Twisty

Superman

 

Good Idea: Heading to 10 p.m. Superman Returns preview show with Mr. Surly last night.

Bad Idea: Drinking so much caffeine to stay up that I couldn’t get to sleep until 4 a.m.

In case you’re curious (I promise. No spoilers in this whole post.):

• The movie kicked ass. I would even go so far as to call it a chick flick.
• It is very, very, very well directed.
• It’s full of subtle 70’s/80’s throwbacks. (During the right-out-of-the-80’s sequence, when the Superman theme begins to play, you get shivers.)

Also, I wound up having this whole discourse with Mr. Surly about why Superman (the character) is hot. He’s not a whiner. (Spider-Man)  He’s not all maudlin about his tortured youth. (Daredevil) He doesn’t rely on expensive gadgetry. (Batman). He doesn’t make quips before kicking bad-guy ass. (Wolverine) He’s just kind of the strong, silent and totally well-mannered type. Oh yeah, he may have to rush off to disable a nuclear device or catch some dude who fell of a skyscraper, but he still has time to hold the door for a lady. Because, at the end of the day, good manners are sexy.

The feminist in me is embarassed to say, but I still blush furiously when a fella opens my car door for me. Meow!

Rest in Peace

Rob of Gut Rumbles has passed away. I only met Rob once but feel like I’ve known him much longer, as my father spoke of him fondly and often.

I consider myself lucky to have heard soulful voice and experienced his quiet charm.

If there’s a computer in heaven, I hope he’s reading his comments. Unsurprisingly more than a few people have been touched by his passing.

Sizzling!

Whenever I put Splenda in my coffee, it sizzles.

Is that something I should, like, be worried about?

Tonight

By the by, no phone calls after 8:55 p.m. tonight, please.

It's the Alias series finale.

(Sniff.)

Diamonds Are (Not) A Girl's Best Friend

This weekend was decidedly gusty in Jersey.

How gusty was it, you ask?

It was so gusty that the umbrella was hoisted out of our brand new deck set and blew back for a return engagement, piercing the brand-new, tempered glass table, shooting several thousand, glittery glass hunks all over the damn place.

I figured one of two things would happen with all the little pieces:

• I would scoop them up
• They would fall through the slats of the deck, never to be heard from again

I was wrong.

A couple hundred of them have firmly wedged themselves right between the slats of the deck. Oh, I banged at them with all manner of chop stick and kitchen implement. Rather then coming free, they have gotten even more entrenched.

I figure I had two options:

• Go on a chopstick-wielding rampage, losing my fragile grip on sanity in the process (Bad Choice)
• Channel my inner Dr. Fad and pretend it’s purposeful (Better Choice)

So, I’ve just decided to refer to them as “Deck Diamonds.”

Who knows?

Maybe I’ll start a trend.