PunkKittyDiddy

Adventures in Netflixing: "Friday the 13th" (2009)

Again, I do lower the bar when watching horror movies.  I really do.  I was even willing to bury the bar in the backyard and forget all about it when I realized this was produced by Michael Bay.  Sure, I would run the risk of the dog one day digging up the bar, and bringing it to me, and shaming me with the reminder that I once had standards. I was OK with that.

But why did these characters have to spew dialogue like, "Where are you, gun?!" 

I somehow managed to piece together what that character's motivation was as soon as he dropped the gun into the stream. I'm clever like that.  And even if I weren't, by process of elimination, I would have eventually come to realize that he was dipping his hands into the water to retrieve the gun, as it certainly didn't seem like a good time to stop running through the woods and splash some cold, refreshing water on his face.......what with that machete-wielding, hockey-mask-wearing guy in close pursuit and all.

Did he have to address the gun?  Did he, really?

I can't say why those four words pushed me over the edge, when there were so many other painful sequences of verbiage to suffer through.  I was (inexplicably) otherwise on board throughout the pageant of heaving bosoms, splatter, and endless exposition about the deranged killer's motivation, too.  Then stupid, yuppie, Twinkie-fluff-for-brains Trent had to go and talk to his little gun buddy.  I draw the line there, however random it may seem.

D minus.  One star.  Two thumbs down.

Still More Dabbling in Neck Decor!

And here are a few more experiments....... 

I like to think that the red one is a direction Liberace might have headed in if he felt like dabbling in goth.  It's very Morticia-in-Vegas, don't you think?

The blue one is just....blue.  With stars. I dig the black-and-blue bruise-y hues.

My Knock-Off Bug Bling

Jewelry-making is one of those random and inexplicable time sucks I enjoy.  I don't wield the maddest skills ever, but nonetheless, mucking around with wire and beads and baubles relaxes me when I need a mental break (uh, which is often lately).

Tarina Tarantino makes some of my favorite bling of all time.  It was definitely love at first sight when I laid eyes on her White Widow collection in particular [insert rapturous sigh here].  Don't even get me started on her brilliant Queen Alice line [insert rapturous, ecstatic, quasi-hysterical sigh here, with maybe a dollop of swooning thrown in for good measure]. 

Sadly, her stuff is just a wee bit beyond my budget at the moment....... 

Ah, but here's where my slapdash, half-assed, amateur jewelry-making skills come in handy!  Er....sort of.  Can I compete with the craftsmanship displayed by the aforementioned dazzling designer?  Hell no.  I decided to take a stab at approximating her bug bling anyway.....and I think I managed to replicate the overall vibe, for a fraction of the price. 

It was awfully fun to try, regardless. 

Adventures in Netflixing: "Orphan"

[Disclaimer #1:  the following is a spoiler-y spoilerfest from a spoiler-spewing spoilermonger (me).  So only read this if you're NOT one of the five remaining people on this planet who still intends to rent this, but hasn't yet.] 

[Disclaimer #2 - this isn't a proper film review.  Why?  Because one of the liberating things about keeping a personal blog is the complete and utter absence of rules.] 

Onward.

Finally got around to netflixing "Orphan."  I wasn't in loooooooove with this movie, but I am still strangely compelled to defend the movie from its less than favorable reviews.  One mainstream critic actually slammed this for being "sleazy." 

Sleazy?  Did he think he was buying a ticket to the arty slasher flick about the psycho kid who goes on a rampage?  Is anyone watching a slasher movie for its metaphors or artful nuances?

Then there are the adoption advocates who felt this movie didn't make the most flattering case for older orphans.  And hey, what prospective adoptive parent doesn't look to a scary movie for encouragement or guidance in regards to a life-changing decision like adoption?  I mean, besides the sane ones.

The Plot and Plot Twist Thing.  Grieving parents, following the stillbirth of their third child, adopt an older girl from an orphanage.  Dad's a philanderer.  Mom's a recovering alcoholic whose vodka-soaked negligence nearly killed their second child.  A new kid seems like just the ticket to repair the riffs in this dysfunctional family!  Ah, but would you believe the orphan they welcome into their happy home is a bad apple?  Or a bad dwarf, more specifically?  See, there's an insane asylum in Eastern Europe whose resident population is minus one raving psychopath.....a raving psychopath who suffers from hypopituitarism, a rare condition which renders her appearance as child-like even though she's a 30-something homicidal nutcase.

Yes, really.  When the tagline promised that there was something wrong with Esther, it wasn't kidding.

The Angry Dwarf Thing.  As a general rule, I am the last person on the moviegoing planet who appreciates a good "The angry dwarf did it (or was in the general vicinity, just to impart a sense of surrealism)" plot twist.  I loathed "Don't Look Now" - watching that made me nearly as twitchy as an angry dwarf.  And "The Brood"?  Please.  Throwing a dozen angry dwarves into one movie doesn't make it exponentially more creepy or weird.  David Lynch can almost get away with his own dwarf fetish, because he invariably places the dwarf in a scene that is absurd of its own accord.  When the dwarf seems like the normal one, it's less of a crutch.  (At the same time, Lynch is a little too dwarf-dependent for my liking. I've always thought that inclusion of dwarves in such instances was lazy shorthand for "Check me out - I'm a rogue filmmaker!  I'm edgy!  I've got freakin' dwarves, man!") 

Tom DeCillo's "Living in Oblivion"  tackled this conceit (and more than a few other film-making cliches) head-on.  In it, Peter Dinklage played a diminutive actor who is hired to flesh out filmmaker Steve Buscemi's scripted dream sequence.  Dinklage's character eventually storms off the set after protesting the ubiquitous 'dream sequence with a dwarf in it' set-up.  "I don't even have dreams with dwarves in them!" he fires off in parting.   

But I digress.

I kind of liked the angry dwarf technique as it was deployed here.  The movie ought to be granted heaps of extra credit for coming up with such an imaginative variation of the creepy kid sub-genre.  What's creepier than a creepy kid?  A creepy dwarf from a creepy Eastern European insane asylum who is merely pretending to be a creepy kid, and who has a penchant for trying to seduce her adoptive fathers!  "The Bad Seed" has been done to death.  "The Bad Seed" meets "Fatal Attraction" is pretty damn innovative in comparison. 

(And of course, the insane asylum is located in Eastern Europe, because one of Eastern Europe's primary exports is gothicism!  That's where Transylvania is located, OK?)

The Peter Skarsgard Thing.   Peter Skarsgard finds it a little too easy to channel those "wet noodle of a man" type characters.  I was actually made more queasy by his character than by the rogue killer dwarf on the loose.  That was probably the intent, because it's easier to root for the alcoholic mother who nearly drowned her daughter when Peter Skarsgard is the only other alternative.

The Gullible Nun Thing.  Sister Abigail thinks it's adorable that Esther wears a choker and wrist bands that she never removes, ever!  Alas, the Sister's skills in assessing would-be adoptive parents are about as thorough and unblinking as her automatic acceptance of Esther's kiddie steampunk sense of chic.

So, maybe - just maybe - Sister Abigail's orphanage could have developed a reputation for being more 'flexible' in its adoption requirements....the go-to orphan dispenser for parents who might otherwise be discriminated against due to their households being ripped apart by infidelity, alcoholism and near-fatal accidents involving their other offspring.  This angle could have been a more credible one - if Kate and John had purposefully enlisted the help of some slapdash orphan obtainers with a wink and a nod.

Instead, Kate and John fall in love with Esther at the orphanage simply because she paints like Chagall on crack and is preternaturally wise!   Sister Abigail thinks it's great that Kate and John adore Esther because she paints like Chagall on crack and is preternaturally wise!  Yay!  Love match!  Did anyone read Esther's file?  No?  Ah, screw it - who needs a stinkin' file when you've got a cute kid sitting right in front of you, batting her eyelashes and making creepy paintings of fish with human heads?!  It's only after Esther starts behaving strangely (er...more strangely) in her new home that Kate calls Sister Abigail with questions. Then Sister Abigail reads Esther's file.  Doh!  Boy, don't they all feel a bit stupid now! 

It would have been easy enough to make this about the overburdened, underfunded foster care system and its workers.  Or the filmmakers could have riffed on the belief that organized religion attracts people who are led by emotion (cue the kindly but clueless nun), rather than logic or intellect.  But noooooooooooo.  All the relevant adult characters simply....um....forgot to read Esther's file, or run a basic background check.

Yeah, yeah, yeah - I know.  I'm kind of torpedo-ing my own argument above.  The one in which I harp on the guy who accused the movie of being sleazy.  It's a horror flick. I get it.  The bar has been lowered.  But does it have to be?  With a couple of quick plot tweaks, lots of horror movies could at least meet us halfway on that whole 'suspension of disbelief' thing.  Yet they don't. And that really irks me, because I love this genre.

In Closing.  "Orphan" isn't the worst time suck on the planet, albeit it's one that feels a tad long.  I give it a B minus.

Paranormal Parenting Poll

To my fellow sci fi and horror fans: put on your thinking caps!  I'm writing up an article about how various stages of childhood are portrayed in both sci fi and horror (and on both the small screen and big screen), and I need help coming up with particularly iconic and memorable examples.

For pregnancy and birth (real or metaphorical), I've thought of the obvious examples.  "Invasion of the Body Snatchers."  "Alien."  "Village of the Damned."  "Demon Seed."  Even cylon re-birth in "Battlestar Galactica."  Let's not forget the "Home" episode of "The X-Files" (though I'd like to forget it).

Where actual babies are concerned, off the top of my head, I've come up with, "Rosemary's Baby," "The Brood," "Basket Case," "It's Alive," "Grace," and "Dawn of the Dead."  (No, the ugly unseen baby from that 'Seinfeld' episode doesn't count.)

Toddlers?  I'm blanking here.  Maybe because my daily life is so consumed with tending to one of these, her fictional counterparts seem unremarkable in comparison.  All I can think of is Chuckie from "Child's Play."  (And that's only because he's toddler-sized.  I do get that it's a doll inhabited by the spirit of an adult psycho killer.)  There's gotta be more examples in this grouping?

Now, there's a bazillion examples of creepy kids.  "The Omen."  "The Bad Seed."  Danny and those Grady twins from "The Shining."  "Children of the Corn."  "The Exorcist."  The banjo-playing boy from "Deliverance."  (The latter is not horror, you say?  Is TOO, I counter!)  So I don't need much help rounding out that particular developmental phase. 

What about scary teenagers?  (And I mean scary in the supernatural sense, not scary in their usual way.)  I can think of "Carrie," "The Lost Boys," "The Craft" and "Ginger Snaps."  Could maybe even make an argument for Luke rebelling against Darth Vader as a sort of delayed teenage rebellion thing. 

Can y'all help me round out the list?  You can respond here at Typepad, or on Facebook.

Thanks!

Grueling Grog Is Nemesis Of Swine Flu (And BFF Of Gag Reflex?)

Quite amused by Carlo Ancelotti's generations-old cure for the flu - which involves drinking hot milk and red wine.  Um....together.

How does that work, exactly?  Are you so busy vomiting that you hardly notice the coughing and congestion?

Lemon Cream Cheese Cookies

1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 - 1.5 teaspoons fresh grated lemon peel (depending on how lemon-y you like it)
1 cup flour

1. In large mixing bowl, mix butter, cream cheese and sugar until creamy.  Then add vanilla and lemon peel.  Gradually add the flour.
2. Drop dough by the spoonful (approx. 2" apart) onto ungreased cookie sheets.
3. Bake in 350 degree oven for about 12 minutes (edges of cookies should be golden).
4. Scoff them all down in one go, then go sit on the couch and whine about how your skinny jeans don't fit like they used to.

The End.

Mark-down Mama Rides Again

I'm not a label whore.  I can appreciate a well-constructed and/or artistically-rendered garment, and there are certain designers whose handiwork I quite consistently admire, but......I am never soooooo overwhelmed by the prospect of a label that I will pay any price to attain it. 

However, I am a bargain whore. 

When I can attain a label for pennies on the dollar, that generates a pretty good buzz.  At the risk of sounding like a compensated spokes-shopper (I wish), thank god for the likes of Marshall's and Ross and T.J. Maxx.  They often even do me the courtesy of leaving the original retailer's labels on the garments, which allows me that special moment when my eyeballs roll back into their sockets as I shudder in ecstasy over the price I'm actually paying for said item.   This doesn't freak out the Russian grannies from a few aisles over as much as you might expect.  Discount shopping isn't for pansies.  They know this.

But I digress.

Part of the thrill of this sort of treasure hunt includes the after-gloat.  Here's an example of a recent haul from Marshall's.

 Item #1:  An olive/beige-y BCBG tunic tank which didn't look like much on the hanger, but turned out to be particularly flattering in the mirror.  Original price:  $78.00.  Marshall's sale price:  $5.00.

Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice. 

Item #2:  An orange Michael Kors tunic with freakin' groovy stud detail.  Original price:  $79.50.  Marshall's sale price:  $5.00, again.

Suh-weet.  (P.S.:  Suck it, retailers!)

At a time when I would otherwise feel guilty about indulging in any form of retail therapy, it's nice to still be able to get a buzz on for the price of a couple of cups of designer coffee.

Yeeeeeeehaw.

Vindication!

Many have laughed at my shark phobia.  Many have said to me, "It's ludicrous that you live in Southern California, and refuse to wade into that blue, sparkling, refreshing ocean water any further than thigh deep, which even then you can never fully enjoy because you are secretly replaying those Shark Week video footage snippets in your head..... the ones in which the baritone voice-over guy says, "Joe Smith was enjoying an idyllic day at the beach with his family, and was wading no more than thigh-deep when.............." as the foreboding music swells.................."

OK, no one has actually said that to me verbatim, but it covers the gist of their meaning.

And then a bunch of great whites show up this past Labor Day Weekend in Cape Cod, and they have to close the beaches.

Who's laughing now?  If I had a shrink, he or she probably would be.  But that doesn't mean I don't feel vindicated by such stories.

Very Special Company Pork Chop Recipe - For the Wrongly Convicted Chef On the Go......

Out of all domestic-related duties, cooking is my favorite by a mile.  And lately, for whatever reason, I've been on a crock pot bender.  Actually, it's a bit stupid to write "for whatever reason."  It might have something to do with the fact that I found a cookbook tucked away on the shelves of Marshall's........one which contains over 500 crock pot recipes.  Frankly, I like the idea of getting all the hard cooking work over with during the part of the day when I actually still have a modicum of energy to expend.  Yeah.  Those are not-exactly-mysterious contributing factors to the sudden crock pot phase I seem to be going through.  Even though crock pot cooking seems a bit old-school and anti-gourmet.   

Funny enough, this culinary development falls on the heels of a failed raw food bender.  I bought some raw food recipe books a few weeks ago.  Alas, most of the recipes call for exotic ingredients that you have to (a) Google for identification purposes, and then (b) drive to five different specialty health food grocery stores to find (writes the broad who once did exactly that after purchasing the Gillian McKeith cookbook.......hope, or idiocy, springs eternal).  Plus spending an hour peeling zucchini into spiral spaghetti-like strips in order to create veggie "pasta" isn't my idea of a good time.  Still, it's ironic that I go from swearing to myself a few short weeks ago that from hereon out, I shall only eat raw, organic, un-cooked veggie goodness (I could practically envision the shiny golden aura of glowing good health that would subsequently follow me wherever I went), to a phase in which I'm letting stuff marinate in a pot for 7 or 8 hours at a stretch.  But I digress.

Yesterday it was split pea soup.  Today it's chicken with Italian sausage (and let me tell you, those sausages and onions are smelling bitchin' right now.....).  Tomorrow I'm going to attempt a really wrong, wrong, wrong sounding recipe entitled, "Company Slow Cooker Pork Chops."   I mean "wrong" in the decadent sense of the word.....given that some of the key ingredients include sour cream and cream cheese.  And I'm assuming THEY mean "Company" in the outdated 50's sense of the word - when you invited "company" over to your house instead of "guests." But hey, maybe they mean "Company" as in "The Company" as in "bad guys featured in an espionage/cyber-hacker or crime drama thriller" sense of the word (like on "Prison Break").  Maybe if I make this recipe, a small squadron of evil-mongering corporate stooges, or crime ring henchmen, or government shadow figures, will show up on our doorstep, and then force me to hack into a bank's computer system and siphon some money out for nefarious purposes.  They might even want me to assassinate someone.  That's a lot of pressure when you just want to make some pork chops.  (But secretly I would find it all more than a little bit rad.) 

On the other hand, that probably won't happen.  I'm guessing the more likely of sinister outcomes here is that I'll gain a few pounds thanks to the sour cream and cream cheese.

Whatever.  I'm up for anything.