Love and Shopping

Skot at Izzle Pfaff! wrote up a little commercial about love and gift-giving.

It prompted a comment from me on the basis of which Brenda seems to have created this truly inspiring advertisement. It's what Christmas is all about. Love, inspiration, reaching out to one another.

(By the way, I realized the other day that money could buy love. Easily. Am I the last person on earth to figure this out?)

Give, but give freely.

Our Weekend

Haircut
Chico Chocolate was getting his haircut in this old style barber shop. I waited in one of the vinyl chairs thumbing through the magazines--which ranged from Bait and Tackle to Sports Illustrated. (I finally settled on GQ, of course.) Manly man kind of place where they keep the combs in a jar of blue tinted barbicide solution that probably hasn't been changed since the depression. The owner--a portly fellow in his sixties--had set up a Christmas display in his window consisting of about 7 dancing Santas and assorted reindeer amid a pile of tinsel. His assistant, Bob, wiry, in his fifties was snipping away at the last remaining hairs of his elderly customer, who was sound asleep. I watched as Bob's previous customer, an 80 year old stroke survivor took 15 minutes to shuffle across the 20 foot length of the shop in his walker.

I had this odd sensation as the radio played forgotten '70s greatest hits while 3 of the Santas belted out "Jingle Bell Rock" a few seconds apart from each other.

It was that feeling you get when things seem so normal they become terrifying: The David Lynch feeling.

The door slammed open knocking the old man in the walker halfway across the room. He was out cold. Two men--one tall and one short--in ankle length leather trenchcoats burst into the room each holding black 9 mm pistols in both hands. Chico ducked just in time to miss the first shot but the mirror shatters. The owner crumples to the hair strewn floor. The shears went flying out of Bob's hands as the killers shot several rounds into his heart. The tall killers sees me in the corner and starts towards me but trips over the old man's walker. In that second I scoop up Bob's scissors and throw them across the room. They land in the short killer's forehead killing him instantly. Chico grabs the jar of barbicide and hurls it at the tall killer's head as he vainly struggles to get up. I grab the short one's gun and pump three rounds into his partner's skull. Chico and I stand in shock for a moment listening to the strange medley of the singing Santas.

It was a damn good haircut though.

And the other old man slept like a baby through the whole thing.

And we also watched Lord of the Rings II on DVD (Orcs are scary!) and went out for burgers and fries.

Reality, Shemality

--I think it is amazing. There seem to be an infinite number of permutations of reality TV shows. Sort of like they are reproducing and the spawn is a bit like the first one but a slightly mutated version.

--Why do they call it reality TV? What's real about it?

--(Stating the obvious) Well, they don't have paid actors and it's just some scenario. The lines aren't written down....but come to think of it I guess it isn't that different than fiction in some ways...

--No, that's not what I meant. I mean--whose reality is this? A show where people are on an island and have to vote each other off or trapped in a house with cameras on them is surreal not real.
Now Iraq...that's real. Hey, how come they can't have a reality TV show in Iraq with a Sunni, a Shiite, a Jew and Paul Bremer? That would be a great reality show!

You may scoff my friends, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time...

New Movie Rating System

I do think there needs to be a new movie rating: NP for No Pregnant Women. I.e., any movies where bad things happen to children. I always had a problem with this. The movie Rabbit Proof Fence was very affecting but I spent the next 6 months saying to my husband "Tracker's gonna get us!" and getting all teary eyed (the littlest sister looks a bit like my little sister). And now my inability to handle children in distress out of control.

"Master and Commander" was a cool action movie but husband had to put his hands over my eyes a few times and I was ready to bolt at the first child damage.

I'd like to be warned. No child was pretend harmed in the making of this film. Please, Hollywood, consider this. For my peace of mind.

On the other hand, adult bloodshed? No problem! Kill Bill did not phase me after the first 20 minutes. I did run out of the theater at one point though. "For popcorn!" I said.

Hack away at those adults but leave the little kids alone!

Think This'll Work?

I lost the watch but I still have the warranty.

Can I write to them and get a new watch based on the defect that the watch disappeared?

No, really! I don't know what happened to it. One day I had it and the next day I didn't.

Hey, it could be worth a shot.




(By the way we saw the movie 21 Grams. I think it is one of the best movies I've seen in a few years. It is relentlessly painful to watch. It is about the worst forms of suffering people can experience. Death, grief, guilt. But brilliant acting. It is not shot chronologically so you have to be patient when watching. The uncertainty of the narrative forces you to pay close attention to individual scenes and this sucked me into the story in a very intense way.)