interlude--WHY IS EBAY LIKE CRACK?

So I'm going after more shampoo. I forgot that ebay makes me physically feel like I'm having a heart attack, waiting to be outbid.

Refresh.
So no one took me up on my offer to buy me shampoo. I've had to take matters into my own hands.
Five minutes.
Look, I don't really buy that much for myself, save the Frappacinos I indulge in pretty much every day.
Four minutes.
Yeah, I only own one pair of jeans that I wear every day.
My hands are shaking. Three minutes.
Yeah, I only have one bra. Yeah, I'm asking myself right this very minute, "Where the hell DOES all my money go?"
Because seriously, I'm not on ebay buying shampoo every day.
Two minutes.
I think I have a shopping addiction. It doesn't happen very often. Just in fits and spurts, like right now.
One minute!!!
I'm totally going after all the other bottles!!!
So I lost that one. Some ass came in at 17 seconds and took it from me!!! Well, she ended up paying a shitload for it, so there!!
Now I'm waiting around for the next one to end.
The Husband just cleaned the litter boxes, which are right aross from me. He used bleach to clean the floor, and now it's reeking of mustard gas or something. My brain is fried, my brain is fried.
Yay!!! I won!!! Funny thing is, there are five lots left, and the same five people are all bidding. It's going to come down to the wire. I have to think of things to do to kill the next twenty minutes.
Boy, I suck.

interlude--DISCONTINUE THIS, BITCH

Don't mind me. I'm just biding my time till the end of the ebay auction I'm currently engaged in. Trying to win super-sized bottles of my favorite shampoo of all time, which Bath & Body Works has so graciously chosen to stop making.

This past weekend, I bought up the last remaining stocks of the travel-size bottles at the store in the Mall on the East Side. Thirty-two bucks and a shake of The Husband's head, that earned me.
Hold on...have to refresh.
Seven minutes...I'm practically chewing my nails.
Refresh.
Earlier I was bidding against someone who would immediately jump on and bid up in really weird increments.
Refresh.
That totally seemed like I took a whole minute for that sentence, but apparently not.
Refresh.
Okay, five and a half minutes. This was really lucky: we got SLAMMED with mail today at work, because we were off for the week. So when...
Refresh.
...I should have been working, I for some reason thought of my favorite shampoo, and then looked it up on ebay...and found myself engaged in this battle of wills.
And, refresh.
GOD DAMNIT!!! Four fucking minutes!!!! This is the longest four minutes of my life.
Refresh.
The Husband's on his computer right behind me. I think he's engrossed in a game. I do not want him to know what I'm doing.
Refresh.
Two minutes. I'm going to wait this out in my other browser window. Be back in a sec.
I seriously have this bad feeling I'm going to get swiped on this.
YAY!!!! I WON!!! Now I can go was my hair with total abandon, knowing this stuff is mine, all mine.
It's rose hips and aloe, by the way. Not really all that exciting to someone who's not totally obsessed about shampoo like I am. I think I may have told you once about how The Husband complains about the vast collection I've accumulated. This stuff, though...it smells so good. I can't even describe it...you'd have to smell my head.
That sounded vaguely sexual.
So anyway, Bath and Body Works had this stuff called Botanical Nutrients which was all about the wheat germ and the patchouli. I don't know how that smells, but the rose hips and aloe is AWESOME.
They also had another line, BIO, of which their Restorative also smells awesome and also has been discontinued. There's lots on sale at ebay, as well, but they've all been bid on by the same person, who's probably just as pissed as I am, and I just spent an assload on the stuff I just won.
But, if you feel it is my destiny to be united with a few more bottles, search ebay for NEW BIO' BATH AND BODY WORKS RESTORATIVE SHAMPOO. Hint, Hint.
They all end tomorrow, by the way.
Not that you want to buy me shampoo.
I just donated my hair to cancer kids, so if you help me buy more crack--*COUGH* I mean take care of my hair, a deserving child will reap the benefits.
Ha. Don't buy me shampoo. I'm just kidding about all this.
OR AM I?!?!?!?!

review--THE MAURY POVICH SHOW

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!! I'm on vacation. I'm supposed to be moving stuff to the basement while The Husband works. I did just vacuum up a shitload of cat hair, so my allergies are making my chest hurt. This means I have to take a Benadryl and a nap with the cats. But first, I thought I'd share with you the joy of my all time favorite show, THE MAURY SHOW.

I never get to watch MAURY, even though it's on twice a day. It's on at 10am when I'm at work, and at 4pm before I get home. So it's the greatest thing in the world when I'm sick or on vacation because I can catch up.
The MAURY show really doesn't have much in the way of creative show ideas. There're basically seven types of shows that are in repeat ad nauseum:
1) I'm fat/a midget/black/albino/without arms and I'm in love with a skinny person/tall person/white person/normally colored person/person with arms. Aren't we a novelty!!!
2) I have a secret crush on a guy who hated me when I was a fat nerd but now I"m a skinny slut so I want a second chance at love!!!!
3) I have a kid and I need to test fifteen guys to find out who the father is!!!
4) My infant weighs 150 pounds because all he'll eat are chicken wings and pizza!!!!
5) I'm a singing kid!!!! I"m cute!!!!
6) I have no arms/no legs/progeria/a feeding tube/a colostomy bag/a hang nail that has made my life a living hell!!!! But I'm persevering!!!! I need a makeover!!!!
7)I'm ten and I want to have a baby!!! I have sex 300 times a day because I want a baby!!! My mom sucks ass!!!
Number seven is currently on the air. I can't decide which is my favorite: the girls who want a baby NO MATTER WHAT, or the women who are 150% sure this guy IS THE FATHER while he's 300% sure SHE WAS SLEEPING WITH MY BROTHER.
On today's show, a girl made the enlightened observation that she's only going to have sex with older men, because "They make the mad money and can afford child support because I sure as HELL ain't gonna work!!!"
I especially love the ones who've evolved enough in their pursuit that they've begun taking money for the sex, because then not only do they get sex and the chance for a baby, but hey, I gotcha money!!! HEY!!!! But, by god don't call them prostitutes. Because they aren't prostitutes. Well, okay, yeah, maybe we are, but we love sex and are trying to have a baby!!! We need money for nice clothes!!!!
"YOU DON'T KNOW ME!!!" No...you're right. We don't. Who are we to judge a 12 year old who so desperately wants a baby you'll DO ANYTHING!!!
Quote of the day: "I don't know why she wants to have a baby, she can't even make herself a bowl of cereal."
Thank god D is on the case. D is a "motivational speaker" and an enormous bald man who yells a lot. He takes the girls to prison where female inmates yell at them and then the girls magically change their slutty ways. He gives them borrowed infants so they can see how much having a baby sucks ass, and secretly they deep down don't want to take care of a baby as much as they want one, because they thought that after they had the baby their mom would end up taking care of it anyway, so now that they know THAT'S not going to happen they'll NEVER have sex again!!! So you get unbridled hoe-ness and sweet redemption in one episode. It's awesome.
I just reread this entry, and it sounds really mean. It's not meant to be. Because MAURY gives me a lot of pleasure. Even though I should probably feel like a horrible person for feeling that way.
The moral is we shouldn't take pleasure in other people's misfortunes.
I feel like I missed out on a whole world of adolescence that I could have had, had I not been a fat, nerdy, goody-two-shoes.

review--Michael Flatley's CELTIC TIGER

No, it's not a movie. Yes, I know what you're thinking. Kelmeister, you're thinking, WTF? What is CELTIC TIGER? And more importantly, why? Allow me to explain.

Take a seat while I explain a little something to you. Every year, your local PBS station does what is called a "Pledge Drive." On the surface it's little more than an attempt to collect monies from viewers to supplement the meager funds supplied by the government. In reality, it's an insidious plot by the Illuminati to brainwash the nation's middle-aged and eldery into spending their hard-earned money on carefully constructed "talent" created in part so that Middle America believes it's being exposed to "culture." This occurs every year in waves, which if you pay careful attention to the morning news you will soon be able to decipher. Riverdance was probably the first big phenom to come from PBS fundraisers; other notables are Andrea Bocelli (otherwise known as "Blind Opera Guy"), Josh Groban, Sarah Brightman...you see where I'm going with this. These people appear in concert on PBS and for a pledge at the $125 level you can get a copy of the companion DVD.
My parents LOVE these people.
But, going back in the Wayback Machine...poor, dear Father. When I was younger, The Father was forced to drive me and my friends all over Hell and back, usually Cleveland and Cincinnati, to see various incarnations of Duran Duran. The Father would usually wait in the car. Not because of me, mind you!!! I wasn't so bad a child that I would force The Father to excise himself from my sight so I Would Not Be Embarrassed To Be Seen With My Father. No, he pretty much hated Duran Duran and didn't want to be bothered and preferred to nap. This went on until Kelmeister entered college. By then I could drive myself. By then, The Parents preferred that I drive.
By then, payback.
Yes, kiddies, I found myself in an unenviable position: I had to drive THE PARENTS to SHOWS. See, this is the thing: when you're young, and you're bouncing off the walls and climbing all over the furniture and you won't go to bed when you're supposed to and you and The Brother are beating the shit out of one another in the living room The Parents have a tendency to utter the following curse in an attempt to calm you down:
I HOPE YOU HAVE KIDS WHO ARE JUST LIKE YOU.
What Karma and God don't tell you is that there's a secret inverse to this curse that also goes into effect at the same time:
I HOPE I TURN INTO YOU WHEN YOU'RE MY AGE.
And you know what? It happens. Seriously. One day, you're driving yourself and some friends two hours away to Nine Inch Nails; next thing you know, you're escorting The Mother to see Michael Crawford sing a tribute to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Payback.
Okay, God Damnit. I ENJOY GOING TO THESE FUCKING THINGS WITH MY PARENTS. Are you satisfied?
Once, The Mother and I went to see a production of Love's Labours Lost. We had to leave during the first act because we couldn't stop laughing. We also saw Blind Opera Guy.
But The Father and I have a tradition all our own: We bond over Michael Flatley. I think it started with RIVERDANCE. I'll admit, watching it on PBS during a Pledge Drive with The Father. Thinking the music was so amazingly alive. Thinking Michael Flatley was kind of hot, and Jean Butler was so beautiful. I admit I cried at the end. So it seemed only appropriate that when it came to town we'd go see it. And when Flatley came through with LORD OF THE DANCE and FEET OF FLAMES it made sense for us to go together to see them.
You know, at the end of FEET OF FLAMES, Michael Flatley danced real fast and there was smoke coming out of the floor and IT WAS JUST LIKE HIS FEET WERE ACTUALLY ON FIRE. It was pretty cool.
*cough*
So anyway, it's more about spending some quality alone time with The Father. And making fun of people who are at CELTIC TIGER, because in actuality, we're way cooler than the other people there because we're there IRONICALLY. Because really, these shows are starting to get kind of repetitive. Here is an ACTUAL EXCHANGE The Father and I had at the intermission of CELTIC TIGER:
The Father: You know, some of this music...I think they just changed a couple of measures or something from the other shows.
Me: I warned you going in...when I saw part of this on PBS, it was the exact same thing as last time.
The Father: It's like FEET OF FLAMES Part 2.
Me: No, it's more like FEET OF FLAMES version 1.2.
The Father: Critical update 1 for FEET OF FLAMES.
Me: More like a patch.
The Father: Critical Service Pack 1 for FEET OF FLAMES.
Me: This would be Critical Service Pack 2. FEET OF FLAMES was Service Pack 1 for LORD OF THE DANCE, so this is Service Pack 2.
The Father: [laughter]
Me: It removes a trojan virus installed in the program which made you think you were watching something completely different from the last show you went to.
As The Father said as he dropped me off (I would have driven, as is required in these situations, but The Husband needed the car to visit His Boyfriend), this is more about Being Together and The Power of Love and We Should Really Do This More Often. Which we should. But Michael Flatley's only one man. And there are only so many PBS specials. And The Parents went to Sarah Brightman of their own accord.
OH!!! So you want to know about the show!!! Well, the first half was A Brief History Of Ireland. Much Like LORD OF THE DANCE and FEET OF FLAMES. Only this time, Michael Flatley, acting as a modern day St. Patrick, drove the British from Ireland with the Power of His Dance. Did you know West Side Story is actually a retelling of the Irish Rebellion against British Tyranny? I didn't know that either. So there was dancing and some guy sang a song and it sort of reminded me of American Idol for some reason. And then there was this really awesome part where the British troops burned down a cottage and there were flying dead Irish baby spirits. It was AWESOME.
The second act, everybody came to America and became gangsters. And Michael Flatley's feet were aflame, and some chick was wearing an American Flag bikini. The BEST PART was this celebration of everything that makes America Great. All the things terrorists hate: eagles, and the Statue of Liberty, and cheerleaders, and football players, and more cheerleaders, and another eagle, and a seedy roadside motel, and disadvantaged black youth playing basketball and more football and cheerleaders and THE FLAG!!! And YAY AMERICA!!! And then there was more dancing, and some explosions but no one died because an angel came down from Heaven and brought all the soldiers and Irish rebels back to life, and that biniki chick again, and Yankee Doodle Dandy. THE END.
It was EXACTLY LIKE the other two shows, only this time there were more American flags. It was very silly. But I bought a copy of soundtrack (some of the songs would be awesome for mixes because it's lots of Gregorian chanting and beatboxing) which I am listening to right now so I may better convey to you the beauty and power of this spectacle. And I also bought a t-shirt for The Best Friend's birthday, because I know he'll totally kill me, and that's what birthday presents are all about: embarrassing your friends.
So it's late. The Husband will be home soon, reeking of cigarettes and barbeque sauce. But before I go...
Dad, I had an awesome time. Next time Charlotte Chruch is in town, WE ARE SO THERE!!!!

review--LEGION OF THE DEAD

SPOILERS!!!

I know what I promised. No more bad movies. But the box was SO COOL. And the movie starred Zach Galligan from GREMLINS and Bruce Boxleitner from BABYLON 5. And its title cooed LEGIONS OF THE DEAD.

Alas, it was not to be.

LEGION OF THE DEAD is about Egyptian vampire mummies in Los Angeles. I know what you're thinking. Kelmeister, you are saying to yourself, isn't the defining characteristic of Egyptian vampire mummies the fact that they are found in Egypt? Well, yes, you could think that. But I bet you'd be surprised to know there are ACTUAL DOCUMENTED THEORIES that the Egyptians had a Trans-Atlantic trade route to the Americas, which conveniently took them by Atlantis. See, ACTUAL REAL-LIFE SCIENTISTS have done studies on mummies and found chemical evidence of plants indigenous only to the Western Hemisphere during the time of the Egyptian Empires. Sound too good to be true? It probably is, but I found it on the internets, so I'm sticking with that as an explanation. So anyway, the Egyptians...they're coming over here and tradin' and tradin' and some stayed they liked it so much and they became the Aztecs. But others thought North America sucked ass, and so they would send the worst people over here to suffer and die. One such person was Aneh-Tet, who did some stuff that probably involved little to no clothing, so she was banished to the LA area, where a tomb was built for her and she was locked in, vowing to return and command both the living and the dead.
Enter Zach Galligan, who has apparently not learned to NEVER FEED THEM AFTER MIDNIGHT. He's a lecherous professor of Archaeology who's discovered Aneh-Tet's underground tomb and is excavating it with some of his Dressed-Improperly-for-Archaeological-Digs graduate sluts-I mean students. One is Molly, a beautiful girl trying too hard to look like a nerd, especially considering she's slept with every guy at the dig...abet drunkenly, as she so delicately puts it. She's a specialist in reading hieroglyphics. Then there's this Australian actor playing a French archaeologist, and he's smarmy enough that you know he's totally going to ressurrect the Egyptian chick. And then there's the dude love with Molly, and Bruce Boxleiter's a cop with a kick ass jacket who knows way too much about dating DNA samples. And there's face melting, and spines being ripped out, and the dead being raised, and boobies. And some virgins were sacrificed. And lots of people die and come back to life. And The Husband and I were in it!! Or at least our car was. THE END.
First, I feel the need to reveal to you that the copy we had was fucked up. And I don't mean the movie itself; there was something wrong with the disc that caused lots of fits and starts and pixilated greenness. So we had to switch DVD players to try and overcome our technical difficulties, and this caused us to miss what were, I suppose, critical plot points of the film. LIke why the hell Molly and Chump-boy went out, broke up, stopped speaking to each other, and wanted to get back together in the first place. Also, people we'd never seen before had a bad habit of dying and then showing up dead, and we had no clue who they were or what function they served in the film. Also, Aneh-Tet's powers of evil had an annoying way of changing their modus operandi, so at one point people could be killed just by having her look at them askance, and other times she'd actually have to touch them. And sometimes touching them would kill them instantly, and other times people pertinent to the plot would be able to get away for a few minutes.
Even despite these tiny quibbles with the script, two points stuck out glaringly:
1) How many women did they have to hire to suck Bruce Boxleitner's dick to get him to appear in this movie? and
2) Can you call your henchmen of undead a "legion" if there are only six of them?
See, I can understand Zach Galligan, maybe. I mean, when all you can think of to distinguish him from all the other pasty-faced actors you haven't heard of since the 80s is "Hey, he was in GREMLINS," I can expect him to show up in a shitty movie such as this. But Boxleitner? CAPTAIN SHERIDAN!?!?! Say it ain't so!
The Husband and I decided the filmmakers gave him his kick ass jacket, and the sunglasses, and the cowboy hat...and probably also the prop cell phone. And he didn't have to die until the end of the movie.
And also, the LEGION OF THE DEAD was only six dead people. I don't know if I should feel cheated, or send the filmmakers an Texas Instruments calculator.
Oh...on a final note I should point out that LEGION OF THE DEAD was brought to you by the production winners who also made JOLLY ROGER. So I should have known. I really, really should have known.
The preview for FRANKENSTEIN REBORN looked kick ass.
And now I'm off to see SERENITY!!! You should go too, so they make more Serenity movies and I'm a happy camper.

review--SUPERNATURAL

SPOILERS!!!

So the WB, in its infinite wisdom, has posted the pilot episode of its new series SUPERNATURAL on Yahoo. This is an ingeneous idea long awaited by moi. After all, I can't be bothered to actively seek out TV shows to download and watch during lunch. I like to be handed crap on a silver platter. So in what is a rare occurance, I've actually seen something before you have, and I'm going to tell you about it.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you SUPERNATURAL!!!

Let me begin by saying that SUPERNATURAL will be airing opposite HOUSE on Tuesday nights. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Okay, so...SUPERNATURAL. Here's the plot: two dudes, Brother #1 and Brother #2 (okay, it's Dean and Sam) loose their mother when they are both very young. She dies when she sees some guy in Sam's room and then next thing you know she's on the ceiling and she's been stabbed and then she bursts into flames. On the ceiling. So Sam and Dean's dad spends the rest of his life trying to find the "thing" that killed her, dragging his two sons along on his "hunting expeditions." Now they're adults, and Dad's missing, and Sam just wants to go to law school. And Dean's kind of an ass, and they lovingly call each other "bitch" and tell each other to "shut your cakehole." And they're chasing after a ghost, and I think that's Steve Railsback making a guest appearance, and then sucked into hell and more bursting into flames, and Sam gives up the Good Life to go trolling on the highway with Dean, looking for Dad.
First, lots of people who worked on the X-Files worked on this show. It looks like it too: I could barely see what was going on. SUPERNATURAL exists in that America where Daytime never happens.
Second, it's written by the dude who wrote BOOGEYMAN. Did I tell you about Boogeyman? It was shitty. Xena's in it. Not much, though. So the show's kind of like I WISH I WAS ANGEL, BUT I'M ACTUALLY MORE LIKE WALKING TALL BUT WITH ANNOYING COLLEGE KIDS.
Here's the problem: Sam's way too ernest. From the beginning of the show he's whining about how he wants a "normal life," but we're never shown how fucked up his upbringing actually was. It's hinted about, what with guns in the trunk and the incessant bickering and the credit card fraud. But look, his dad keeps a copy of a photo of the three of them with him all the time even though they long ago stopped speaking to one another so he must still really love them even though Sam hates him for ruining his life, oh and by the way Dad's a raging alcoholic, too, just for good measure, but boy does it feel good to be back in the hunt and I guess I acutally do have long suppressed feelings of love and respect for Dad but I still need to go to Law School and Have A Normal Life.
Oh, Sam, Sam...have you not learned? NEVER turn your back on Family. To do so means the show is over, and that can't possibly happen so instead your girlfriend is going to die EXACTLY LIKE YOUR MOTHER DID and now your murderous revenge dovetails nicely with your brother's and father's and you go off to find Dad because now That's All That Matters.
I don't even remember his girlfriend's name. Hmm.
For some bizarre reason, this year's new Fall season is all about space aliens and ghosts. What's that all about? Think we'd forgotten The X-Files so soon? Trying to capture lightening in a bottle? Try to capture this and see where it gets you.
So what else did I want to say? THe special effects are kind of cool. It's just...remember back in the 80s there was this glut of shows about people wandering around searching for stuff? Incredible Hulk jumps to mind (I know that was the 70s) and The Phoenix and Starman and crap like that? SUPERNATURAL is going to be just like that. Only they're looking for their mother's killer AND their dad, so I guess that means the plots are limitless.
"Well, gots to move on to another town."
That's what this show is going to end up being. Maybe I judge too soon: TV Guide practically orgasmed over it, if I remember correctly.
The other thing that bugs me, though, is that it tries to be all down with the paranormal lingo, and instead they end up randomly pulling things out of their asses and out of Google searches with no context or explanation. That's annoying. I know they're supposed to be all "knowledgeable" and whatnot, and that Sam's really good at hunting ghosts even if he wishes he wasn't, but instead of making him look like he's found his true calling he looks like he's making shit up. Which he probably is.
So, yeah, this show's not much to write home about. Maybe it'll pick up; who knows? Not me. I'll be waiting around for my Naked Hugh Laurie Episode of House.
LL Cool J's on the season premiere, Tuesday 13th at 9:00pm on Fox.
I wanted to end this with something funny but I can't think of anything.

review--MIKE NELSON SHOCKS THE BOX

I'm...dying...

Seriously, I'm totally not long for this world. I just met God...I have no reason to continue on. Also, I think I'm never going to wash my right hand, so I will probably get ebola or flesh eating disease or something, so even if you think I'm being way too dramatic with the declaring my death and all, you'll be sorry if I get something you get from feces or something...

I shook Mike Nelson's hand. And I talked to him. And I watched him be funny. And it was awesome. I also cried a little bit, but I did not pee my pants. So I can die happy.

Wait, Nelson? That 80s hair band? NO, ASS. MICHAEL J. NELSON. Trapped on the Satellite of Love. With the robots. Mystery Science Theater 3000? Just THE GREATEST TELEVISION SHOW EVER, EVEN MORE THAN THE X-FILES AND POSSIBLY HOUSE, BUT HOUSE HAS ONLY BEEN ON ONE SEASON SO IT COULD GET EVEN BETTER LIKE WHEN THEY HAVE THAT EPISODE WHERE HUGH LAURIE IS NAKED THROUGH THE WHOLE THING.
Close your eyes, Dear Reader, and let me take you back, back in time to 1993...Big K Kollege on Top of the Hill, where the men were men and the women wore patchouli. Well, the guys wore it too, but I digress. Friends of Kelmeister weren't exactly the most, shall we say, studious? We got our shit done, but it was a trial. Take for example, MST3K. Every weeknight, midnight. Comedy Central. All work stopped. No matter how many papers you had to do, how many exams you had the next day, everyone gathered around the TV as though it were the middle of a blizzard and Manos: The Hands of Fate was a roaring fire. And considering it was the Big K Kollege on Top of the Hill, that's pretty much the God's honest truth about the situation. Because winters sucked ass. K KOLLEGE IS A WALKING CAMPUS. Anyway, many an evening was spent laughing along with Mike and Tom and Crow, and sometimes Joel. And when it wasn't on TV, we'd recite snappy dialogue amongst ourselves like we were Hailing Mary. I even used this pithy exchange as my senior quote...
Joel: Okay, and what do you want for Christmas, Crow?
Crow: I want the power to decide who lives and who dies!
Joel: Oh, I don't know about that.
I still giggle when I read that. Hey, it was either that, or a quote from Kundera's The Farewell Party, or Faulkner's Light in August. I didn't want to seem too high brow.
Winter Break of 94, I stayed on campus. I had somehow managed to commandeer the dorm's TV/VCR combo, and I began what would become a dangerous trend: I would fall asleep watching tapes of MST3K.
So here it is, over ten years later. The Husband can attest to the fact that I've become somewhat of a chronic insomniac. It could be because of the massive amounts of Prozac I consume. It could be all the tea I drink. Most likely it's all the naps I take during the day...the heart of the matter is that I have a very difficult time getting to sleep at night. If I've got bad allergies I'll take a Benadryl and off to Sleepy Land I go. If it's been a few days and I've not slept at all to the point that my driving is impaired and I scrape the side of the car on a pole at the drive-up ATM, I'll take a Unisom. In every case, drugs or no drugs, I have to have MST3K playing in the background or I still can't get to sleep. I don't know if it's the flickering light from the TV, or the warm dulcet tones of Mike and the Bots bantering back and forth, but it always works like a charm. The Jack Frost episode is the best, followed by The Day the Earth Froze and the Magic Voyage of Sinbad. Also Time Chasers is really awesome. Pod People is my favorite episode to watch when not trying to go to sleep.
So anyway, this morning The Husband and I were getting ready to go to work when The Husband realized he'd forgotten to get his Important Paperwork. I waited in the car listening to NPR (Yes, I listen to NPR, fuck you.). And who is the hometown reporter interviewing but MICHAEL J. NELSON from MST3K!!! He's in town!! And performing live!!! And we missed the first performance but they've added a second show!!! I'M SO FUCKING GOING!!!
I called The Husband after I got to work to see if he'd want to go. Tickets are $30. THIRTY DOLLARS he says. Well, we could get the super special reserved seats for $300, and that includes a bottle of champagne and a picture with MIKE NELSON. We don't drink, The Husband reminds me. It's a picture with MIKE NELSON I stress, in case he missed it the first time. You didn't spend $300 to see Duran Duran even though you could, he reminds me. Yeah, I say, but we'll get our picture with MIKE NELSON. So, The Husband opts for the only true action available to him, which is to sigh and say "whatever." So I got three tickets, in case The Brother, who also Bows at the Altar of MIKE NELSON, would want to go. But he didn't so The Mother went instead.
So MIKE NELSON appeared with Shadowbox Cabaret at Easton. They performed a MIKE NELSON original, and at the end of the show he sang a song about me, called Sci Fi Girl, in which he compared my eyes to Agent Scully's which was CRAZY because X-files was like my all-time favorite show when I still had enough disposable income to waste on David Duchovny magazines. As you well know. MIKE NELSON also appeared in other sketches; one of which that he wasn't in was this awesome parody of the Maury Povich show, which is my Favorite Show of All Time, but only when they're doing the paternity test shows or the lie detector shows, because the shows where they have you guess if it's a man or a woman and the ones where the sexy secret crushes are revealed are really boring.
After the show we got a free poster to have autographed by MIKE NELSON, even though we didn't pay the $300 admission, which was awesome. The Mother had hers autographed for The Brother, and The Husband had his autographed for His Co-Worker Who Also Likes MST3K. I was all atwitter. I couldn't think of anything to say. I wanted to tell MIKE NELSON that I loved him, that The Best Friend and I had fantasized on dark stormy nights at K Kollege that we'd drive to Minnesota and apply to be interns with Best Brains, Inc., and they would love us and make us interns and then they'd realize how insane we were with the pop culture knowledge and we'd get writing jobs on the show and then eventually we'd be on TV and it would be the GREATEST JOB EVER. Because we'd be working with Crow T. Robot and Tom Servo and Gypsy, and they're like my imaginary best friends even though they're puppets. Or what about that time I had really incredibly bad food poisoning at school, and I was projectile vomiting, and I thought I was dying, but I didn't have the TV/VCR combo in my room so I couldn't watch my tapes, and in my delirium I called home and told my mom I wanted to watch TV because MST3K always made me feel better and she and my dad came to school to take me to the emergency but I totally never got to watch MST3K? Or how much The Husband hates having to put up with me falling asleep to the Sci Fi Channel years of the show, because when I taped them I would change the channels during the commercials, so it's like getting a view into my twisted psyche but at the same time it's really fucking annoying because you're watching a tape and you still have to suffer through me fucking with the remote?
But now. This is how the exchange went:
Me: Duh, uhh. Ummm, ah *Shoves poster at MIKE NELSON* Can I shake your hand? *Shakes hand (MIKE NELSON'S hand was sweaty with a firm grip)* Uh, I can't think of anything witty to say.
MIKE NELSON *impressed, points at me*: THAT was really good!!!
Me: Duh, uhh, ummm, ah. I wanted to tell you that I have chronic insomnia, and the only thing I can fall asleep to is MST3K.
MIKE NELSON: You're kidding?
Me: No, seriously, I have the 93 Turkey Day on tape, and I have to put it on a loop to play or else I can't get to sleep. Jack Frost is my favorite to fall asleep to.
MIKE NELSON: You've got to be kidding.
Me: No, really. Uhh, umm *shaking like a leaf, walks off*
So that was my meeting with MIKE NELSON. The Mother later said it looked like I'd made his night, and wondered why I just didn't take tea with him considering how long I was up there. The Husband teased me for tearing up. But it's been a long time since I've met anyone famous, ie someone on TV who makes shitloads more than me and whom people recognize on the street. I can't even remember the last famous person I met. Did I meet Nick Hornby? I don't think I did. I'm usually to scared to talk to them.
God, you know I'm totally like that Saturday Night Live skit with Chris Farley (God Bless Him) where he'd interview famous people and all the questions would be like, "Um, Mr. DeNiro, you remember in that movie TAXI DRIVER, where you were like, 'are you looking at me? are you looking at me?' That was awesome."
Although I did force my way back to meet Warren Zevon (God Bless Him) way back in the day. I was totally in love with this Asshole who was in love with Warren Zevon, so we went to see Zevon and Asshole was totally all over my friend the whole time at the show. And I promised the Asshole that I could get him back to meet Zevon and I did. And then I went to say hi to Zevon and I said, "Mr. Zevon, I've only been a fan of yours for like three months, but I think you're really awesome." And Zevon said, "Three months is a really long time."
And it is.
So it's now Midnight. I'm going to go wash my hand because unfortunately OCD trumps MIKE NELSON every time. I can hear The Husband snoring. So I'm off to bed.
No tapes for me tonight; I'll just replay the real thing in my head.

review--JOLLY PIRATE: MASSACRE AT CUTTER'S COVE

SPOILERS!!!

Okay, look. It's time to be serious. This isn't a laughing matter.

I don't know if this experiment in terror The Husband and I are engaged in is working out. I mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that I've lost so much time...we may need to rethink this. It seemed like so much fun at first, but instead it's led to pain and disappointment, anger and sadness, frustration and lost dollars. People have gotten hurt. We've hurt each other, again and again...this wasn't what I signed on for. I knew going in that it would be tough, that we'd have to work together to get through--to be happy. But I can't do it. I can't pretend anymore. I just...can't. I didn't mean for this to happen, for things to turn out the way they have. But at the same time I can't take any of it back, so I can't really say I'm sorry. I don't have any regrets, but I can't keep doing this.

JOLLY PIRATE: MASSACRE AT CUTTER'S COVE was the final straw. No more shitty movies on purpose.

See, part of the inspiration for this was competition with The Brother. He and The Brother's Best Friend are always bragging about the crap they watch. NO FAIR, I say, I WANT TO WATCH SHIT, TOO, so The Husband and I haul ass to Blockbusters and actively search it out. This used to lead to a few diamonds in the rough, a few gems that would provide hours of enjoyment at a later time, as you recounted both the movie and the shitty viewing experience to friends, reliving that terrible time. But I don't know what's happened: either the movies have gotten shittier, or we've lost our touch when it comes to picking them out. Case in point, tonight's winner: JOLLY PIRATE: MASSACRE AT CUTTER'S COVE.
Problem #1 is that new technology means the golden days of crappy shitty video filmed in someone's backyard are GONE...now that everyone has access to a digital camera, every piece of shit film LOOKS like it was crapped from Spielberg's ass. There was a certain, oh, jah nah say quaw about them, an innocence and ignorance that was charming; we all wanted to be filmmakers, and boy did we try. But it still looked like shit, but hey, at least they tried. Now, because it looks like a Hollywood movie, your brain is tricked into thinking it IS a Hollywood movie, so when it sucks ass it sucks all the harder. This also applies to actual Hollywood films being released today, only they've wasted way more money making that shit happen.
Problem #2 is that the dudes in charge of the script had never seen an episode of CSI, CSI:NEW YORK, CSI: MIAMI, LAW & ORDER ad nauseum, et cetera. The coroner was a boob. Seriously, he comes into a crime scene. The cop asks for approximate time of death. The coroner looks at the body sans head and says, "It's hard to say. The body lost all its blood. I don't know how long that takes." The Husband, who cares not a whit about such things, knew enough to scream at the TV "basal body temperature." Thank God the coroner was there at the end of the film to see a gunshot victim and be able to surmise, "It may be fatal."
Problem #3 was that this movie was just simply ass.
I should probably tell you what the film's about, in case you're curious. The movie opens with teens having a cookout/sex on a beach. Lameass Jock and Whore go off to have sex, but they are not horny enough to not stop and check out the pirate chest that's washed up on the beach. Opening the chest unleashes the undead pirate Jolly Roger, who proceeds to go on a murderous rampage, chopping off the heads of the ancestors of his crew, who years ago mutinied against him and killed him and stole his treasure. Our intrepid heroes are teen couple Goody-Goody Schoolgirl and Hoodlum With A Past. He's afraid the cops are going to pin these murders on him, because he "had a run-in with the law" many years ago, apparently for robbing a 7-11 while dressed as a pirate. Strippers are killed, a guy is beaten to death with his own severed arm, the mayor is killed even though she "puts up a fight" which is French for "runs right into the sword," and everyone lives Happily Ever After, except that they don't because the pirate totally comes back from the dead a second time to kill all the losers who are left. THE END.
We should have known we were in trouble when the movie began with Goody-Goody Schoolgirl and Hoodlum With A Past having a fight because she had their whole lives planned out even though they'd only been dating two months, because he was going to go with her to State but he hates school and wants to travel for a few months and what, do you want to see other people? Seriously, no, because I love you but I hate math, so here's my class ring that my mom bought me, I never wear it because I hate it and I don't like to wear jewelry because it messes up my hoodlum reputation to wear rings, but I want you to have it as a token of my love. God, you just don't get it, do you?
I get it, Goody-Goody Schoolgirl, oh how I do. It all became clear to me when you and Hoody broke out of jail to head to the high school so you could use the computers to Google "homicidal dead pirate." I got it when the secretary of the dude getting his head lopped off into a fish tank was typing up a memo using only the function keys on her keyboard. I got it when your friend, right before he died, cooked hot dogs over the campfire until they were burnt, and he tried to convince you they were still good to eat, but I can see why you weren't fooled: he totally pretended to take a bite out of that hot dog.
So I think this signals the end of The Husband's and my quest to find the shittiest movies ever and watch them. It's just too painful and time-consuming and fruitless. I've only shared this with you out of frustration; I've spared you the recaps of KOBOLOS and THE INCUBUS starring John Cassavetes and some other stuff that was so bad I can't remember it off the top of my head. Oh, God was THE INCUBUS weird. My whole life I'd wanted to see it, and I finally watch it and it's all weird violent rape and people talking about the number of sperm and the main character's got this weird incestuous vibe with his teenaged daughter. Maybe I will tell you about it some time, because it was that fucked up.
But that's that. From now on, I think we will try our damnedest to only watch GOOD MOVIES. No more of this shit on purpose. LIfe's too short. So with that, expect reviews of such films as...I can't think of anything off the top of my head. But I really mean it, better movies...yeah.
Right after we finish watching ASYLUM OF THE DAMNED.
Hey, we paid for it already...we might as well go ahead and watch it.

review--The New Look Of My Blog

So what do you think? I love it. I think it's much more polished and professional looking.

But you'll have to thank the people at Movable Type and my host, Gigamatt, for that, because I'm an incompetent boob when it comes to fucking with blog templates. Fucking up? That's another story.

So Movable Type released a new release, and fortunately for me I guess the default is the brand spankin' new blue thing you see here. It is really cool. Of course, I just spent a half hour trying to find something even more spectacular in another color, but couldn't figure it out so I'm sticking with this. I did take a semester of HTML at school, but the extent of my retained knowledge is the kick ass picture of the angry puppy in the corner.
And if it looks familiar, yes, I do occasionally post comments to the House MD fan fiction forums on Live Journal.
I am teh lame.
So I hope you like the new layout, and that it's easier for you to read, and that its beauty and simplicity mezmerize you into thinking I'm far more witty than I actually am. That would be kick ass.
Think of the marketing: TURN EVEN YOUR MOST PATHETIC DRABBLE INTO RUMIATIONS ON PAR WITH WILDE AND PARKER! UPGRADE TO MOVABLE TYPE 3.2 NOW!
Leave a comment about when I can expect my spokesman checks.

review--HAMMERFALL

So, it's true, dearest kiddies...I am a virgin no more. I have "popped my cherry."

I have attended my first power metal show.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Kelmeister, you're saying to yourself, you like Duran Duran. Power Metal? What the fuck's up with that? Well, The Brother is into crazy metal shit where they make these albums where all the songs are based on Lord of the Rings and the people dress up like they're in a Renaissance festival and it's all crazy metal shit. And I was driving past The College Concert Venue and saw that Hammerfall was coming and I thought to myself, Hey, that's one of those crazy metal bands The Brother likes. So I threw him an email and sure enough, he was psyched. And he asked if I wanted to come. And I thought, Hey, The Brother and I rarely do anything together that doesn't envolve movies or British television shows. So, I went.
Let me begin by saying that I really wanted to go because The College Concert Venue was renovated earlier in the year and I hadn't been yet to see what they did. The Husband remarked that he hoped it no longer smelled like pee. Ah, will he be disappointed! Not only did it smell like pee, but there was no soap in the bathroom (the men's room was apparently missing soap AND toilet paper) and when I went a second time to pee, three of the five toilets were filled with poop. It was crazy disgusting.
What I don't understand: How does something like that happen? Do you poop, and then you're afraid you pooped too much and you might clog the toilet so you leave it for the next person to flush so it backs up on them? Were you so drunk you forgot to flush, because no matter how drunk I've been, I always managed to take a shower and remove and clean my contacts when I got home, so how you'd forget something as automatic as flushing.... Or are you just really, really nasty? I wish someone would explain this to me. Also, you think it's usually the men who do shit like that (no pun intended) but actually I think women are fifty million times dirtier than men.
So anyway, back to the show. Power metal is really weird. I like metal, but I like shitty metal. At least this is what people tell me. I like stuff like Sabbath and AC/DC. I also like Powerman 5000 and System of a Down. I heart rap metal most. Because there's nothing like driving down the street in your Hyundai, a white woman screaming SHIT NIGGA FUCKIN' BITCH PUSSY at the top of your lungs. It's very liberating and life affirming.
Power metal isn't really my thing. To me, it's always been crazy operatic orchestrations and effeminate screaming. And it's totally like that in real life, too. But there's something really headbangingly awesome about it.
Here's the thing: I think it sucks on record, but live it's tons of fun.
Into Oblivion was the first band out, and they were pretty cool. Their music flirted close to the edge of sounding like Stabbing Westward in places, and I approved.
Edguy was the next one up. The lead singer made a joke about the opening of one of their songs sounding like Europe's Final Countdown, but the joke was on them: All of their stuff sounded like Europe's Final Countdown. The BEST was that half the crowd left after they were over. WTF? But they were fun, in a totally cheesy Europe's Final Countdown kind of way.
Note to self: make sure I have Europe's Final Countdown in my iTunes shopping cart.
Finally, the headliners, Hammerfall. The lead singer was a hottie. Willem Defoe played bass. They were cheesy, but they revelled in their cheese, the lead singer saying at one point that life reminded him of 1985, only now they were old enough to go to titty bars. And I think that was the main thing of the evening: These guys were just a little more hardcore than Jon Bon Jovi. Seriously, Bon Jovi, Extreme, Warrant...all rolled into one. With faster guitar licks.
I had a lot of fun. Some random guy high-fived me at the end of the evening, in his unadulterated joy. And there was lots of crazy air guitar happening. Not enough SHIT NIGGA FUCKIN' BITCH PUSSY for my taste. But then I probably would have gotten my ass kicked or something. Metal and no cursing. WTF? Throwing around the devil horns and no cursing?