And since for some teenagers, love seems to be more of a term thrown around carelessly in order to get to third base, this is pretty impressive.

I don't know what it is about my brain that wills me to do things like this, but I can remember many, many occasions in which I watched disgustingly devastating movies ON PURPOSE.

First ridiculous memory: Romeo and Juliet. Not in the ninth grade, when we were forced to watch it in our Literature class and where an exhibit of emotion would have been mocked mercilessly, but shortly after. I watched it with my dad. We were both standing in front of the television, as if our body language was saying, "We could leave at any moment. We don't need to be watching this emotional powerhouse of a film. We could be outside with the three-dimensional people!"

Anyway, I was itching to get away, but I couldn't stop watching. I was well-aware of what was to come, and yet, I remained, and I was fine. What I didn't bargain for was my dad. During the pivotal death scene, he started crying. My dad. I had never seen him cry before, and while it surprised me, it made me see him in a new light. My dad was (and still is) a hopeless romantic, and his daughter has merely followed in his footsteps.

Then again, just try watching Zeffirelli's version once again. Away from the prying eyes of your ninth grade classmates, let yourself be carried away by the acting talents of this extremely young cast. Just try to ignore the hauntingly beautiful score. TRY.

Second: Love Story. I had just graduated from college and was spending my summer in Ann Arbor, working as a camp counselor and just enjoying my summer of freedom. I started watching Love Story for no good reason. I especially enjoy the fact that I had read the book and therefore was completely aware of the storyline.

Again, the MUSIC absolutely KILLED me. And the ending... in between my hyperventilating sobs, my mom called. Once she got me to calm down and could finally understand what I was saying, she asked why I didn't just watch some Friends episodes. I don't KNOW.

Third: Wuthering Heights. Lord above, this movie is so devastatingly sad! I adore the book, but the film (Olivier! Oberon! Niven!) elevates it to a whole new level. I know that many purists abhor the 1939 film version because it covers only the first half of the book, but the performances alone are so beautiful, so gritty, so... sad, that you don't miss the second half. And I have to admit that this is the only version I have seen.

Well, that's a little glimpse into my insanity. I watch movies about doomed romances so that I can cry about them.

I think that there's something wrong with me.

Note: I forgot one. Dr. Zhivago gets me every time as well. "Ah... then it's a gift." BAWLING.

Fourth Pick's a Charm

Right, so I have a few things to say:

The Comebacks? Easily the worst film I have EVER seen. I am not gracing it with a review. Do not see it. You will lose 120 minutes of your life and you can NEVER get them back. EVER.

(For the record, Mike wanted to turn it off after ten minutes. I held out, because I was expecting at least a little gratuitous nudity. I was wrong. There was no nudity. There was nothing. NOTHING. And I died a little inside.)

Next, Live Free or Die Hard. Not bad. Not great, either, but what can you expect from a fourth installment and recycled dialogue? (For the record, there were some great new lines. But there was no Alan Rickman, and that was sad.)

Then, 27 Dresses.

When your mother asks you to come see a chick flick, say yes. Generally, it's going to be cute, formulaic, and predictable, but it's going to be enjoyable.

It was. Pretty much. It was a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

But then? The diamond in the rough.

Juno.

Oh! This movie! It was so lovely and wonderful and adorable and I LOVED IT.

I know, I know, I sound like the millionth broken-record reviewer, as many, many people also loved this film, but I wouldn't lie to you. Would I lie to you? No. No, I would not.

Juno? It's an indie. Juno (Ellen Page) is a sixteen-year-old high school junior (also kind of an "indie"), pregnant with her best friend Bleeker's (Michael Cera) baby. She was bored, she says, so she slept with him.

There's an annoying exchange between Juno and a store clerk (Rainn Wilson - Dwight from The Office - vastly underused in my opinion) at the beginning, but once you get past that, you're golden.

She's sixteen, aged beyond her years, obviously. She didn't fit into a "high school mold" even before the pregnancy, but like most free-spirits, she doesn't care. She's snarky and clever, sweet and obnoxious. You just love her.

By far the most important and touching performances in this film were those of J.K. Simmons and Allison Janney, who played her father and stepmother, respectively. They were wonderful as the caring parents who accepted Juno for who she was and didn't ignore her plight or ridicule her decisions. Her father had some of the best lines in the movie, and her stepmother had one of the best scenes. (Sidenote: I love Allison Janney. She stole my heart as the guidance counselor in Ten Things I Hate About You and absolutely killed me in Drop Dead Gorgeous.)

Ellen Page portrays the sixteen year-old Juno to perfection. With her emo wit and snarky remarks, she is the quintessential teenager. But just because she's living in 2007 doesn't mean that she's immune to the emotions felt by all teenage movie heroines: she was Samantha Baker, she was Ariel Moore, she was Kat Stratford. Hell, she's the freaking Little Mermaid.

Again, I know that this film has been reviewed to death, but I just had to throw in my two cents. It is the little movie that could. See it!

For Shame. Shame!

Okay. I did something yesterday. Something that I am... not proud of.

I... bought leggings.

Before you rush to my house and murder me, THEY ARE FOR BALLET. I am going to wear them for ballet class and for NOTHING ELSE.

I certainly won't be wearing them with Uggs and a puffy jacket, as do 97% of the students on campus. (Well, it's either leggings with Uggs or skinny jeans with Uggs. And no hats or gloves. Because apparently I am old.)

I felt like such a dink buying them, though. First of all, I bought them at Forever 21. Yes. Secondly, I grabbed them off of the rack like there weren't ten million pair hanging about. Third, I had to justify my purchase to my MOTHER, after a sideways glance from her never-judgmental eye gave me a fright. She NEVER comments on my clothes unless she genuinely likes them, and her eyebrow was definitely raised.

Finally, I had to carry that bright yellow bag around the mall and was convinced that everyone had x-ray vision and could see my heinous purchase.

Remember when it was 1988 and I wore leggings and a pink sweater for my third grade student pictures? Well, I do. At the very last second, I decided on a closed-lipped smile and therefore produced the bitchiest class picture ever taken. I have yet to live it down. I'm convinced that the leggings made me do it. They made me take the horrible photo. Devils!

I have ballet tonight. Perhaps they will be lucky charms and I will dance like a prima ballerina. Or perhaps I'll fall on my ass.

Teaser

Hero-less

Michigan drivers, what the fuck happened to you?

You used to be awesome. You used to go ninety mph on the freeway AS A RULE. You used to see two feet of snow and sneer, "Who cares? It's just snow," and plow through intersections in your '88 Camaro. You used to be my hero.

Not anymore.

Now, I feel like I am back in Virginia, forced to ride the brake because you're scared of the sunshine. Today, driving on I-94 back to Ann Arbor, I was passing every single car on the road. Yes, I was passing you all like I was some redneck driver dreaming of the Daytona 500. The speed limit is 70. Seventy.

And I? Was gliding by at 72 mph in the fast lane.

What happened? I mean, I know that it was raining, but we're not in Virginia. We're in Michigan, home of the automobile! Is the amazing economy getting you down? Are you depressed?

Snap out of it! We have a reputation to uphold! Boston drivers are mean, NYC drivers are, well, cabbies, and DC drivers are clueless. Michigan drivers are FAST.

You know you want to bury that gas pedal. DO IT.

Lord.

Dos TVs = Stupid, Tired Heather

Now that I have my own place - for the first time since 2002 - I've developed some really bad habits. Mostly, they revolve around the television.

I have dos tvs in my studio loft. Dos. My landlord left hers, and it's nice! I have it wired to the DVD player (and VCR. Yes, I still have a VCR. I'm thinking about getting one of those sweet combos eventually, though. You know, when I win the lottery or something because I am broke as a joke) in the "living room" area.

I also have my tv, which has followed me from Michigan to DC and back. It's on its last legs, especially when the weather gets cold - there's a lovely line across the screen until it warms up. A swift smack to the side usually fixes that, but remains annoying. Also, it was my brother's for years before I got it, so... it's old. Not hooked up to cable, it was almost worthless... until I jimmied up my portable DVD player. And now it's AWESOME.

My problem? I am staying up waaaaay too late watching CSI and Law & Order reruns, Food Network shows, and lineups of Friends and Scrubs. If I'm not watching those shows, I'm watching Arrested Development DVDs on my ghettovision.

Point is, I'm NOT SLEEPING. I stayed up until four in the morning a bit ago to watch 80s horror flicks. WHY? WHY WOULD I DO THIS?

So now I am not to watch tv past ten. That's my new rule. Let's see what happens!

Waitress

I love Keri Russell. I loved her and her curly, pretty hair on the Mickey Mouse Club and watched her on Malibu Shores. But it was back in 1998, my freshman year of college, that a little show called Felicity premiered. About fifteen minutes into the first episode, I was hooked. She was a freshman in college. I was a freshman in college. I could relate! Wow!

(Kind of like when you first got to college, and met people in your hall. "You like Dave Matthews Band? I like Dave Matthews Band. Wow!")

I adored that show. Keri was absolutely brilliant as Felicity Porter, and the cast was magnificent. You can never go wrong with the Pink Power Ranger, after all. I remember watching the series finale, in the spring of my senior year, sitting in front of the television and just bawling. It was so good! It was so sad! But it was over! And I was going to be moving on in a few short months. To DC!

(And then Friends ended its run two years later. I'm surprised I survived, really.)

I was annoyed to hear of Keri's casting in MI:3, as I just knew she'd be upstaged by Tom "Batshit Crazy" Cruise. And she was. And she died early. What the hell?

Since Felicity, she was fantastic in The Upside of Anger (see that movie, really), and more recently, adorably bitchy as Melody on Scrubs. But as soon as I heard about Waitress, I knew that I just had to see it.

Its theater release passed me by, but its DVD release did not - thanks, Netflix! Mike and I watched it the other weekend.

I really enjoyed it, mostly for the female performances. Keri was wonderful as an unhappy woman married to a miserable man (who Mike instantly recognized as Jeremy "Rolling With the Homies" Sisto), who finds herself pregnant - after of her husband got her drunk in order to coerce her into sex. He has the most cringe-worthy, most disgusting lines in the film, and what made me so sad was knowing that men like him actually exist.

The viewer is devastated for Jenna. Her life is sad, and it seems there is no way out of her horrible marriage or her small southern town.

I don't normally like films depicting cheating spouses, and I don't necessarily agree with the actions of the characters in the film. In fact, parts of Waitress left me feeling a little... creeped out. Jenna is no angel, and we're not expected to see her that way. We are expected to see her as someone completely trapped more by her emotional limitations rather than monetary ones.

Other then the semi-palatable storyline, there were so many bright spots in this film. The brightest was Andy Griffith as Old Joe, the cantakerous owner of the restaurant in which Jenna works. He is excellent and his dialogue is timed perfectly. He has some of the best lines in the film, as well.

Cheryl Hines and Adrienne Shelley play Jenna's friends and fellow waitresses. They both have their issues, but their characters are pretty much Jenna's only salvation. Her marriage is seriously bad. Bad!

It's bad, you guys.

But the film? The film is excellent. I loved it.

Oh, but how much did I cry? I absolutely lost it when Jenna's narration about two-thirds into the film:

"Dear Baby, I hope someday somebody wants to hold you for 20 minutes straight and that's all they do. They don't pull away. They don't look at your face. They don't try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms and hold on tight, without an ounce of selfishness in it."

But that was the only time. You'll see.

Happy Valentime's!

Wandering

I've been doing a good amount of work in one of the museum preparation labs, and when I get bored, I wander. I took these pics in one of the storage rooms:

Mooses. Meeses? Meese?

Pine tree and Dimetrodon.

Hippo and Dodo. Obviously.

Just Another Reason to Hate CNN

This story was reported on the BBC News website today: Russia in Ukraine Missile Threat. This... seems like kind of a big deal, right?

I looked, but couldn't find anything about it on CNN's website. I did find this story, though: Secrets Behind Your Favorite Toys. And That #!&!$ Other Driver!

Cut it out, CNN. Report the news. Real news. News that matters. I know it's difficult, as Britney hasn't done anything crazy in like, days, but maybe visit BBC News once a day or something. You might learn something!

(Also, I know that we're smack dab in the middle of all of the election insanity, but there are other things going on in the world. Acknowledge it.)

Turd Ferguson

There is little more irritating than turning on NBC, anticipating a brain-busting night of categories with my favorite hated Canadian (sweet Lord, I hate Trebek), than discovering the Jeopardy Teen Tournament instead.

DAMMIT.

I freaking HATE the Teen Tournament. Boring! I learn nothing! Waste of time!

Also, someone needs to tell the teenage gentlemen of America to CUT THEIR GODDAMNED HAIR. I know that I sound like a fucking square here, but they are not The Beatles. They look retarded, overgrown six-year-olds. I questioned how one kid could even see the board, because I certainly couldn't see his eyes through his bangs.

And to top it all off, there was a category entitled, I swear, "Will Smith."

DAMMIT!

Suck it, Trebek. And get yourself a big hat. It's funny.

Jesus Welcomes You

It's been balls cold in Michigan, and Sunday was no exception. It was just a cruel coincidence that my niece's baptism fell on the coldest freaking day of the year (so far).

In my extreme idiocy, I wore a dress. I didn't think that it would be that cold. Well. In the time it took us to walk the half-block from the car to the church, my calves were just aching from the bitter cold wind. I was wearing shoes that pinch my toes and make them go numb in seconds, so my feet weren't a problem, really. Besides, I fucking love those shoes.

Adorable!

The church was freezing. I don't think that they even bothered to turn on the heat, as the complete lack of a vestibule meant that the entire parish got blasted with the winter air every single time someone arrived. That air just filtered underneath the pews and my calves were practically begging for mercy. I inched closer and closer to Mike until I was practically sitting behind him.

Mass was lovely, though I will never understand why screaming children are not removed from the sanctuary until they CALM DOWN. I'm not talking about a little noise here and there. No, I'm talking about the blood-curdling screeching that somehow escapes a child's lips. At times it was seriously terrifying. Chills were racing down my spine. I mean, that could have been Mother Nature, sneaking in through the stained glass, but I think that it was more that some children just can't sit still for more than a few minutes.

The baptisms followed the mass. Yes, baptisms. There were four other little ones awaiting their baths of salvation, and my darling goddaughter was the only one who kept her trap shut. In fact, she slept through much of the sacrament. Jesus approves!

Behold my sweetness!

Steven laughed when I asked if anyone had ever dropped a baby into the baptismal font. Kari frowned.

I am honored to be her godmother. Someone has to teach her about dinosaurs, right?

Rawr!

Birdies!

I love birds. I love pointing them out to Mike, especially the hawks flying overhead when we're driving somewhere. He just loves that. He loves it almost as much as when I point out Ford Foci on the road. Because if you haven't noticed, they're everywhere.

I was getting some supplies out of the closet at work the other day and noticed an exhibition case tucked away. It was full of little birdies and I love it and want to take it home.




I have issues, maybe. I don't know.

Also, there's a bat in there. Sneaky!

I am Brilliant

I discovered how to connect to the wireless internet connection in my apartment. And it only took two months!

Brilliance at work here, people. Brilliance.

So instead of standing at the counter/desk combo, I can now recline in my sweet papasan chair, feet propped atop my space heater, with a huge mug of white tea with pomegranate within reach.

Until the damn battery runs out of juice.

The Sweetness, It Hurts!

Today marks the beginning of the Lenten season, and you know what that means: no more pop for Heather.

Sniff.

But this time, the elimination of all things sweet and carbonated is not just for the next forty days and forty nights. No, it's now time that I grow the hell up and realize that Coke is RUINING MY LIFE.

It's bad for you! Really bad. Water is good and makes my skin pretty. And juice is nice.

Additionally, Mike and I have embarked upon "Get Fit February (copyright Mike, 2008)," and pop just doesn't fit into the plan.

However...

Being as today was Fat Tuesday, and being that I am now back in Michigan, I welcomed the sight of the almighty PACZKI:

Yes, I am a real word.

Hello, we are here to KILL YOU.

These sugary bombs were damn near impossible to find in the DC metro area (along with kielbasa), though I admit that I didn't try very hard to find many. I'm not a huge fan of the filled donut (I like glazed), and I really didn't see the point in eating ten million calories in a few minutes.

Southeastern Michigan boasts a large population of Polish Americans, and the paczki rules all on Fat Tuesday. Most offices and businesses will have boxes of paczkis waiting to be devoured.

I might have had a bite of a blueberry paczki. And I might have regretted it immediately. It made my teeth hurt from the sweetness. I mean, allegedly.

I can honestly say that that bite was the first taste of paczki for me (damn my weakness!), and it will be my last. I'm Polish, but it just wasn't worth it. Bring on the sauerkraut instead!

Lucille

Thanks to Steezy for this one:

Halftime, or Wishing for Death

Like lots of Americans, I watched the 42nd Superbowl. Unlike lots of Americans, I'm assuming, I did not watch the wonderful Tom Petty at halftime. No, I was victim to someone else's choices (and I must make it clear that I am not speaking of my wonderful NORMAL boyfriend, who wanted to watch Tom Petty and listen to the halftime report. No, it was another party guest. Just so there are no misunderstandings here).

We were forced to watch the MLE championship on Spike TV. Do you want to know what "MLE" stands for? DO YOU?

Major. League. Eating.

It was awful. I wanted to die. Or vomit. Both, really.

The competitors, of whom many of the party guests were aware, started on hard boiled eggs. Who can eat the most in eight minutes? Who will dip them in hot sauce? How much water will they guzzle? How long can Heather keep her bile down?

Next? The competitors ate whole hams. WHOLE HAMS. At the conclusion of that... event, one guy had dipping sauce ON HIS FOREHEAD.

Also, people are starving in India. And Asia (ASIA). And our own fucking country. But thank GOD these disgusting people can eat five dozen eggs in eight minutes.

I seriously have nothing else to say on this. It basically blew my mind. If you want to feel your stomach churn, or if you want to call in sick from all of the vomiting (yours), watch the first video at the link above: MLE Championship.

Also, one of the announcers was named "Crazy Legs." So... there's that.

Bravo, um... Bravo

Okay, so I was up waaaay too late the other night, and I stumbled upon Friday the 13th, Part II on Bravo - which is weird because I thought that Bravo only aired Project Runway and Top Chef, but whatever.

So I watched it for the first time in years, and it was glorious.

I'm not embarrassed to admit that I like 80s slasher films. They are generic and predictable, but they have some sweet scares and, if you're not watching them on basic cable (as I was, sigh), some gratuitous nudity. Gratuitous nudity is always nice.

I don't remember when I first saw Friday the 13th (though it was probably with Amanda), but I know that I always thought it was awesome. I loved the idea that the killer was preying on camp counselors. I went camping! It could happen! The original film was pretty sweet, what with its twists and turns, scream-out-loud ending, and fantastic gore. And who could forget the music?

The thing is, in my ultimate stupidity and insomniac-ity, I started watching this wonderful sequel at 2 a.m. After about an hour, noises became my mortal enemies. My landlord left two screens hanging on the back deck, and when there is a breeze of any kind, they bang against the posts. I got used to this after the first few days here, but by the end of the movie, I was convinced that Jason was out on the back deck about to bust through the door.

But the film. Let's discuss.

First of all, I love love LOVE that so many of the 80s slasher film stereotypes were present. Running up the stairs instead of out the front door, fornicators never survive, etc., etc. But what I also loved is that there was a character in a wheelchair who was awesome. I was rooting for him, especially when he and the "nerdy" girl made plans to spend the night together, but alas. He fell backwards down some stairs, in his wheelchair, with an axe in his skull, courtesy of Jason.

So even the handicapable are targets... he died before he got some, but I guess he should have stayed chaste in his mind as well. But he planned a night with that hussy, and it was all downhill for him. Heh. Downhill. Oh, I am awful.

Second, after the first fifteen minutes, I had picked out the heroine.

Third, gratuitous nudity.

Fourth, the bed death scene. Brilliant.

Fifth, tricking Jason by WEARING A SWEATER.

Finally, playing the game on Nintendo? Priceless.

Why I need to find an old NES.