Thursday, February 18, 2010
4 Paragraphs WIth No Common Thread
2. The weather is supposed to improve this weekend. I'm not sure I believe it. I am so cranky and miserable it's difficult to describe - you would think that it was hormonal but I swear to you that it's not. It's fairly simple, actually: I just want to kill everyone and everything I see and then I would like to cry for a week solid and then, to wash down the tears, I could conceivably get behind eating an entire cake or some girl scout cookies, or, hell, some suitably barbecued girl scouts, because I hate puppies, kittens, unicorns and the universe. Sunlight may help. It may not, too.
3. We sucked at Quizzo last week and it's your fault. Yeah, you. You should have shown up and helped out - I don't care if you live in Kuala Lumpur and had a fever of 107 degrees on Monday. It was just me and Audrey and Jay and his son Dustin, which would be awesome except that Jay and I have essentially the same knowledge base, which means we are almost useless as teammates. Dustin shows promise but he is too young and Audrey did her best but what we really needed was a sports person. Also, I was already tired and cranky (and I flubbed the one art question, which made me more tired and homicidally cranky) and the bar was full of weird kids in their early twenties with giant backpacks and facial piercings. That is unusual for Jack of the Wood, which I stopped going to a few years back because, get this, I began to feel that it was a Gerry bar. As in Geriatric, yes, and since I myself seem to qualify as Gerry in some people's minds, let me tell you that Jack had gotten really really Gerry, as in its customer base was being siphoned off the cafeteria at the Givens Estates. I am pleased to see that it has bounced back and there are now people of all ages there, which is the way bars should be, but the backpack people got on my last nerve. I grant you that last Monday Hugh Jackman naked carrying roses and a six pack of Fat Tire would have gotten on my nerves - unless, conceivably, he had an epic grasp on sports minutiae - but still.
4. Speaking of Hugh Jackman! I watched Wolverine: Origin of Species or whatever it was called; an X-Men spinoff movie purporting to explain where Wolverine came from. Hint: he's older than he looks. Extra spoiler: he has a brother (evil, duh) who is probably going to show up again! More unsurprising spoilers: This was not the absolute best movie I have ever seen. Shocking, I know, but it was just not the creme de la creme of cinema, even in the X-men subgroup. Y'all may not know that I am fond of the X-Men, but, actually, I kind of am. I used to read the comic books whenever I came across one, which was more frequently than you might think. Thus I identified with Rogue, because, let's face it, most of the other female X-Men - the X-Women! - are kind of boring in that they're either All Evil All the Time or annoyingly goody two shoes boring, although none of them with the possible exception of the pointless Jean are as incredibly goody two shoes boring as stupid Cyclops Scott with the laser eyes. Anyway, back in the comic books, Rogue's boyfriend was Gambit and, since I am Rogue, more or less (okay kissing me hardly ever leads to an immediate coma - it usually takes another hour or so) I am happy to report that movie Gambit is frickin' gorgeous. Therefore I have told my daughter that she can have Wolverine as long as I get Gambit and we are both happy with this trade.