I Can't

What is even happening here?

I feel so violated.

xoxo

zuzu

Cable Has Ruined My Life

Dodo and Kleine can back me up on what I am about to share regarding my childhood: The limitations on media in our home growing up make the Chinese censors look like amateurs. We were never allowed to have video games, or cable tv, and by the time my mom allowed us to get the internet in the house, I was already in college.

On my way to Philosophy 101.

The tv shows we did watch had to be pre-approved (basically just the stuff on p.b.s.), or were snuck in during the golden hours while my mom was still at work. I'm positive this screwed me up, somehow. For example, while other people watched characters facing similar life choices and learned to identify with them, I had to learn to identify with some pretty weird things.

You guys got Joey Potter, and I got to project all my teen angst onto this guy.

Although I have been able to adapt to some media and technology quickly, I am sometimes reminded that I am incredibly stunted. For example, Bubble Bobble is the only video game I ever played prior to my senior year in college, and I only ever played it once or twice at my friend's house in 4th grade.

However, because it was the only video game I had ever played, Bubble Bobble became what I picture whenever other people talk about video games.

I'm pretty sure this is what Call of Duty looks like.

My foray into video games post-Bubble Bobble has not been very successful, and the only game I seem to have any ability at is "Erotic Photo Hunt" (aka Nudey Touch), which is basically just Bubble Bobble with naked ladies instead of dinosaurs.

Not that I'm complaining.

Unlike my strained relationship with video games, my relationship with tv is probably the other extreme end of the spectrum. I got cable for the first time in college. At the time I had mono and was basically too sick to leave my dorm room for about two months. Having cable was awesome. It was like magic... there were so many channels and stuff I wanted to watch was on all the time! Since then I have developed what I have to admit is a freakish devotion to television. I will watch almost anything at least once.

Seriously. Anything.

I am kind of like a goldfish, who will just eat and eat and eat whatever you put in its bowl until it gorges itself to death...except in my case, my bowl is my living room and I am eating repeat episodes of Cake Boss, and Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I don't know if that metaphor works, but I am still recovering from the following:  I came home on Tuesday to find that our cable had been shut off because of some finagling with a previous roommate (A situation I will address only with the following NKOTB quote by Jordan Knight from the song The Right Stuff: "You know what you did.").

Friends, when I found this out, I lost it a little bit.


"I swear if Santana and Brittany kiss and I miss it, I will hold my breath until I pass out!" - Me, Tuesday.

 Anyway, the cable company (I won't say their name, but it rhymes with Bombast), said they couldn't reconnect it until SUNDAY!!! Luckily, when I called the next day to harrass them a little bit and see if they could come any earlier, they found a way to get someone to our apartment on Thursday morning. After 36 hours, our cable was reconnected. The whole ordeal made me wonder how I had become someone who would make more than one call to a cable company in order to get my service restored. My guess is that years of not getting to watch episodes of South Park along with everyone else in High School is somehow at fault. But somewhere between trying to figure out how to work a dvr for the first time, and watching the American Idol results show, I pretty much went back to not caring.

xoxo
zuzu

These Are My Confessions

Friends, I have something to tell you. It's actually probably going to ruin my street cred (which  is already struggling according to recent statements from my bank). But I can't hold it in. I'll understand if you can't associate with me after I tell you this, but I am not strong enough to carry this burden on my own. So I'm going to need you to lean in really close and I'll whisper it to you...

I saw Red Riding Hood over the weekend.


Even Amanda Seyfried can't look me in the eye anymore.

 No, no! It feels good to tell you! I wish you could take away my pain, too! But there are some things no one can undo. One of those things is the existence of this film. Another of those things is the fact that I saw it. I spent about two hours after seeing the film accusing Sparks of trying to sabotage my life by suggesting we see it, but in all fairness, she also suggested we leave about 20 minutes in. Which we should have done, but I have a strict "never walk out on a movie, or stop reading a book before the end" policy. I like to think this policy is endearing and shows commitment, but, pretty much, all it really means is that I have had to force myself to watch (and read) some horrible things.


If you think sitting through this is hard, try reading the book. 

Anyhoo, back to my shame. Guys, this movie is bad. I mean really bad. My conversation with Sparks immediately following the movie went like so:

Me: That was the worst movie I've ever seen.
Sparks: Yeah, I think that might be the worst movie I've ever seen, too. It felt like I was watching a terrible high school play.
Me: I've been thinking about it for the last half of the movie as something to do to help keep my brain from dying, and I can't think of a movie worse than this movie.
Sparks: Neither can I...neither can I.

We weren't the only people that felt this way: Two rows in front of us a woman had brought her boyfriend to the film (I'm pretty sure it wasn't his idea). When the opening credits started to roll, she literally started to bounce up and down in her seat with excitement. I restrained myself from telling her that this sort of anticipatory celebration is only allowed at midnight showings on the opening day of a Harry Potter film, but within 10 minutes the film had taught her a harsher lesson than I ever could. She turned to her boyfriend at one point and said "I'm sorry."

One scene in the movie showed a young woman offering her body to the Van Helsing-esque character in the film (just like Coco Hernandez in Fame, but I cared less). A woman in the audience pointed out to us that although this display had no effect on the Gary Oldman/Van Helsing character, his African bodyguard was full on staring at the young woman in her state of undress. "Why is he looking?" She asked us. "Why do they always make the black dude a pervert?" No one answered, but we all hung our heads in shame.


It definitely couldn't be the one in the middle, Officer.

Here's my brief recap of the movie...spoiler alert! It's Twilight, except way worse (something I couldn't conceive of as possible until two days ago. In fact, I had to watch Twilight after I saw Red Riding Hood as a palate cleanser).

Mind parsley.

Okay, here are the actual spoilers: The acting is bad, the script is really bad, and her dad is the werewolf. There. Now you don't have to see it. And don't email me saying "Oh, man! I was totally going to see that movie but you ruined it for me, and now I hate you!" Hate me all you want, but as long as you live under my blog you will get spoilers by my rules...or something like that.


I'm still somewhere towards the beginning of the index, but I think I'm doing it right.
(Also, remember when everyone owned like 8 of these books? I totally miss 1997 a lot of the time.)

Invest the ten dollars you would have spent on the movie on something worthwhile, like planting some trees, or donating to the American Red Cross.

And as for you, Amanda Seyfried, come here. Take a look at yourself! You used to be so awesome!



  Exhibit A: Awesome.

 You were in Mean Girls, and Big Love, and some other stuff I never saw! And you were so good! Or maybe you weren't good, but I never actively questioned whether you were good or not before this movie, so I'm going to just assume that you were actually good. Point being, look at you now:



They dressed you up like a huge vagina, and they weren't even subtle about it.


What were you thinking?

Don't give me that look. I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure this is somehow your fault.

Let's just try to move on from this. I forgive you, okay? But one last thing, if I could just ask you to add some sort of clause to your contract stating that you won't be in a movie that features your onscreen father waking up in his own vomit ever again, I would really appreciate that.

xoxo
zuzu