Keeping Score

Thoughts From This Weekend

If you're not watching Avatar: The Last Airbender, you're missing what is possibly the greatest modern animated series on television right now. Great effects, great characters (design and acting), great animation, an epic plot, great fight sequences.

It's like Miyazaki is doing a kung-fu epic, only it's not Miyazaki, or Kung-Fu.

Chris Rock can kiss my ass, as can the Oscars. I actually stopped watching it after Best Female. I mean, first off, I didn't see any but one of the films this year (even though I'd still like to catch Aviator), and second off, it was insulting enough in years previous that they'd give the "also ran" Oscars about fifteen seconds of speech time.

Now they don't even get to take the stage?

And Hollywood wonders why people (like me) think they're elitist fuckwads?

Don't even get me started on the "technical" Oscars.

Fear Increment

Okay, so we're sitting on the couch, and Liz is all:

Liz: Fear Factor has totally gone too far now.
Steve: I don't want to hear about it. I'm eating.
Liz: They should totally make Baby Fear Factor. The first stunt would be to see if the baby would gnaw on the shiny cloth beetle wings in the cloth baby bug book.
Steve: Then the next stunt would be to see if they'd crawl off the edge of a couch or bed. Ooooh, and then they'd have to see if they could stomach pureed beef.
Liz: And then they'd get to the shocker, the one that every baby's terrified of: The trip to the baby photographer for the 9 month photo.

Riley totally wins!

It's a Jewel, Not a Diamond

I don't care if I'm blatantly ripping this theme off from Dooce.

How to Annoy Me: Work at a Jewel-Osco and pretend like my never having my "Preferred Card" is some kind of day ruining hassle on your part. Because you know what? If it's such a god-damned pain in the ass to reach over the half-foot between your hand and the register to grab the store card and scan that, then imagine the pain in my ass of having to carry your lame card around in my wallet every day, even on days when I'm not in your pathetic, low rent ghetto store.

I guess I'll just take my daily morning purchase across the street, to a store like Dominicks, who doesn't require their shoppers to carry an ID card with a bar code on it just to save twenty fucking cents on a 20 oz. carton of milk.

RockIN, apostrophe

So today I'm out getting gas for Liz's car (we had all taken her car to go out to Target for a file cabinet and diapers, oh the racy life of the married couple with children!) with Liz and the baby.

This car pulls up ultra fast to the pump kiddie-corner from us, and it's a BMW M3 (my dream car), and I can hear the music playing with the doors closed.

The license plate?

So this guy (generic brown leather jacket, jeans, baseball cap, high top basketball shoes despite the fact that his physique means he doesn't actually play basketball, in other words, 80's Van Halen Fan gear), gets out of his car, walks around to start pumping gas, and realizes that he IS NO LONGER ROCKING OUT, so he runs, and I do mean runs back to the driver's side door, and switches his keys to the ACC position, and proceeds to blare his no-name worthless 80's hair band music loud enough for the folks three blocks away to hear clearly.

I look into the car at Liz, and she's laughing hysterically in the passenger seat. She motions for me to open the door, and asks "what is he doing???"

I simply answered, "Well, he's overcomensating for something."

Go Joe!

Because my friend beat me to it, I'm stealing his image and his bandwidth.