The Jessica Journals

Introduction To What Will Probably Be A Really Long Treatise On Why Dr. Dobson's Child-Rearing Theories Suck

2008-04-29T19:37:00.000-07:00

What person who grew up in the American evangelical subculture within the last 30 or so years doesn't know about James C. Dobson? He's one of the foremost leaders of the evangelical subculture in America today. Focus on the Family, the non-profit organization he founded, produces a radio show of the same name that is played on over 3,000 North American radio stations and is heard by over 220 million people throughout the world.

He earned a doctorate in child development from the University of Southern California and, prior to founding Focus on the Family, worked as an Associate Clinical Professor of Pediatrics at the USC School of Medicine and served on the Attending Staff of Children's Hospital Los Angeles in the Division of Child Development and Medical Genetics.

Given that background, it is not surprising that he has focused much of his attention on child-rearing issues. In 1970 he first presented his parenting philosophy to the American public in his best-selling book Dare to Discipline and has further expounded upon it in several of the over 30 books he has written in the intervening years.[1]

Being one of those American evangelical children, I was very much aware of Dobson and his influence. His magazines littered my house--"Focus on the Family", "Citizen", "Clubhouse", "Clubhouse Jr.", "Brio". My mother regularly listened to his radio show. I and my siblings watched the children's videos they produced and listened to "Adventures in Oddyssey" so much that, eventhough most of us have reached adulthood, we still remember intimate details of the show and have various inside jokes we tell each other about it.

There is much about Dobson's parenting philosophy that I disagree with, and, in the years since I became an adult, I have ocassionally browsed the internet for some critiques of his books and his philosophy. I have, however, been disappointed by the general quality of the critiques I have come across. Many of them have been cursory in nature and somewhat histrionic in tone.

As a result, I've decided to write my own critique of some of his work. Specifically, I've decided to focus on The New Dare to Discipline and The New Strong Willed Child because, it seems to me that, those two books most broadly explain his views on child-rearing.

I'm not a parent myself. I speak from the perspective of an adult who, as a child, experienced some of Dobson's child-rearing techniques and was, and continues to be, unimpressed by them. One of the reasons I'm writing this critique is because I think it will be good and cathartic for me to publically explain why I dislike Dobson's philosophy and what I think is wrong with it.

In reading The New Dare To Discipline and The New Strong-Willed Child there were several specific issues that jumped out at me and which I hope to write about over the next several weeks or months.

His use of inappropriate stories to illustrate his points
His misuse and misinterpretation of scripture
The consistent contradictions within his own teachings
The way he closely links love with discipline and control
The spanking thang

There are several other minor things that annoyed me or with which I disagreed when reading his books. I might possibly decided to write about those things also, but the items I listed above strike me as the biggest and most important problems with Dobson's writings, and so I will focus on them first.

I hope you will enjoy the first installment in which I discuss...

Dobson's use of inappropriate stories to illustrate his points.

Footnote

[1] 1. http://www.focusonthefamily.com/press/focusvoices/A000000025.cf

When Animals Attack

2008-04-17T19:54:00.000-07:00

Check out my book
Tapestry Of Power

I'm beginning to suspect that I am not the right sort of person to be watching the Generally-Harmless-Animals-Suddenly-Turn-On-Mankind-And-Wreak-Bloody-Vengence genre of movies. If my recent experience watching several of these movies is any indication, my ability to suspend my disbelief seems to abandon me when I view these types of films.

Take for example Kingdom of the Spiders, the 1977 cult classic starring William Shatner.

The Shat portrays Robert "Rack" Hanson a veterinarian in a small, Arizona town who is investigating the sudden and mysterious death of a local rancher's prize calf. With the help of entomologist and hot babe Diane Ashley he discovers that the calf was taken down by a colony of aggressive and uncommonly poisonous tarantulas.

Apparently, the rampant use of pesticides has destroyed the tarantulas natural food supply (i.e. insects and small rodents), and in order to survive the normally solitary creatures have banded together into one massive colony and have started working together to take down cats, dogs, and eventually horses and cows as food.

But by the time Rack and Diane figure this out and try to destroy the fuzzy little buggers, it is too late, for the tarantulas have moved on to the sweet succulence of human flesh.

And here's where my inability to suspend my disbelief really becomes an issue. Let's be honest here, their dealing with an infestation of tarantulas. Not giant tarantulas. Not jumping tarantulas. Not super-high-speed tarantulas. Just tarantulas. They might be fuzzy, black, kind of gross-looking, eight legged spiders...but they're still just spiders.

They crawl along the ground at a fairly slow pace, and, at most, they're a couple inches in diameter and can be easily squashed beneath a booted foot, so it's a little unbelievable when person after person is taken down by these admittedly ugly but still pint-sized nemeses.

I find myself reaching similar conclusions about these people as I did of the characters in Frogs...some of these individuals do everything they can to make their deaths at the spindly legs of bloodthirsty arachnids possible.

Take for example Walter Colby....

This is a picture of him shortly before he suffers a horrible, spidery doom....

Based on this picture, it seems to me there are only two logical possibilities.

Either he has the absolute worst peripheral vision of any human ever anywhere throughout history or...
He wants to die.

Suspension of disbelief or no, there is simply no possible way you can have a big, black tarantula crawling on your shoulder and not be aware of it. A blind person could see it. It's simply that obvious.

I really don't understand how hard it could be to deal with this spider infestation. Just put on some boots and some long pants. Put a rubber band or tie some string around the bottom of your pants so the little buggers can't crawl up your legs, then go out there and have a stomping good time. It's really as easy at that.

But, alas, most of the characters choose instead to panic and fall down so that they are more accessible to the spiders, and the film ends with Rack and a small band of survivors staring out the window of the house they have holed up in only to discover that the entire town--every building, every car, every structure of any sort--has been encased in a massive cocoon of spider webs.

Yes, the tarantulas have triumphed.

Elsewhere in Arizona, DeForest Kelley is busy battling horrendous animal upstarts of his own in the form of normally docile creatures that have swollen to many times their typical size and begun to feast on the flesh of man.

I refer, of course, to the giant caterpillar that has affixed itself to De's upper lip.

I joke. I'm really talking about the giant, genetically mutated bunnies that are running rampant and slaughtering all who stand in their path.

My family's pet rabbit, King Rex Velveteen, recently passed into the great beyond, and I felt I ought to memorialize him by watching an appropriate movie. However, in all honesty, I did not expect Night of the Lepus to be as entertaining as it was. The whole idea of giant, rampaging, blood-thirsty bunnies equals pure awzumness, and I held little hope that the movie could live up to its amazing premise. Thankfully, I was wrong, and Rex's memory was suitably honored.

Night of the Lepus is a cult classic, and I feel as if I'm jumping on the bandwagon a little late with this review, but I'm sure the internet will not suffer from yet one more person blogging about the killer bunny movie.

Somewhere in the southwest (I believe in Arizona due to the fact that they mention Phoenix), rancher Cole Hillman's land is being overrun by rabbits. He wants to find a more environmentally friendly way of destroying the pests than by the use of poison, and since he is a large benefactor of the local college, Elgin Clark, the college president with the above mentioned mustache, offers to get two of the college's zoologists to work on the problem.

Now, here is where my suspension of disbelief first begins to abandon me. De refers to the zoologists as a "young couple", but, at the time the movie was released, Stuart Whitman was forty-four years old and Janet Leigh was forty-five years old and, quite honestly, looked like a woman in her fifties who had had some work done.

At any rate, the...couple throw themselves into figuring out a way to thin the rabbit population without causing any collateral damage to the other small animals. In an effort to create a disease that will affect only the bunnies, they manipulate the genes of one of their test rabbits which does not actually result in a disease, but instead causes the fuzzy little fellow to grow beyond the normal size of a member of the family Leporidae.

Stuart and Janet have, however, made the unfortunate decision to cause said genetic mutations in a bunny that happens to be their young daughter's favorite. She quickly proceeds to "rescue" it, and then accidentally releases it into the wild where it immediately begins mating with the other rabbits and building up an army of rabbits of ever increasing size.

Eventually, according to a character in the film, they become the size of wolves...but only if by "wolves" you mean "bears", and, in need of food, they turn on the human population and begin to kill men and feast on their flesh.

This again is where my suspension of disbelief abandons me. Leaving aside the fact that rabbits are as herbivorous as herbivores can be, they are ostensibly attacking people because they need sustenance; however, throughout the course of the film, they routinely kill people and then simply leave their bloody corpses mostly intact and out in the open where the authorities can find them, identify them, and be confused about how they died.

I am left asking two questions.

If the bunnies are starving why do they kill humans but then not really eat them?
If the bunnies are starving what is preventing them from turning on each other?

I realize that, considering the movie is about giant killer bunnies, I really shouldn't expect much if any logic, and yet, foolishly, I do.

At any rate, Stuart, Janet, De, and the rancher eventually discover the giant, mutated bunnies holed up in a (mostly) abandoned mine and decide to take care of them by dynamiting the place. Needless to say, that doesn't work, and the bunnies then go on a giant, killing rampage through the town.

Stuart eventually gets the brilliant idea to destroy their cute, fuzzy, menacing foes by electrifying a section of train railing and then herding the horde of bunnies onto the track.

In a scene I would recommend no one who has epilepsy or is prone to seizures should watch, they implement Stuart's plan, which leads to the moment I personally found to be the funniest of the entire film--that in which the townspeople are left staring at a gigantic pile of dead, smoldering, electrocuted bunnies. Can you say hasenpfeffer?

What can one say of this film? It's a movie about giant, killer bunnies. I can't stress that point too much. They're giant, killer bunnies, people! I think the movie was meant to be frightening or at least intense, but...they're giant killer bunnies. Even when they're rampaging through a town, their fuzzy faces covered in blood, they're just sooo cute. They're adorable. They're bunnies. I just want to pet and caress and nuzzle them--the little cutie pies, mummy loves you yes she does ohmylittlesweethearts.

So, what have we learned from these two movies?

Bunnies are cute, even when they're giant mutated monstrosities with blood splattered faces.
If the endings of the movies are any indication, normal sized tarantulas are more deadly than giant, man-eating rabbits.
Small towns in Arizona are not necessarily the best places to live.

An Apology

2008-04-09T18:53:00.000-07:00

A couple months ago I posted this video. Upon reviewing it I realized that I had made an egregious error. I have, therefore, made another video apologizing for my horrible error.

Because Frogs Hopping Aimlessly Around Are Scary

2008-04-05T03:23:00.000-07:00

Check out my book
Tapestry Of Power

As I think has been fairly well documented on these pages, I watch a lot of sub par movies. This is quite obviously a weakness of mine, possibly the result of having been exposed to Mystery Science Theater 3000 at an early age, or perhaps it's merely a sign that I am incredibly insecure and need to bolster my enervated ego by feeding it images of the laughable failures of others.

Either way, upon viewing these risible celluloid spectacles, I am often confronted with the cold, harsh reality that, while vaguely amusing in an unfulfilling way, the films are so incredibly boring that the sheer difficulty of writing about them in an interesting fashion negates any desire I might originally have had to blog about said movies.

Such a film is Frogs, a 1972 ~~horror~~ ~~thriller~~ thing* starring Ray Milland and (a surprisingly young) Sam Elliot.

Ray portrays Jason Crockett, an old, wheel-chair ridden, extremely crotchety millionaire who has gathered his relatives to his island estate in the Deep South for their yearly Fourth of July get-together. Needless to say, his family hates it, and they only come because they don't want to get cut out of Jason's will. This year, they are joined by one Pickett Smith, a photojournalist who is working on a story about pollution.

The estate grounds are simply crawling with frogs and other assorted amphibians, and, this being ~~a horror film~~ ~~a thriller~~ a movie, we viewers get to enjoy an hour and a half of watching the Crockett family getting bumped off one after another by the cold-blooded (pun intended) little killers.

And when I say "little killers" I mean exactly that...much to my disappointment, for although the movie poster may sport a picture of a frog with a human hand sticking out of its mouth, absolutely no giant, man devouring frogs appear during this film.

...Which only makes the various victim that much more pathetic.

It is one thing to be chased down and devoured by a giant frog. It is entirely another thing to trip over some grass, shoot yourself in the thigh with a rifle, and then lie relatively still and do nothing save scream while a couple spiders crawl over you and spanish moss, apparently of its own accord, jumps off the trees and lands on top of you, hiding you from sight.

Perhaps Jason Crockett's arrogant, over-bearing, and controlling attitude finally drives all his relatives to commit suicide. That is the only reasonable explanation I can come up with for the fact that everybody goes out of their way to make their deaths at the hands of amphibious creatures possible, and a couple characters have to actually work quite hard to be killed.

If my brief internet research is any indication, this film is more often than not categorized as "eco-horror" because the movie suggests that the animals have risen up to wreak fell vengeance as a result of and in answer to man's debasement of the environment. I, however, think that it can more properly be seen as a socio-political morality tale which speaks out against the idleness and excess of the indolent rich and praises the working class values America was founded upon. America [so says the movie] was made great by old fashioned, middle-class, can-do initiative, but now we are in danger of becoming a country of torpid and indulged individuals who have known only privilege and never had to strive for anything. If we do nothing to halt and reverse this retrogression [continue the filmmakers] we shall reach a point where even the French (i.e. frogs) could overcome us with ease.

When viewed in that light, the film suddenly takes on an urgency and import that rivals even some of Leo Tolstoy's writings.

Who am I kidding? If the movie has any purpose at all it is only to (a) see how many people it can show blundering into their deaths before doing so becomes tedious** and (b) discover how many close-ups of frogs it is possible to cram into a 91 minute long film***.

All in all, I would have to say that if you're looking for a fun, campy murderous-animal movie Frogs should probably not be your first choice.

Footnotes

* Any aspects of horror that this movie might possess result solely and directly from the far-too-seventies outfits worn by the male characters.

**The answer: between 0 and almost 0.

***The answer: far too many.

On My Continuing Tarzan Fixation

2008-04-01T23:03:00.001-07:00

Check out the awesomeness that is
Tapestry Of Power

I realize that my well documented Tarzan fixation has existed for many years, and I suspect that several people have asked themselves the question, "When will it end?"

To that I answer, "Hah! Fah! And Pah! My Tarzan fixation will end only when said Jungle Lord ceases to conduct himself in a bizarre and overly dubious manner."

In other words, "NEVER!!!!"

Attention: Tarzan cartoon copyrighted Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc./Dist. by UFS, Inc.

This Edition Of The End Of The World Is Brought To You By Brad Pitt's Roommate

2008-03-30T22:41:00.000-07:00

It is no secret that I have written but little over the last year. Depression, lethargy, and general weariness have been mine to endure, but last night I attended a local charitable event, during the course of which I discovered that I actually possess readers outside my immediate family. Who knew?

So, in honor of Cathy's husband and anyone else who might possibly be reading, I feel it incumbent upon me to perhaps provide them with a little sumpin' sumpin' to read and (hopefully) enjoy.

Back in the early '90s, Brad Pitt and Gordon Currie roomed together in a two bedroom apartment off Melrose Ave. Brad Pitt went on to become an A-list Hollywood celebrity and have one of the most beautiful women in the world bear his children. Gordon Currie became the Anti-Christ.

There's a moral in there somewhere.

I realize that elsewhere on these pages, I have already briefly talked about Left Behind: The Movie, but that was early on in the history of this website, and I believe that a movie which reaches the heights of amazing wonderment that Left Behind: The Movie has reached deserves a second look-see.

The film takes place sometime in the near future in a parallel universe in which the twin towers still exist, the earth is enduring a world-wide food shortage, and a wormy little man who looks like Kirk Cameron can become an award winning journalist.

I think there's a plot, although as I look back upon it I see less a plot than merely events vaguely strung together for 90 minutes. But, if I had to describe what the movie was about this is how I would do it:

Stonegal and Cothran, two high-powered international financiers, are plotting to take over the world. To further this end, they want to get their hands on the Eden Formula, a miraculous scientific concoction created by an Israeli botanist that causes vegetation to bloom and flourish even in the dry and arid desert. It is truly the answer to the earth's current food shortage, and Chaim Rosenzweig, the scientist who created it, is unwilling to allow anyone beside himself get his hands on the formula.

Not ones to be foiled so easily, Stonegal and Cothran enlist the aid of one Nicolae Carpathia, a 30-something-year-old, very sleepy-eyed United Nations delegate (or something; I haven't actually figured out what he's supposed to be beyond someone who goes around and talks sympathetically to various cameras about the suffering people in the world and the need for peace) who possesses an accent that shifts from one undefined eastern European country to another undefined eastern European country in every single scene he appears in. Apparently he grew up in every single country between Germany and Russia.

For what I assume are libidinous reasons, the entire world is enamored by this Polish-Belarussian-Ukranian-Romanian-Hungarian United Nations heart-throb, and, thus, Stonegal and Cothran set upon him as the perfect good-hearted chump to convince some old scientist to turn over his miracle formula to the UN. With the backing of the two financiers, Nicolae accomplishes this by promising Chaim that he will broker peace between Israel and the surrounding Arab nations as well as rebuild the Jewish Temple right where is belongs on the Temple Mount next to the Dome of the Rock. Piece of cake.

Through what I assume are the machinations of Stonegal and Cothran, Nicolae, in all his sleepy-eyed, 30-year-old glory, is appointed the new Secretary General of the United Nations, and their plans seem to be going along swimmingly.

Enter Cameron "Buck" Williams, friend of Chaim Rosenzweig, award-winning journalist, and owner of a head of very full and wavy hair, who has spent much of the movie investigating the two villainous financiers. He has figured out that Stonegal and Cothran have lent massive amounts of money to the United Nations and intend shortly to call in those debts, bankrupt the UN, take over the Eden Formula, and with said formula control the earth's food supply and, as a result, control the entire world. [insert villainous laugh here]

Their plan strikes me as at least a little hopeful, but I must admit it's worked out well so far.

At any rate, Buck tattles to Chaim, who in turn tattles to Nicolae, who is pretty pissed off to find out how his two would be benefactors are using him. He, Buck, and Chaim go into a meeting with Stonegal, Cothran, and several UN delegates, and Nicolae promptly shoots the two financiers through the head.

Holy crap! Who saw that coming?

It turns out Nicolae is the Anti-Christ and he has weird, superhuman powers he can use to control and mesmerize other people which he quickly uses to convince all the other people present that the two bankers killed themselves...all the other people that is, except Buck. After all, he's Kirk Cameron, and if he's wise enough to understand the hidden meaning behind bananas how could he possibly be taken in by the Anti-Christ?

Of course, he doesn't actually do anything. He just walks out of the UN building into the sunlight beyond, leaving the Anti-Christ to rule the world. The movie ends shortly thereafter. Good times.

The film also has some sort of subplot about a bunch of people suddenly disappearing, leaving only their clothes behind. If I remember correctly, it's explained as being the result of the radiation caused by the testing of nuclear weapons. I really don't know what any of that's about. T.D. Jakes actually appears briefly and gives a more thorough explanation, but since I have trained myself to not hear anything T.D. Jakes says I am somewhat at a loss in this instance.

A former Marlboro Man and Calvin Klein model also appears, and the movie follows his journey from cool, sexy atheist to wimpy, flaccid christian. The only interesting thing about this transformation is his startling ability to speak with all the common christianese phrases and expressions despite the fact that he's only been a christian for one day. I guess he's a fast learner.

At any rate, this movie brings up several questions.

Could a 30-year-old every really become the Secretary General of the United Nations?
Would he be better or worse than Kofi Annan?
Would he be better or worse than Bill Clinton?
Would he declare war on Brad Pitt?
How long before that flight attendant jumps Nicolae and has his babies?

The world may never know.

New Podcast and Video

2007-06-23T17:53:00.000-07:00

First off, the lastest episode of Talking Entertainment - The Number One Podcast In The World* is up and running and just waiting for you to listen to it.

This week we discuss how Sam Raimi is threatening the internet and ponder the meaning behind Hillary Clinton's choice to parody a mob boss. We also review "The Fantastic 4" and talk about the best Doctor Who episode of the season (thus far). Plus, the classic Star Trek episode "Plato's Stepchildren" reduces Jessica to a babbling mass of incoherence.

And, as if that wasn't enough, I have created a new video. When I first conceived it, I thought it was just going to be a quick 60 second thing, but it kind of spiralled out of control and now clocked in at 5 minutes 17 second--my longest video to date.

I feel I ought to warn you, it's also very disturbing and will probably leave you wanting to scrub your brain with a scouring pad. Good stuff. Good good stuff.

I'm Doing My Best To Write A Positive Review Here

2007-05-30T14:12:00.000-07:00

Now, when last I wrote, I said that I was going to take a break from the whole blog thingy; however, there are certain events which, when they occur, simply demand to be written about, and I have recently experienced one of these of events.

I have finally seen the movie Grendel.

When this movie first aired back in mid January on the Sci-Fi channel, my lack of cable access prevented me from seeing it. Needless to say, I was heartbroken at my inability to watch it because the film in question was written by the great and awesome Ron Fernandez who happens to be a friend of mine.

It's a well known fact that when a friend of yours gets their screenplay turned into a Sci-Fi channel original movie the film is going to be all kinds of amazing. Having said that, I still feel I ought to warn you that this is a movie that should not be approached without the aid of mood altering substances.

Now, the film is called Grendel which gives the implication that it's going to focus on the monster more than on the men fighting him, but this is not the case. The main character is indeed Beowulf, and the movie follows the basic outline of the classic Beowulf poem.

...with a few modern updates.

It was not actually Ron's idea to include an oversized crossbow that shoots exploding laser bolts, but I wish it had been because, frankly, it makes the movie. You can't convince me most movies wouldn't be improved with the inclusion of a medieval warrior who shoots lasers. Braveheart would not have ended with William Wallace's death, and Spider-Man 3 would have been far less cartoony and unbelievable.

At any rate, I think it was a very good thing someone had the foresight provide Beowulf with a laser crossbow because, in the last battle of the movie, there is a moment when it is very obvious Beowulf's sword is made out of rubber. I'm trying to come up with some humorous double entendre involving swords, male genitalia and prophylactics, but it's just not coming together. Suffice it to say, after seeing it flapping around, I don't think he has the most effective sword ever.

Beowulf himself is played by Chris Bruno whom some of you might know from The Dead Zone in which he portrayed Sheriff Bannerman. I don't have a particular problem with Bruno's acting in The Dead Zone, but, for reasons I don't entirely understand, he apparently decided to model his performance in Beowulf after a constipated Charlton Heston. Original? Possibly. Effective? Not the first word that springs to mind.

I wish I could say that my friend's writing was amazing and above average. In fact, my wish is so strong, I think I will say just that.

Of course, just because I say something doesn't mean it's true. If you go to IMDB, and peruse the Grendel discussion board, you will see that many a viewer before me has noticed the bizarrely inconsistent dialogue, which jumps from florid Tolkienesque prose to modern, and even idiomatic, language with nary the blink of an eye.

Beyond that, there were moments of dialogue I found distractingly inept.

It is perhaps an indication that I am petty and, at times, overly observant, but I was struck by the incongruity of a character referring to Grendel's "thirst for flesh".

Am I the only one who realizes that you can have a hunger for flesh, or a craving for flesh, or possibly even a lust for flesh, but you thirst for blood.

And don't even get me started on the time someone said "morning brought mourning". Parts of me still curl up in horror and agony at the memory of that phrase.

The movie had a budget of a dollar and some odd cents, and, from what I hear, one of the producers was a total nutcase, so you ought to know kind of what you're in for.

Grendel has horrible special effects, sub-par acting, and Vikings who have crossbows that shoot exploding lasers. Beyond that, the movie gives me an excuse to (a) get drunk, (b) get hopped up on caffeine or (c) get wasted. When one takes all of that into consideration, Grendel ends up being on of the most amazing movies ever made, and I highly recommend it.

One Viewer's Reaction To "Spider-Man 3"

2007-05-11T22:04:00.000-07:00

I have new video soft-ware (yay), so I think I've fixed the problem about my audio being out of sync.

As far as the actual video goes...I don't think I could more clearly express my opinion of "Spider-Man 3".

The Last Man On Earth Movie Review (Spoilers)

2007-05-05T18:21:00.000-07:00

What's not to like about a movie in which a planet-wide plague has turned everyone into vampires?

Also, there's a commercial at the end of this video for a new project I'm involved with. However, the website that is mentioned is not up and running yet.

What Does God Need With A Starship?

2007-04-26T14:36:00.000-07:00

Captain Kirk asked an interesting question in Star Trek V, and I think it deserves an answer.

I think the sound might be a bit out of sync, but who am I to combat the vagaries of YouTube? I am but a humble mortal.

Love Song For a Cheeto

2007-04-20T11:44:00.000-07:00

These things are both nasty and amazing all at the same time. I love them. :)

Taking A Break

2007-04-12T16:21:00.001-07:00

As should be obvious to the couple readers who frequent my blog (Hi Rebekah and Julia!), my writing output has dropped to almost nil in the last couple months. The truth is, I am somewhat weary of writing at the moment, and, therefore, I am going to take a break, relax and not worry about turning out any sort of bloggy things. I might write a little, but don't start hoping too much because, as of now, I am officially on vacation. Wheeee!

Ron's Marriage

2007-04-03T21:23:00.000-07:00

It has been many moons since I made a video. But, finally, at the request of Glenn, and in honor of Ron's impending marriage, I have made a new one. It's not the funniest video ever, but it is a video.

I've only got the most massive pimple ever on my left cheek. Even makeup didn't cover it up, and I hestitated to even post this video because of that, but it is Ron's marriage and I think he deserves some sort of shout-out. Happy marriage, Ron and Liz!

Also, if you want to know who the Ron in question is, you can watch him get shot in the back in this video.

Rebekah's Dream[y] House

2007-03-27T20:58:00.000-07:00

It has been a goodly time since I last wrote. I must admit, I was a bit ticked off when I learned that a majority of the people who come to my website are searching for child porn. However, Sister Rebekah has on more than one occasion in the last month asked me when I was going to write something new, and, for that reason, I feel compelled to soldier on. More than that, I have decided to dedicate this blog entry to her.

As you may or may not be aware, Rebekah and I hold sharply differing views on what makes men attractive.

When she sees pictures of men I like...

...she immediately shrieks in horror and decries their age and the asymmetry of their faces.

When I see pictures of men she likes...

...I sigh, roll my eyes, and tell her that, while they're not unattractive, they're faces are too bland, boring and stereotypical to be truly appealing.

With that foundation is it any wonder that I was surprised when I popped in a House, M.D. DVD and heard her squeal at the sight of the titular character.

"His eyes are sooo blue!" she gushed. "And his hands are so..." Her voice trailed off in a little giggle.

"I can't believe how unkempt he is!" I declared in shock. "The least he could do is shave his neck."

"I love his shoes...and his cane." She sighed in delight. "Look at how he spins it around in his fingers!"

"My God!" I cried in horror as I watched him browbeat a patient into accepting some very dubious medical treatment. "I can't believe he's doing that! I would never want him as my doctor. How can he continue practicing? He's the most unethical doctor ever!"

"He's so forceful," Rebekah murmured, her voice trembling with emotion.

"He's a drug addict!"

"But he's in pain. His leg hurts him all the time. It's sooo sad," Rebekah countered, then added, "I like his legs; he has sexy legs."

"My God! Oh, my God!" I cried his horror, as his drug addiction was pushed from my attention by new concerns. "He's got a hooker! He's sleeping with a hooker!"

"But she's a high class hooker," Rebekah pointed out. "He has good taste."

But I think Rebekah's feelings for Dr. House can best be illustrated by the following, entirely true, unexaggerated, and unembellished, exchange:

"'House vs. God'," I said, reading the title of one of the episodes.

Rebekah giggled, "I hope House wins."

And with that, I think Rebekah has officially forfeited any moral standing she might have had to criticize my taste in men.

I'm Obviously Doing Something Wrong With This Website

2007-02-05T16:19:00.000-08:00

My Readers--I used to call you "my Beloved Readers", but now I'm not so certain that is an appropriate term--I recently reviewed the January statistics for search terms that brought people to my website and have found the results to be at least somewhat disheartening....

6% of the searches were spread out over a variety of terms.
3% were for "Hugh Jackman".
2% were various nudity related searches.
1% were for "Jessica Menn".
.5% were for "Bono".
.5% were for "broken glass".
.5% were for "grograman".
.5% were for "Matt Drudge".
.5% were for "metrosexuality".
.5% were for "nuclear explosions".
.5% were for the movie Powder.
.5% were for sister-themed erotica.
and a whopping 84% of the searches that brought people to my website were for images of naked children.

There you have it. JessicaMenn.com is now officially a den of iniquity.

In a previous post, I mistakenly placed the blame for this set of circumstances on Tarzan's bronzed, well-oiled shoulders; however, upon further review, I realize that the blame is entirely the fault of Dallas Anderson and the sculpture he made for Appleton's City Park. That statue, entitled "Ring Dance", has consistently made my A-Town travel guide the single most visited page on my entire website.

I weep copious tears of shame.

People, people, people, how can I make you understand? THERE ARE NO PICTURES OF NAKED CHILDREN ON THIS WEBSITE!!!! NOT A SINGLE SOLITARY ONE!!!! PAEDOPHELIA IS COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY WRONG AND IMMORAL AND I AM ASHAMED THAT PEOPLE ARE COMING TO MY WEBSITE SEARCHING FOR CHILD PORNOGRAPHY!!!!

Thank you, I hope that clears things up.

The First Movie I've Watched In Which Aliens Harvest Us For Our Glands

2007-01-31T22:12:00.000-08:00

What would life be without old sci-fi miniseries? Less full I should think, but possibly higher quality.

At any rate, as I was browsing the racks at the Appleton Public Library, the title Quatermass jumped out at me, and when I examined the DVD case further I saw that the cover dubbed it "the legendary '70s sci-fi classic" and claimed it was "a rip-roaring adventure". And the whole serial appeared to revolve around an old, rather Einsteinian-looking gentleman pictured on the front of the box.

The movie is set in a world that is going mad--specifically an England that is going mad. Criminals roam the streets, threatening violence to any they come across. Resources are growing scarce, the infrastructure is collapsing, and hoards of young people are joining a crazy hippy cult.

Boiled down to its essence, Quatermass is the paranoia-induced fantasy of the old trying to make sense of a changing world and the younger generations. When viewed as such it suddenly becomes overwhelmingly ridiculous.

From the earliest days mankind walked the earth, older generations have looked down upon the young and felt that their society's standards declined as those young people started taking over the reins, but Quatermass is the first t.v. series I've watched that blames that perceived societal shift on an ancient, invisible alien machine somewhere up in space that is systematically harvesting humans for their musk.

...Okay, okay, to be entirely honest, the makers of Quatermass never stated outright what the aliens were collecting us for, but they did, at least, imply it was for our musk. At any rate, thousands of years ago, an alien force placed devices beneath the surface of the earth that somehow cause suitably influenced people to gather over them at which point they are "collected" for the aliens' nefarious purposes. Then, for reasons never explained, the aliens stopped their harvesting, but now, in the latter half of the 20th century, they're back.

For the last several decades they've been influencing the minds of the young, preparing them for the gathering and harvesting, and it is this psychological conditioning by the aliens that accounts for the tendency of young people to gather in large, emotional masses such as rock concerts.

I'm not making that up. This movie claims that young people attend concerts because aliens tell them to. Am I the only one who finds this bizarre?

And am I the only one who finds it ironic--given that the movie highly praises both science and rational thought and does not seem to look that favorably upon religion? Yes, within the movie itself, the premise of an alien influence is true, but if you divorce it from the movie does it not become indiscernible from the paranoid fantasy of a lunatic? What would you take to be the more rational belief?

There is a god who will rapture us off this forsaken earth. Or
An ancient alien machine is inducing teenagers to attend rock concerts.

Professor Quatermass apparently goes with the latter, and that, I think, leads up to what is possibly the largest plot hole in a story simply riddled with plot holes. Simply put, there is absolutely no evidence that would lead to Quatermass' wild conclusions. Given the circumstances, a person might be able to reasonably hypothesize that some sort of alien force is attacking earth, and a person might also be able to reasonably hypothesize that there are alien beacons buried under the earth at certain locations. But there is absolutely nothing that would make a logical person conclude that (a) the aggressive entity above the earth is not sentient but merely a machine, (b) that machine is in the form of an undetectable energy cloud located somewhere between earth and the moon which completely surrounds the earth, and (c) that machine is being used to harvest humans--probably for our glandular secretions.

Quatermass has absolutely no proof to back up these wild claims and yet he seems to look down upon the various attempts others make to deal with this new and terrifying threat that do not line up with his suggestions and opinions. For example, the Russians and the Americans send a joint team into space with the intention of trying to establish communication with the unseen alien force. This seems like a reasonable course of action to me. Quatermass may be convinced earth is being threatened by a non-sentient device, but that does not change the fact he has not a shred of evidence. However, none of that prevents him from pooh-poohing the desire of others to go up there, scope things out, and, hopefully, establish some sort of contact with their enemy.

Of course, that is only one plot hole, and, as I mentioned earlier, there are several others....

The Way Joe Kapp's Family Dies
What kind of an irresponsible, unintelligent woman must Joe Kapp be married to? Only a day earlier, she had seen a bunch of cult members gather at a Stonehenge-esque area known as Ringstone Round, and only a day earlier she had, from a distance, seen those cult members struck by a giant flash of light, and only a day earlier she had seen the devastation caused by said flash of light.
After witnessing an event like that, how will a woman in her right mind respond when she sees a bunch of cult members gathering at the Stonehenge-esque area directly next to her house?
If you answered "She'll gather up her children as fast as she can and run as far and as fast as she possibly can away from the stone monument and the cult members gather there," then you have passed this test. Would that Joe Kapp's wife possessed your sharp intellect.
The Way Joe Kapp Responds To His Family's Death
Given the circumstances, there's no reason for him to assume they're dead. Yes, the dog skeleton is there for him to see (which, if not a plot hole, is at least very convenient), but there's nothing that definitively tells him his wife and children are dead. The mere fact that his house is destroyed does not mean his family did not get to safety. In that situation, I think it would be normal to, if not assume then at least, hope they are alive.
But, maybe he knows his wife is irresponsible and unintelligent.
That Scene Near The End Of Part Four When The Guy In The Forklift Runs Over The Other Guy
Technically, it's not a "plot hole:, but it is really weird. Near the end of the movie, when Quatermass and his team are setting up their trap, a forklift operator suddenly starts driving very erratically and ends up killing another man. I don't know what the purpose of this scene is. Neither of the men involved were important to the plot, and the death did not effect any of Quatermass' plans. I can only assume it is meant to highlight the point that old people shouldn't drive.
The Fact That Kickalong And His Gang Of Cultists Didn't Die Until The Very End
Throughout the entire miniseries, this group is actively seeking out alien harvesting points, and yet they continue to miss them. The first miss is understandable because Kickalong is arrested before the moment of harvesting occurs. However, he is rescued shortly thereafter, and they are very close to the harvesting point outside Joe Kapp's house. By all rights, they ought to be killed along with Mrs. Kapp and and offspring, but they inexplicably miss that occurrence also. It's true, the third occurrence does take place in London, but I get the impression that thousands of people braved long distances to reach that location, so what's up with Kickalong's group?
If I were one if his followers I'd be demanding a new cult leader--someone who could competently guide me to my death.
The Way Quatermass Defeats The Alien ForceHe scoffed at the idea of sending up a spaceship to scope things out and yet he's convinced a nuclear blast directed toward space will destroy an enemy they can't even see. Oooo-kay.

Massive plot holes aside, I found Quatermass enjoyable enough fare. It's comprised of four sixty-minute episodes all of which I watched in one afternoon, so I obviously didn't think it dragged too much, although I do admit, I did miss the support of brother Paul, my usual bad-sci-fi-watching buddy (especially when they started chanting nursery rhymes). At any rate, it's 70s British sci-fi so you basically know what you're getting yourself into, and if you don't you will after watching Quatermass.

After Six Movies Parting Is Not Sweet Sorrow

2007-01-26T22:42:00.000-08:00

It is now official: I have watched all six classic Trek movies. And after doing so, I have reached the conclusion that I will never do six movie reviews in one month ever again.

I also fear I have not achieved the goal of my quest. As you may recall, the purpose behind this recent movie marathon was--and I quote--"to geek myself up". Alas, I have apparently failed in that endeavor. Only today I took this quiz which purports to answer the question "Are you a geek?" I scored a mere 16 which, although it means I am "almost a geek", shows that I have not achieved true geek status. :'(

But, geek or no, the fact remains I have watched Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country. This film features the writing talent of both Nicholas Meyer and Leonard Nimoy and does not feature the writing talent of William Shatner, which means that it ends up being a far more intelligent movie than Star Trek V but also less funny.

The lack of unintentional hilarity aside, this film is very entertaining. An industrial accident on the moon Praxis has left the Klingons only fifty years before the ozone on their home world is completely depleted. Their only hope for survival is to end years of war, join the Federation, and receive the Federation's immediate aid in dealing with the crisis.

Not everyone wants to see peace between the Klingons and the Federation, however, and, after Captain Kirk is ordered to escort the Klingon Chancellor to a peace summit on earth, these shadowy people manage to assassinate said Chancellor and get Kirk and McCoy arrested for the crime.

Will Kirk and McCoy escape from the brutal penal colony of Rura Penthe? Who really murdered the Klingon Chancellor? Will the crew of the Enterprise be able to unmask the plotters and prevent any further assassinations?

Watch the movie. Find out.

I am struggling. Specifically, I am struggling to decide whether I like Star Trek VI or Star Trek II more. Both were well written, well directed, character driven films. I think I would characterize Star Trek VI as a "larger" film than Star Trek II simply because The Wrath of Khan focused on the personal battle between Kirk and Khan whereas The Undiscovered Country dealt with the very big issue of two sprawling superpowers trying to put an end to generations of hostilities and confront a problem that could very possibly spell the death of billions of individuals.

Well written or not, I did have a couple problems with Star Trek VI.

The Klingons' comprehensive knowledge of Shakespeare's writings
I can accept the idea that Shakespeare was translated into the Klingon language, and I can accept the idea that an individual Klingon might possibly really get into Shakespeare's work. However, my credibility was stretched when several of the Klingons in this movie displayed a great admiration for Shakespeare's writing.
Shakespeare is quintessentially human. As such, I find it unlikely that a majority of his work would appeal to Klingons. Hamlet specifically was quoted throughout the film, but it seems to me that Prince Hamlet would be viewed as a very weak and possibly even buffoonish character to the warlike, honor-obsessed Klingons. When faced with the murder of his father and the usurpation of his kingdom, what good Klingon would respond with the sort of emotional and spiritual struggles Hamlet responded with? It seems to me that, in that sort of situation, a Klingon's path would be fairly clear, and if he did endure psychological problems those problems would be in response to specifically Klingon societal issues and very different from anything Hamlet experienced.
It also seemed odd to me that all of the Shakespearian lines the Klingons quoted were lines that were often quoted by humans. Given their very different societies and moral codes, is it not likely that a Klingon would take away different things from Shakespeare than a human would? With enough mental gymnastics I can bring myself to accept the idea that Klingons might like Hamlet, but under no circumstances can I conceive of a way in which they (a) would admire Romeo and Juliet and (b) would specifically remember the line "Parting is such sweet sorrow", because I simply find it unbelievable that either that play or that line from that play would capture the imagination of a Klingon.
And don't even get me started on the whole translation issue and the fact that the Klingons quoted word for word what is found in the original English text.
The mind-meld
I was troubled by it for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, whether or not the information Kirk and Spock desired was vitally important, the mind-meld came across as a definite violation. Spock was very angry and the individual he was melding with did not want to meld with him. The word "rape" did cross my mind as I watched that scene, and I don't like seeing Spock as a sort of rapist.
Secondly, call me a liberal pansy, but...whatever happened to the rule of law? I realize Kirk wants to be God, but the fact remains he and Spock are part of Starfleet which is a governmental/military organization. There are rules they have to abide by.
The whole scene brought up the issue of the use of telepathy during interrogation. In the Star Trek universe is it considered morally acceptable to use telepathy to gain information an individual would not otherwise volunteer? And even if, in general, it is considered acceptable, how is Vulcan telepathy specifically viewed? The Vulcan mind-meld seems like a particularly invasive and intimate form of telepathy; how would one go about morally justifying its use in interrogation?
The information Spock gained from the mind-meld in question was not even immediately essential, which makes it all that much worse. The most important information--the new location of the peace summit--was easily obtainable via a quick call to Sulu, and I suspect that the other information--i.e. the names of the conspirators--could have eventually been discovered in a more moral and legal manner.
I thought Dr. McCoy was cute
Now I know you're all asking, "What's the problem there?"
I myself did not find anything wrong with it until a few days after I watched the film, at which point it suddenly occurred to me that, at the time the movie was filmed, DeForest Kelley was around 70 years old. It somehow just seems wrong to be 25 and to genuinely think a 70 year old is cute.

In the end, mostly because the Shakespeare thing really got to me, I think I have to go with Star Trek II as my most favorite Star Trek film, but it was really close.

And, test results aside, at least part of me feels that I really did achieve the goal I set out to achieve when I first started watching these films. After all, if discussing the Klingon attitude regarding Shakespeare or the moral implications surrounding the use of telepathy within an interrogation setting are not truly geeky then what is?

A Brief Intellectual Conversation

2007-01-25T20:54:00.000-08:00

Many thanks to Rebekah, Julia, and Rachel for letting me post this. You girls are the best!

What Do I Need With This Movie

2007-01-22T15:42:00.000-08:00

God is dead. Captain Kirk killed him.

I think it only appropriate to begin a review of Star Trek V: The Final Frontier with that statement because it aptly summarizes what I believe is the only true reason this movie was made--which, simply put, was to give Kirk the opportunity to meet and subsequently kill what could very possibly be his greatest enemy.

I have obliquely joked about James T. Kirk's god-complex in the past, but I am now going to state outright that I believe Kirk thinks he is God. Star Trek V provides overwhelming evidence to support this assertion....

Early in the movie Kirk loses his grip while free-climbing El Capitan and plummets headlong toward the ground below. Later that night he declares to Spock and Bones, "Even as I fell, I knew I wouldn't die."
Of course he wouldn't...because God doesn't die.
Later, when Sybok offers him a chance to face some of his past mistakes and confront the emotional pain cause by those mistakes, Kirk refuses.
Of course he refused...because God doesn't make mistakes or feel emotional pain.
When Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Sybok finally meet God, Kirk displays an inordinate amount of skepticism toward the idea that the Almighty, in fact, the Almighty.
Of course he was skeptical...because God knows when someone isn't God.
Lastly, and most damningly, when the adventure is over and Spock and McCoy are staring at the stars and speculating about whether God is really out there, Kirk says, "Maybe he's not out there, Bones. Maybe he's right here," at which point he motions toward his own chest.
...because he's God.

This movie was written by, among others, William Shatner who, apparently, can write as well as he can act. While watching this film, I was reminded of nothing so much as a work of fan fiction, and if taken as a work of fan fiction it is surprisingly good; however, as a professional work of art, it sorely misses the mark.

As is typical of fan fiction, this movie features conspicuous plot holes and contrivances and displays the poor grasp the writer holds on the personalities of the various characters.

First off, after doing some brief but extremely geeky research, I have determined that (a) Nimbus III must be located almost half-way between the Milky Way's heart and its outermost edge and (b) even at maximum speed it takes 26 years for a Federation style starship to cross a quadrant. By utilizing simple math skills, we can then determine that, at best, it would have taken thirteen years for Sybok to fly the hijacked Enterprise from the "Planet of Galactic Peace" to God's place of residence.

But since Star Trek is science fiction, I am willing to let that minor detail slide.

However, I am less willing to let slide the hopelessly contrived excuse that resulted in Kirk being sent to deal with the situation on Nimbus III. Even though the Enterprise was undermanned and on the verge of falling apart, Starfleet decided to send it on an important and potentially dangerous mission simply because James Tiberius Kirk was its captain. Although I am selfishly gratified because it bolsters my whole "Kirk is God" theory, I cannot keep from being appalled at the complete and total idiocy of Starfleet. Apparently, they needed Kirk to handle the mission because, although there were other ships in the sector, none of those ships had experienced commanders. I find this troubling for several reasons....

How could Starfleet not have any experienced commanders patrolling the border of the Neutral Zone?
It's the freaking Neutral Zone for Kirk's sake! At the time the movie took place, both the Romulans and the Klingons were, if not outright enemies of, then at least threats to the Federation. Certain dialogue in Star Trek VI seemed to imply that a sizable part of Starfleet at that time was not devoted to scientific exploration but was in fact military in nature. Where were these people? What is Starfleet spending its budget on?
Given the apparently small number of experienced commanders, how could Starfleet justify having three experienced captains all serving on the same ship?
In addition to Kirk being a captain, both Spock and Scotty also held that rank, and yet all three of them were serving aboard the same ship. How could Starfleet think that was a good allocation of resources under any circumstances--much less when it was apparently strapped for good commanders?
Even if Kirk was the best commander for the job, the Enterprise, given its current state of disrepair, was not the best ship.
Why didn't Starfleet just let Kirk use a different ship while he dealt with the crisis on Nimbus III?
But, then again, if Kirk really is God then what does he need with a starship?

If gigantic plot holes were the only problem this film had then I would consider myself blessed; however, as I mentioned earlier, the characterizations in this film are at best a little off the mark. Although I found the camping scenes with Kirk, Spock, and McCoy endearing, I was very much aware that these were not the men I had come to know and love (or, in the case of Kirk, "tolerate"). While McCoy was simply highly-strung and Southern to a degree he generally only is when under the influence of a mind-altering substance, Spock could almost be described as playful if not outright rambunctious. Any vestiges of normality disappeared completely with the characterization of Kirk, who, in this film, was part pestered father, part big brother, and part older, wiser friend to the less experienced, more naïve doctor and Vulcan.

This faulty grasp of the various characters' personalities led to one of the most disturbing cinematic moments I have experienced in recent memory. I speak, of course, of Uhura's nude dance scene which was wrong for several different reason. (1) Nichelle Nichols was approaching sixty at the time this movie was filmed. (2) I got the impression that Captain Kirk was the one who concocted that particular plan. (3) Uhura's dance would have been unerotic even if it had been done by a woman in her 20s, which somehow made it that much more disturbing. (4) Captain Kirk and the rest of the men were hiding behind the sand dune almost directly beneath her while she was dancing, and that fact alone takes that entire scene to a whole new level of sick.

The image posted above is close to what Kirk would have seen. However, I estimate he would have been somewhat lower to the ground, and unlike the audience, he did not have the top of the frame to obstruct his view.

I once had a dream in which I was watching a movie with one of my friends. This movie revolved around a baby that was born so premature he was still a foetus, but even though he was only a slimy, bloody foetus he could talk and he could sing and he had dreams and aspirations just like everyone else.

As the movie neared its end, my friend hesitantly spoke. "Well, the film has a lot of emotion."

"And he's actually a good actor," I said, surprised that I could honestly make that statement. "But still..."

And here we looked at each other and stated simultaneously, "...It's a talking foetus."

I think that Star Trek V suffers from the same issue as the film in my dream--i.e. it is fundamentally flawed at a basic conceptual level. People want to watch a movie in which Captain Kirk travels to the center of the galaxy and kills God to the same degree and for much the same reason they want to see a movie about a talking, singing foetus.

In the end, because I suspect I might actually enjoy a film about a talking, singing foetus, and because Star Trek V is faster paced than Star Trek: The Motion Picture, I feel I can honestly vote The Final Frontier, if not my most "favorite", then at least my most "ironic favorite" installment in the Star Trek franchise.

However, that doesn't change the fact that I'm still trying to scrub images of a naked, dancing Uhura out of my mind.

Note: Thanks to Star Trek Dimension for the map of the Star Trek galaxy.

There Be Movie Here

2007-01-19T17:24:00.000-08:00

January is now officially Star Trek Appreciation Month here at the Jessica Journals.

And with that announcement, we move on to Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. Yeah, it's the one where they travel back in time to save the whales.

This light-hearted romp through Star Trek land finds an alien probe threatening the citizens of Earth with the planet-wide destruction of their species unless they can rassel up some singing humpback whales. Unfortunately, humpback whales were hunted to extinction two centuries earlier.

This sounds like a job for James T. Kirk, who decides that the only thing to do is travel back through time to the latter half of the 20th century and pick up a couple whales, with the intention of then bringing them forward in time so that they can deal with the crisis currently occurring in the 23rd century.

Hilarity ensues.

Star Trek IV is essentially a 2 hour 16 minute Public Service Announcement, but, unlike other PSAs, this one actually works. It's easy to scoff at Nancy Reagan and the triteness of the "Just say no" campaign, but when Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock tell you the whales need saving then you know you have to save the whales.

This might be a desire of mine shared by no one else, but I would really like to see some more PSAs by the Enterprise crew. McCoy could decry the evils of racism as Kirk extols the use of condoms and yearly HIV testing and Spock discusses the way your body "changes" and reminds you to keep track of your seven year cycle. I would be such a happy person if they did that.

When it comes down to it, Star Trek IV is great film. It's well written, and, as many other reviewers have, no doubt, pointed out, it does not take itself too seriously which results in a very enjoyable viewing experience. Scotty tries to converse with a Mac, McCoy spazzes out over the 20th century's barbaric medical practices, Spock neck-pinches an angry punk-goth, Kirk at least partially gets his smoove on, and nobody gets killed.

All in all, I got no complaints.

I Watched It For The Same Reason They Made It--To Get To Star Trek IV

2007-01-15T20:01:00.000-08:00

And the Star Trek movie marathon continues...

I recently visited the public library for the sole purpose of picking up the copy of Star Trek III: The Search For Spock I had put on hold and was somewhat surprised when the librarian, after digging around on the hold shelf, emerged with a copy of My Little Pony: The Movie. Things were, thankfully, sorted out quickly. However, I believer this momentary snafu offered a portentous description of things to come, if only because Star Trek III: The Search For Spock is, in a word, gay.

And I mean that quite literally.

Up until I watched this movie, I had not taken the supposition that Kirk and Spock are not merely friends but in fact lovers as anything more than a joke. Now, hot heterosexual Vulcan-on-Vulcan off-screen luvin' aside, I'm seriously reconsidering my position.

But more on that later....

Although I didn't mentioned it in my review, Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan ended with Spock's funeral. He had selflessly chosen to sacrifice his life in a last ditch effort to save the endangered crew of the foundering Enterprise from Khan's final attempt at wreaking vengeance.

The opening of Star Trek III finds that same crippled Enterprise hobbling into space dock, and, although this movie ostensibly takes place only a week or two after the events of the preceding movie, everyone is really starting to look their age.

The Setup: Every Vulcan possesses a katra--an immortal soul if you will--which prior to their death they transfer via mind-meld to another individual. Vulcan custom then demands that the Vulcan's dead body and their katraceptical be brought to Mount Seleyah on Vulcan so that some ill-defined ceremony can take place.

The Good News: Spock did, in fact, transfer his katra before he died.

The Bad News: He transferred it into Doctor McCoy which, based on their respective personalities, seems like a fate worse than death.

The Complicating News: The requisite ceremony can't take place without Spock's body, but Kirk left that back on the Genesis planet, which is currently off-limits to all but Lt. Saavik, Kirk's son David, and the rest of the science team studying it. McCoy wasted no time getting arrested for trying to charter a ship to take him to Genesis and is about to be committed to a mental hospital. On top of that, Kirk and company are all out of a ride because the Enterprise is old, outdated and about to be sent to the junk heap. Meanwhile, Doc. Brown from Back To The Future is attempting to look menacing as he stalks around the bridge of a Klingon scout ship, fondles an alien dog, and searches for the secret of Genesis.

The Mission: Bust McCoy out of jail. Jack the Enterprise. Skip over to Genesis. Collect Spock's body. And hightail it to Vulcan.

Sounds easy enough for Kirk and krew.

Circumstances take a fortuitous turn when the Genesis planet's unique properties prove to have a regenerative effect on Spock's body; however, for reasons not adequately explained, he's not simply brought back to life but turned into a child.

But bad news is close behind. Due to David's irresponsible use of technobabble, the Genesis planet is unstable, growing at an erratic rate, and will break apart in a matter of days if not hours. Spock's body is connected to Genesis. As it grows, he grows, and when it dies he will die...unless he's removed from the planet, which the villainous Doc. Brown is making less than easy to accomplish.

Who wants to bet Kirk flies in and saves the day, Spock's body is taken off Genesis in time and his katra restored, and the movie ends with Kirk and Spock passionately making out?

Okay, one of those things didn't happen, but for a moment I really thought it was going to. Early in the film when Kirk told Sarek, "I loved your son more than you can know," I did my best to pretend that he was just talking about a very close friendship forged during five years when he and Spock were imperiled every week and routinely forced to trust each other with their lives, but by the end of this film that beneficial doubt I initially offered began to seriously waver.

It was not so much that Kirk sacrificed his career, his starship, and his own son to save Spock and then claimed it was all good because "If I hadn't tried the cost would have been my soul"; although, that didn't help.

I was more swayed by the fact that during the very dangerous ceremony in which Spock's katra was returned to his body, Kirk, for the life of him, looked like an anxious husband who's wife was enduring a painful, complicated birth.

And, when the danger was over, Spock's katra was restored, and for the first time Spock recognized who Jim was, the look Kirk gave him was magnetic. Even 23 years later and on the opposite side of the screen, I could feel the electricity between them as they gazed soulfully into each other's eyes, each longing to be with the other but both hesitant to move first, their hearts still painfully tender both with the memory of their recent loss and the intensity of their sudden joy caused by this miraculous reunion.

Erm. Moving on....

The film, while not bad, could not be considered more than mediocre. Longing gazes aside, this was not a character driven movie. It was more of a Let's-Hurry-Up-And-Bring-Spock-Back-To-Life-So-We-Can-Get-On-With-The-Franchise movie. It had a few laughs but not enough to carry the movie, and the dramatic moments did not really grab me.

...And I really had a difficult time taking Christopher Lloyd seriously as the bad guy. Even beneath all the Klingon makeup he still looked like Doc. Brown.

At any rate, there were a couple moments of note....

McCoy suddenly doing Spock-like things
I know it's a cheap laugh, but I did find it funny to hear him suddenly start throwing around the word "illogical" and see him try to do the Vulcan nerve-pinch.
The discomfited look Lt. Saavik flashes Spock in the last scene of the movie
The fact that Vulcans aren't supposed to feel emotions and that there was a perfectly logical reason she made hot Vulcan love to Spock, didn't stop her from looking incredibly embarrassed.

It is perhaps an indication of this movie's overall quality that those are the only moments that stood out to me.

Final Assessment: Unlike Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan, probably not enjoyable to anyone but a Star Trek fan, but still much better than Star Trek: The Motion Picture.

By Any Other Name

2007-01-14T18:33:00.000-08:00

I recently received an email from a rather concerned Marine.

Dearest jessica, it is with trepidation in my heart that i write you tonight. If it wasnt bad enough to see that the year in which we met was labeled *forgettable*, i also saw that your first ever jarhead fan didnt rate even a single mention in your year end summary.

Alex speaks, of course, of the fact that, when archiving the previous year's blog entries, I labeled 2006 "The Forgettable Year".

It bears noting that, despite Alex's protestations, he and I did not actually meet in 2006 but rather in September of 2005, and the fact that he apparently doesn't even remember this simple fact has basically destroyed any moral high ground that might have allowed him to feel legitimately aggrieved.

However, because I am a kindly soul I have decided to alter the current archival title of my 2006 blog entries. I have not yet set upon a suitable replacement; however, several ideas are bouncing around in my head, and they include....

The Year In Which I Talked To Matt Drudge
The Year I Fell In Love With Doctor McCoy
The Year Of Annoying Phone Calls
The Year Of Tarzan Fixation
The Year People Searching For Child Porn Started Coming To My Website In Excessive Numbers
The Year I Almost Died After Watching This Video
The Year I Went To A Neo Nazi Rally
The Year The Words "Kirk's" "Supple" "Buttocks" Entered My Vocabulary In A New And Frightening Way

So, those are the choices I have come up with thus far. Cast your vote or write in your own title. Alex's contentment depends upon this.

Beautiful Bones: The Saga Continues

2007-01-13T22:55:00.000-08:00

I have found myself in the position of having to defend myself to some of my friend who are less than impressed with my romantic choices.

A Superior Movie

2007-01-10T19:23:00.000-08:00

My quest to achieve superior geekdom has led me to that most memorable of sci-fi films, Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan. This is actually one of two classic Trek movies I had already seen prior to the marathon currently in progress. In fact, several years ago, I actually went out of my way to see this film not because I was into Star Trek but because I was into Ricardo Montalban, who, as the titular Khan, is pretty damn cool in this flick.

When we last saw Khan Noonien Signh he was just waking up from a 300 year cryogenic slumber/space voyage; whereupon, he wasted no time utilizing unrefined emotional abuse and bad hairstyling techniques in order to brainwash one of Captain Kirk's female crew members and take over the Enterprise. Despite Khan's great physical strength, which is roughly five times greater than that of a normal human, Kirk kicked his ass and then marooned Khan, his crew of genetically engineered supermen, and the simpering woman he brainwashed on the unpopulated planet of Ceti Alpha V. Kirk then went on his merry way and forgot about them.

....Which ended up being an unfortunate decision because, six months later, Ceti Alpha V underwent cataclysmic climate change and became nearly uninhabitable. Over two thirds of the settlers died. When, fifteen years later, Khan and his remaining followers finally escape, he is understandably cheesed and immediately sets off on a Captain Ahabesque quest to avenge himself on Kirk.

Kirk, meanwhile, has given up gallivanting across the galaxy and is busy supervising the training of a new crew to take over his belovèd Enterprise. He's old and growing older, and to rub that fact in Dr. McCoy gives him a pair of reading glasses for a birthday present. Normally, such an action would be unforgivable, but the good doctor also gives him a bottle of illegal libations and some good advice, which I quote: "You're hiding--hiding behind rules and regulations...from yourself, Admiral...Jim, I'm your doctor and I'm your friend. Get back your command. Get it back before you turn into part of this collection--before you really do grow old."

It bears noting that, in the last film, Bones reamed Kirk out for doing that very thing. I guess the moral of this is that rather than pursuing your deepest desires you should just let go of them at which point they will magically start being fulfilled.

It seems to work for Admiral Kirk. Technically, Spock is captaining the Enterprise whilst on her training mission, but when trouble starts brewing Spock practically forces Kirk to take over.

...And trouble is indeed brewing. Khan is busy menacing one of Kirk's old flames by attempting to get his hands on a magically scientific device she has invented that can create whole new, inhabitable worlds out of previously lifeless matter. It can also create whole new, inhabitable worlds out of previously living matter, which sucks if the device in question falls into the hands of a genocidal maniac who would have no qualms about using it against a populated planet.

Thankfully, the crazed would be tyrant in this film is so obsessed with destroying James T. Kirk that he's not concerned with petty pastimes like planet-crushing....as Khan says of Kirk, "He tasks me." (Which, incidentally, I can relate to.) "He tasks me, and I shall have him. I'll chase him 'round the moons of Nibia and 'round the Antares maelstrom and 'round Perdition's flames before I give him up."

Let's think about this for a minute. Kirk has averted the possible mass destruction of who knows how many inhabitable worlds simply by being such an asshole that Khan would prefer to exert all his energy hunting down and killing him rather than going off and conquering a planet or two.

I guess, if it works it works.

As an aside, am I the only one who finds it more than a little weird that Khan talks about the Antares maelstrom and the moons of Nibia, or that earlier he mentions an old Klingon proverb? At what point did this guy become so immersed in 23rd century culture that he started using their idioms? He grew up in the late 20th century. He left earth in 1996. He spent the next 300 years in cryogenic stasis, at which point he woke up and spent only a couple days among 23rd century men before being cut off from civilization for the next 15 years. At what point during his life did he learn about Klingons, Nibia, or Antares, and, even if he did, at what point did those words enter his day-to-day vocabulary?

I seem to annoy certain of my family members when I complain about things like this...but it's very important to me. I will do my best to suspend my disbelief for any initial premise a sci-fi filmmaker presents me with, but, after that, I want said filmmaker to remain consistent within that premise or else I have a difficult time maintaining my initial suspension of disbelief. I can accept a universe in which Klingons exist and Antares has a maelstrom and in which humans created cryogenic sleeper space ships sophisticated enough that they could be launched in 1996 and still be operating almost 300 years later; however, within that premise I can't accept that a man from 1996, who was on that sleeper ship and woke up in the 23rd century, would know about Klingons.

But, if that's my big complaint about this movie then you know The Wrath of Khan must be pretty decent. In all honesty, I wouldn't normally review this movie because it is a stand out film and I have a hard time finding things to make fun of about it. Not only is it a good Star Trek movie, it's simply a good movie--well written and character driven--which I know from my own personal experience can be enjoyed whether or not you are acquainted with the film and t.v. show that preceded it.

For trivia buffs, it is also the home of one of William Shatner's most memorable onscreen moments.

So, what are the best aspects of this movie?

The fact that it vastly outclasses Star Trek: The Motion Picture with only one third the budget
It introduces my most favorite Starfleet uniform style
The fact that all of Khan's men are portrayed by Chippendale dancers
Ricardo Montalban
Khaaan!

The Quest For True Geekdom Begins

2007-01-08T21:09:00.000-08:00

Over the last couple months I have done some serious personal evaluation, and I have reached the conclusion that I am the worst...geek...ever. While it's true I have seen The Star Wars Holiday Special and my Tarzan fixation is well established, I dislike Peter Jackson movies, I've never played World of Warcraft, and I think vampires are incredibly lame.

My resolution for 2007, therefore, is to geek myself up, and I intend to begin that endeavor by watching all six classic Trek movies, most of which I have not yet seen.

First up is Star Trek: The Motion Picture....

In 1966 the USS Enterprise, under the command of Captain Kirk, set out on a five year mission to explore the vast reaches of space. Three years later Paramount grew weary of filming the Enterprise's adventures, and two years after that the said five year mission came to an end. Eight years later, in 1979, Captain Kirk and the rest of the Enterprise crew were rolled out of retirement and sent off on a six movie mission to earn Paramount as much money as possible.

Of course, it takes a little while to gather together the principles of the old t.v. show, if only because, after the end of the mission, they each went their separate ways.

Spock spent the 70s on Vulcan searching for inner peace via the immolation of his emotions. Dr. McCoy, on the other hand, seems to have taken a more pharmaceutical approach. I know Wikipedia claims that after the five year mission ended, Bones retired to private medical practice, but, if his outfit is any indication, what they meant was "private medical practice". As anyone who has watched the original series knows, the good doctor not only keeps a stash of mind-altering libations in sickbay but also has a flair for whipping up new and bizarre drugs, and in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan he "casually mentions" to Kirk that he has connections--connections which you know must be able to provide more than just a bottle of Romulan ale.

Unlike his two friends, Kirk has not turned into a hippy during the intervening years. As a matter of fact, he's still in Starfleet, has been promoted to Admiral, and actually seems to have grown up and become a responsible adult.

Enter V'ger, an apparent doomsday machine on an intercept course for earth. Despite the fact that earth is the center of the Federation, the only star ship near enough to mount any sort of defense is the Enterprise, which, under the command of Captain Decker, is currently in space dock being completely refitted and upgraded.

Of course, when I say "being completely refitted and upgraded" I mean "having its special effects budget vastly increased", a fact the makers of this film have made certain even the most casual watcher recognizes via the inclusion of a four minute tracking shot of the Enterprise's exterior. I really admire it when filmmakers do not insert irrelevant footage simply because they have the budget to do so and make their editing and directorial choices based on what is artistically best for the film--not what makes them feel good.

Speaking of self-gratification, remember that thing I said about Kirk having grown up and become responsible? Not true. He's still a pompous, self-absorbed blowhard, who uses this moment of crisis to steal command of the Enterprise from Captain Decker and force Dr. McCoy back into service all so that he, Kirk the Magnificent, can relive the days he had real hair. ~~Kirk~~ God forbid somebody else be able to blow things up, make out with exotic women, and in general be the galaxy's golden boy.

Captain of the Enterprise he may once again be, but it quickly becomes apparent that things are not going to be like they were back in the sixties. The hot, bald ship's navigator blows him off before he even starts to get his smoove on, and he makes an all around fool of himself by getting the Enterprise trapped in a wormhole only a couple minutes after launch. On top of that, Spock shows up, but refuses to get all buddy/buddy because he no longer "does" emotions. Bones, being Bones, speaks his mind and tells Kirk what everyone else has been thinking, and I quote: "You rammed getting this command down Starfleet's throat. You've used this emergency to get the Enterprise back....It's an obsession--an obsession that can blind you to far more immediate and critical responsibilities." Well said.

Other than giving Kirk the dressing down he so richly deserves, the good doctor essentially does nothing in this film, which is further proof that Kirk didn't force him back into Starfleet because he was necessary for this mission but simply because Kirk wanted to relive his glory days.

I always thought it was funny the way Bones, in the t.v. series, would come and hang out on the Bridge for no apparent reason. I figured he got bored being down in sickbay by himself doing dull doctory things, which is why he'd come and hang out with Kirk and Spock where all the action was.

I guess sickbay is still boring because the doctor does the same thing in this flick, only, in this case, the Bridge is apparently as boring as sickbay. A couple different times, McCoy comes in, looks around, sees that essentially nothing is going on, and then leaves a minute or two later, all without saying a word. It's kind of weird.

Moving on....Kirk bumbles through the film's 2 hour and 16 minute running time, never once proving that he is essential to the plot. Eventually, he and his merry band come face to face with V'ger which, although wielding immense destructive power, is not technically a doomsday device, but, in fact, turns out to be a sentient machine which threatens to wipe out all life on earth unless Kirk tells it what its purpose is.

Let's pause for a moment so we can digest this. A sentient machine has just asked Captain Kirk to tell it what its purpose is. To me, this is proof positive that Kirk was the last person who ought to have been put in command of this mission. If I were a person on earth during this crisis, I would be very frightened if I knew my life depended upon how well James Tiberius Kirk, frat boy of the universe, could discuss philosophy with a machine. Plato is weeping.

Thankfully, Commander Decker has humanity's back and takes one for the team by choosing to give up his current state of existence and meld with V'ger, thus giving our genocidally-inclined mechanical adversary the meaning it so desperately needs. Kirk, no doubt, takes all the glory--the meaning he needs--and life returns to normal.

And what are our thoughts about this movie?

You know you're the biggest manslut ever when your female crew members feel it necessary to inform you that they've taken an oath of celibacy and that it is on record.
Extremely long tracking shots that do nothing but show off your special effects budget are a form of movie-making masturbation.
I'm really not into drugs, but I would totally start using if I got Bones as my dealer.

What Things May Come

2007-01-02T16:15:00.000-08:00

We are but two days into the year 2007 and it remains to be seen how the next 363 days will play out.

I would be lying if I claimed I did not have my doubts and worries, and I believe I have good cause to enter this year with trepidation. I was looking at the statistics for my website, and I was troubled when I discovered that the first search term of 2007 which brought someone to my website was the key phrase "naked children".

I think it bodes ill for my website that the very first search engine surfer to visit it this year came on a quest for child pornography, and I'm laying the blame for that squarely on Tarzan's bronzed and oiled shoulders.

However, although we are faced with one omen of ill fortune, we are also presented with another omen of good luck....

Spock Boy has finally completed the director's cut of a video that first aired back in the middle of November. Yes, I speak of "Hairy Bones", only this version is longer, funnier, and features the bridge crew of the USS Enterprise.

Child pr0n searches aside, when a year begins with me starring in a Star Trek video that not only involves the Enterprise being menaced by a giant hairy arm but also features Dr. McCoy rapping, you know it has got to have possibilities.

So Long, 2006

2006-12-30T22:23:00.001-08:00

The end of 2006 is upon us, and as we enter 2007 I feel as though I am returning to my youth--we're fighting a war in Iraq, the Democrats control Congress, and the Packers suck. My one great hope is that this pattern will continue thereby causing Tom Tomorrow to actually be funny again.

But, although my life has seemingly returned to what it was in 3rd grade, all is not old and stale. In fact, for me, the year 2006 marked a great number of firsts.

2006 was the year I...

Was named "person of the year" by the New York Times
It's true.
Actually wrote a blog entry for every single month of the year
And this is only true because of a rather optimistic gentleman who rode past me on his bicycle one day in October.
Overcame my normal social anxieties and dislike of talking over the telephone and called in to a national talk radio show
Not only did I get to talk to the ever sexy Matt Drudge for 45 entire seconds, I also got to bash Catholic leaders in a national forum.
Finally got my portrait in a high school year book
And, at 24, it was about time!
Survived the sixth day of the sixth month of the year two thousand six
No thanks to the remake of The Omen, which caused me a great deal of vexation for various reasons.
Became a crappy YouTube vlogger
But I was at least somewhat educational, and I, personally, thought the skanky mustache was pretty funny.
Attended a neo-nazi rally
I was, however, a bit disappointed a riot didn't break out.
Finished watching all the episodes of the classic Star Trek
The fact that I didn't do this until I was 25 basically disqualifies me as a nerd, but I'm hoping the fact I'm in love with Dr. McCoy will at least allow me to maintain pseudo-nerd status.
Realized how much I despise vampires
Seriously, they're kind of lame.
Got my expert-level minesweeper score down to 111
Admittedly, it's not the greatest of scores, but I think it is at least passably decent.
Permanently scarred myself by watching that Star Trek slash video featuring Spock buckling beneath the pressure of Pon-Farr and giving in to his animal urges to the strains of a Nine Inch Nails song
To quote one of the commenters "Did Spock just rape Captain Kirk? That's just wrong, dude :/"

So, let's raise our glasses to 2006. We can but pray 2007 is as productive, enlightening, and filled with accomplishment!

All I Want For Christmas Is Sol In Victus

2006-12-29T22:54:00.001-08:00

The brief interlude between Christmas and New Years has given me, with the help of my brother Paul, a chance to reflect upon the meaning of the holiday we just celebrated.

I'm a bit ticked off. The video is actually a couple seconds longer, but, for whatever reason when I uploaded it to YouTube the last two seconds got cut off, and I really don't feel like putting myself through the headache of reuploading it on the off-chance that it might, that second time, survive intact.

My Christmas Is Now Complete

2006-12-28T18:36:00.000-08:00

Just when I thought Christmas was good and truly over, my sister Rebekah whipped out what could possibly (with the exception of the 6.5 oz of solid chocolate Julia gave me) be the best Christmas gift I got this year.

Gaze in awe upon its splendour!

Yes, Captain James T. Kirk in all his wisdom gazes out at you from his metallic plaque, the burden of command, at this moment, resting lightly upon his shoulders but still evident in the piercing eyes which take you in, sum you up, and pass judgment upon your character.

Along the bottom you can see him, from left to right, (1) seeking comfort from a small, fuzzy animal during a time of emotional stress, (2) checking out his chief science officer's ass, and (3) deciding if he's dealing with someone who is (a) sexier than he is, (b) a better actor, (c) someone he ought to invite back to his quarters for a threesome with Spock, or (d) all of the above.

Before she gave it to me, Rebekah told me that she got it for me because she thought I would like it but if I didn't like it she wanted me to pretend that I did. Rebekah, no pretense it needed in this case! Although I don't really feel for Kirk the intense emotion I feel for Dr. McCoy, I have still hidden this wonderful and entirely classy metallic plaque with cardboard backing away in the same place I have already put my commemorative Leonard McCoy plate. And, it goes without saying that I will, of course, treasure this plaque of the good captain forever.

Thank you, Rebekah; you're the best! :)

Flight Cancelled

2006-12-23T16:27:00.001-08:00

What would you do for the flying car?

At Least I Didn't Burn The Apartment Down

2006-12-21T14:43:00.000-08:00

Now it's time for a little feature I like to call Jessica Did Something Stoopid. This is, of course, a very irregular feature--notable occurrences include going back to college, mistaking Paul for Clansi, that excursion to see Spider-Man 2, and, of course, the great Grape Incident of 2004.

I like to think that mistakes are simply opportunities for us to grow and learn, and, now that I have done something stupid, I would like to tell you all what I have learned so that you will not have to do the same silly thing that I have done in order to gain my knowledge.

Today's Lesson: When you are suddenly filled with the desire to have a cup of hot beverage and, to that end, decide to boil some water, make absolutely certain that you turn on the heating plate that is under your pot of water, and not one of the other heating plates on the stove. By doing so, not only will you expedite the boiling process, you will also avoid filling your apartment with the acrid aroma of the melting plastic handle of the large slotted spoon that was resting in a nearby pot and angling over the heating plate you so incorrectly--dare I say imbecilely?--turned on.

Class dismissed!

Maybe I Wouldn't Fixate So Much If People Stopped Encouraging Me

2006-12-17T19:18:00.000-08:00

But a few hours ago I returned from a weekend of adventuring. That is assuming, of course, that "adventuring" can serve as a synonym for "babysitting the Erbach children"*. At the end of my adventuring, the Erbach family very kindly presented me with a gift as thanks for the effort I expended on their behalf....

Behold its glory!

This decorative plate features the image of Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy as envisioned by Susie Morton of planet Earth. It was created on star date 8404.01 and is plate number 5554 in a line of collector plates which were produced for a mere 90 days before production ceased forever. It is a decorative accessory and not to be used for food consumption. It also, thankfully, features the aforementioned Lieutenant Commander in his long-sleeved uniform as opposed to his short-sleeved doctor tunic.

Needless to say, I love it and not in a purely platonic way.

I must say, this gift almost rivals the framed photo of Matt Drudge my sister Rebekah gave me last Christmas. I say "almost" because, unlike Rebekah, Janet didn't think to wrap her gift in wedding-themed wrapping paper.

However, I must acknowledge, it took me 1 year and 9 months of heavy Drudge luvin' before anyone gave me any sort of Drudge-themed paraphernalia, but I received this lovely limited edition work of McCoy-related memorabilia a mere month after making one single, solitary short video about Bones. I wonder if this says anything about the respective loves I share with each of these men. Maybe my love for Leonard is so much greater than what I feel for Matthew that it only takes one month for people to notice it as opposed to 21.

As shocking as this may sound, maybe my love for Matt Drudge is withering away beneath the over-powering brilliance of my love for Dr. McCoy. Admittedly, Drudge gives Marine[s] pause and plays Bowie songs on demand, but Bones wields a mean hypospray and can raise his eyebrow all the way to his hairline.

It's too close to call. Only time will tell.

Footnotes

*Of course, it involved little more than letting them watch t.v. and play video games in the basement while I lounged around upstairs and devoured Thud!

I Don't Need More Reasons To Dislike This Event

2006-12-13T21:32:00.000-08:00

Before I start today's journal entry, I feel it only proper to mention that the issue I will be blogging about touches on a subject that has been known to provoke an inordinate amount of embarrassment in men.

Now, with that out of the way, we can begin...

It has recently come to my attention that Proctor and Gamble has begun to decorate the interior packaging of some of their feminie hygiene products with notes of well-wishing to their customers.

Now, maybe I'm just a stick-in-the-mud, but I don't think a woman needs to open up a fresh pad and have her eyes assaulted with this....

I can basically guarantee that the only women who enjoy menstruating are the ones who have suddenly discovered that they are not, in fact, knocked up. The rest of the female population finds it at best an annoying discomfort and at worst a physically painful ordeal, and no words anyone says is going to alter that reality.

Dear people in the feminine care division of Proctor and Gamble, I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume for the moment that you are not actively trying to provoke your customers, but I must tell you, personally, my emotional well-being during the time of menstruation has considerably declined ever since my personal hygiene products have started telling me to "Have a happy period."

I don't know which of your employees originally came up with this idea, nor do I know how many other employees had to consider and okay this idea before it was implemented, but I strongly suggest you fire every single one of them, and possibly after doing so hire a big burly man to break their kneecaps.

The Crying Jackman

2006-12-07T18:47:00.000-08:00

He cries for your soul.

Ennui

2006-11-29T01:07:00.000-08:00

Ennui here at the Jessica Journals. Yes, as you might have been able to surmise from the dearth of blog entries of late, all is boredom, dullness, and monotony here in Jessicountry, and it doesn't appear that it will be letting up any time soon. I recently watched Interview With The Vampire in the hope that it would provide ample fodder for my sharp wit but am grudgingly forced to admit that, despite the presence of Tom Cruise to say nothing of my well publicized feelings regarding vampires, I found it a fast-paced, well-made, and vaguely interesting movie. Tarzan hasn't been more any more gay than usual of late. Hitchcock movies will continue to suck whether or not I point that fact out. And much as I would like Matthew to come to my rescue, I am painfully aware that after 2 and 1/2 years of hardcore Drudge luv, the comedic potential of fixating on everyone's favorite internet reporter has been pretty much used up.

I did run across a fairly sweet bit of DeForest Kelley pinup...

...however, I don't think it's enough to save this blog.

In spite of the general tedium currently being experienced by the denizens of Jessicentral, I feel it is my duty to at least attempt to be amusing, even if I can only muster a feeble effort. To that end, I present you with the following list I made of troubling aspect of the classic Star Trek:

Pon Farr
The lead singer of the hippy band in "The Way To Eden"
Actually, the entire hippy group was pretty lame
The fact that Bones' catchphrase prevents me from being able to state "DeForest Kelley is dead" without cracking up
"Plato's Stepchildren"
The various slash videos trek fans have created
The time Spock walked Bones through the brain surgery Bones was currently performing on Spock
The way Kirk's tight uniform draws attention to the way his back curves and flows into his supple buttocks
While not technically an aspect of Star Trek, I am deeply troubled that I wrote the sentence immediately preceding this one

Hairy Bones

2006-11-13T22:03:00.000-08:00

So, I have made another video. In this one I reveal my true feelings for Star Trek's Dr. McCoy, but all is not love and happiness...but it is fascinating.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes!

2006-11-10T16:38:00.000-08:00

As I sit inside my murky lair the first real snow of the season falls outside my window, perhaps signaling the end of the rather unseasonably clement weather we have been experiencing recently. The 2006 elections are over and have left behind a shift in the balance of power.

I think this time of transition affords us an opportunity to look back upon the past year or so and see some of the other changes that have taken place.

The pedestrian death trap on Water St. is a death trap no longer
Coyote Rose has apparently decided to undergo another name change and is now called "Gilligan's"
And, frankly, I think that's really bad move because unlike "Coyote Rose"--or "Vixens" before it--"Gilligan's" simply doesn't spell "sexy".
Chef Chu's is no more and has been replaced by the Tea Garden
Even the fish tank has been cleaned; however, the Chef Chu's "customer parking only" sign remains in place in the parking lot and is, I am pleased to report, is as washed out as ever it was.
That big blob of yellowish/off-whitish stuff that had been lying on the sidewalk outside my apartment for, literally, months is now gone.

...And for that I'm very thankful.

Why Do You Hate Me?

2006-10-31T18:06:00.000-08:00

Not only did I get to tell someone why I hate them, I also honored Halloween in the process by putting on a sleazy looking mustache.

Cower Before Me!

2006-10-26T20:51:00.000-07:00

Behold what I have wrought!

It's genius I say! Pure genius!

...or at least, moderately funny.

No, But I Will Write A Blog Entry About You

2006-10-05T00:04:00.000-07:00

Yesternight, I was perusing the various search terms that have brought people to my website, when I noticed one in particular. Apparently, someone was led to my website after entering the following question into a search engine:

Why do you hate me?

This is an interesting question which I think deserves an answer.

First off, you give yourself too much credit when you use the word "hate". My feelings for you could more accurately be described as "amused scorn bordering on indifference".

While not the root cause of this feeling, the fact that you are in your mid fifties, wear a mustache but no beard, and have the type of squarish face that I find particularly unattractive does not earn you any favorable points.

The real cause of my spiteful disdain, however, can be found in the monologue you delivered immediately after you rode past me on your bicycle.

"Hey you! Hey you!" I seem to recall you beginning. "You wanna date?!" Before continuing in a somewhat offended tone, "Hey! I'm talkin' to you!" Then declaring, "I love your body! You wanna go out?! You have an amazing ass!" Before finally adding in a wheedling manner, "Dinner and a movie....Come on!"

That, I think, more than adequately explains why I hold the negative opinion of you which I hold. Now go away and don't ask any more questions.

My Regrets

2006-09-19T12:39:00.000-07:00

Whilst contemplating what I wanted to write about, I briefly considered enumerating the reasons why I like Terry Gilliam, but then I realized that all those reasons could be encapsulated by the two words "Jewish Rastafarian" at which point I decided to chuck that idea and simply make out a list of things I regret. Needless to say, the list is short, because I regret very few things....

The fact that I am routinely checked out by that annoying librarian with the short grey hair
All the other librarians at the Appleton Public Library are able to find the movies I've put on hold, even when said movies are still in the back among the stacks of only partly sorted items. This woman, however, puts on the barest show of attempting to find my stuff before informing me that my item is not there. Does she not realize that I can see every move she makes? That, as I stand at the checkout counter, I can physically watch her as she walks into the back, looks dumbly around for ten seconds, avoids even coming close to the shelf on which my items generally are located, before returning empty-handed? Of course, she's such an indolent fool she probably doesn't care that I am aware of her sloth. Oh, how I wish I did not have to deal with her!
The time I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me and read the work of The Prisoner slash fiction I stumbled across somewhere in the ghettos of cyberspace
Painfully juvenile, it featured the following exchange....

"What do you want?” he asked.
"Fornication," she said, smiling.
"You won't get it," he said.
"By hook or by crook, I will," she said.
"Who are you?" 6 snapped.
"The new Number 9. You are Number 6. "
"I'm not a number. I am..."
"Coming ..... to my way of thinking," Number 9 said.
Patrick McGoohan is rolling over in his grave right now because this fan fiction killed him.
The appalling lack of the expressions "Arrrgh!", "Avast!", and "Shiver me timbers" in this blog entry
Today is, after all, International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Savvy?

The Battle of the Sexes Rages On

2006-09-14T22:52:00.000-07:00

Civilization as we know it has been rocked by pretentiously named researcher John Philippe Rushton. According to this report in the Daily Mail, Prof. Rushton has conducted a study measuring the intelligence of both men and women and has concluded that, on average, men's IQs are almost four points higher than women's.

As women the world over indignantly argue that the professor's conclusions simply are not accurate, men have begun to celebrate....

Men are more intelligent than women, [writes David from Brighton in the comment box provided by the Daily Mail] that's common knowledge. Why did it take a survey of 100,000 men a women to work that one out?

Now, I may be nothing save a moderately intelligent woman, but I, at least, know how to spell the word "and".

And Now For Something Entirely Different

2006-09-03T23:16:00.000-07:00

As my Readers are all, no doubt, aware by now, the twofold purpose of the Jessica Journals is mockery and ruthless excoriation. Now, these stand us in good stead and I hope that we will all enjoy many more years heaping scorn upon the unworthy; however, I thought it might be interesting if we took a brief detour and experienced what life is like on the other side. Yes, I am suggesting we discuss things we actually like for a change.

Of course, when I say "we" I mean "I", and my subject specifically is preferential creations by a musical god--id est my favorite David Bowie songs.

Andy Warhol
Rather more acoustic and less instrumentally involved than I expect from Bowie, this is a great song with a very engaging guitar part.

Dress my friends up just for show
See them as they really are
Blue Jean
When I first heard this song I gave it three stars and forgot about it. Then I started working the night shift at Kohl's during which I was occasionally serenaded with "Blue Jean". Between Britney Spears' raspy smoker groans and the demands of a rather low-class man that I get out of his dreams and into his car, this particular song suddenly started to sound better and better. I no longer work at Kohl's, but "Blue Jean" still remains at the top of my list of Bowie tunes.

One day I'm gonna write a poem in a letter
One day I'm gonna get that faculty together
Bring Me The Disco King (Underworld Remix)
When you factor in my opinion of vampires, the fact that I still like this song is a testimony of just how good it really is.

Soon there'll be nothing left of me
Nothing left to release
Days
This song has already been briefly mentioned on this blog. It's a good song for hopelessly depressed people to listen to because it expresses their state of mind, but, unlike "Hurt" by Johnny Cash, does not make them want to slit their wrists.

In red-eyed pain I'm knocking on your door again
My crazy brain in tangles
Pleading for your gentle voice
Those storms keep pounding through my head and heart
I pray you'll sooth my sorry soul
The Heart's Filthy Lesson
What can I say? I like the music video for this song and also particularly dig the piano part.

The Hearts Filthy lesson
With her hundred miles to hell
The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell
This is a song you can drive fast too. The lyrics may not mean much to me, but the rhythm and chord progression sure as hell do.

What is eternal?
What is damned?
What is clay and what is sand?
The Secret Life Of Arabia
This is another song which for me is all about the rhythm and tune, while the lyrics, aside from reminding me of (a) The Garden Of Allah and (b) The Road To Morocco, don't mean much to me.

You must see the movie the sand in my eyes
I walk through a desert song when the heroine dies
Strangers When We Meet
Far and away my most favorite Bowie song, it holds a special place in my heart for introducing me to both the word "rechauffé" and the word "vendue". It was the final song on a disc of Bowie songs my friend Jan illegally burned for me. For the first 200 times I listened to it I merely thought it was a beautiful song, but, upon the 201st listening, I sat up and declared "I have it! That is the song of a jaded detective in a dystopian near-future investigating a particularly brutal crime which involves art or artists in some way."
Of course, I thought I was being hopelessly original and even kicked around a few plot ideas, only to, a year and a half later, buy the 1. Outside CD whereupon I discovered that that whole CD is a "non-linear Gothic Drama Hyper-cycle" which takes place in a seemingly rather grim near (at the time of the CD release) future and revolves around Detective Professor Nathan Adler's investigation of the "art-ritual" murder and dismemberment of 14-year old Baby Grace Blue.
Who would have guessed?

I'm with you
So I can't go on
Up The Hill Backwards
Featuring the line "A series of shocks - sneakers fall apart", the lyrics of this song are so abstruse as to be almost meaningless, but who cares? It has got to be the happiest sounding song I have ever heard and it never fails to make me smile and want to jam out.

I'm OK, you're so-so

So, there you have it. Although we did manage to get in a dig at both Mrs. Federline and Billy Ocean, I think the entry as a whole lacked snark. We shall return to our regular our regular blogging next time.

Sieg Fun!

2006-08-28T21:22:00.000-07:00

Summer's end is fast approaching and what better way to go out in style than by attending a neo-Nazi rally? Brother Paul and I could think of nothing better so we spent our most recent Saturday driving down to Madison where we joined Brother John and proceeded to mock the freaks.

I suppose the Nazis put on as good a show as they could with a bad sound-system and only twenty members. It didn't help that they were forced to remain at the very top of the Capitol's steps while all us counter-protestors were relegated to the very bottom, where those of us without binoculars could only squint, peer intently and vaguely catch sight of some blonde, buzz-cut heads off in the distance behind the multiple chain link fences and scads of armed guards.

But, like I said, the Nazis did try. They came decked out in full uniform (swastika armbands included) and very thoughtfully blasted some Wagner at us. I was hoping they would start goose-stepping in formation, but instead they just started droning speeches at us, none of which were particularly comprehensible due to the poor quality of their sound-system. All in all, the Nazis seemed to be unprepared. Not only did their sound-system suck, but, when it started to rain, the counter-protesters all whipped out their umbrellas and put up the hoods of their raincoats while the Nazis were left to get wet.

Ostensibly, our little Aryan friends claimed to be protesting illegal immigration, which, evidently, they thought could be done most effectively by lighting a couple of Israeli flags on fire. Sadly, the rain thoroughly prevented these shenanigans and the neo-Nazis were left to merely cast the Israeli flags callously upon the ground in angry protest.

All in all, the emotions at the rally were tepid at best (though the Jews standing in front of my brothers and me did laugh at our jokes). The Nazis spewed their racist hate and we told them to eff themselves. They Sieg Heiled and we gave them the finger. However, I though both sides avoided genuine emotion in favor of simply going through the motions.

I did hold some hope that the Anarchists who showed up would pull through for us, but they totally failed. I wanted them to rush the armed police guards and whup some pasty Nazi ass (or at least get beaten down by the police), but they lost their morale right at the beginning after a couple of them were arrested for throwing tomatoes. Following that, all they did was beat a native drum and prance around waving black flags, no doubt before heading off to the local hipster café for a post-rally latte.

The guys parading around in pink bunny outfits were kind of amusing, though, I will say.

I attended the rally with the expectation of hearing some offensive racist hate, but, perhaps ironically, owing to the Nazis' bad sound system, I was forced to turn to the counter-protesters to get my fix of racism which I found in the form of a sign which read "The JEWS are watching, and they want to snip your penis!" At the time the juxtaposition of circumcision with castration struck me as more offensive to Jews than to Nazis, but I'm not Jewish so what do I know?

At any rate, while not astounding, the rally was still enjoyable. I do, however, wish there had been more bloodshed.

Not Exactly One Million Dollars (but a valid payment option nonetheless)

2006-08-20T23:12:00.000-07:00

Ask and ye shall receive.

Two weeks ago, when I requested suitable remuneration from Matt Drudge for all of the PR work I have done for him over the years, I was rather hoping he would send me the orange juice or, barring that, that the one million d dollars.

Drudge, however, decided to settle his account with a Bowie number. He went so far as to open up the national part of his radio show with the song "Fame", turning it into an anthem for confessed "child killer" John Mark Karr. Personally, I really think that for an individual who looks like this...

...the most fitting Bowie tune is "Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps)", but be that as it may "Fame" is indeed a Bowie song and according to the terms of our agreement Drudge's debt is now paid in full.

Thank you, Mr. Drudge; it has been a pleasure working with you.

And when I say "working with you" I mean "taking odd coincidences and twisting them to fit within my tortuous bloggy vision".

Tarzan: The Saga Continues

2006-08-19T14:37:00.000-07:00

August is now officially the unofficial Tarzan Appreciation Month here at the Jessica Journals. Having recently watched all six classic MGM Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan films, I have now moved on to more modern T-Zan fare. Yes, I speak of Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes.

I have a somewhat sentimental reason for liking this movie--one of the lucent memories of my early childhood is of watching the Christmas ball scene in this film and seeing Tarzan make monkey noises over his grandfather. For whatever reason, I didn't watch the rest of the movie, but that scene has remained with me from that day until yesterday when I was finally able to put a context to my fledgling memory.

Greystoke: The Blah Blah Blah was the movie that introduced Christopher Lambert to the English-speaking world. At nearly two and one half hours long it is an epic which follows our man T-Zan from the death of his parents in the jungles of Africa and his childhood among a tribe of apes, to his discovery by a Belgian explorer and his awakening sense of his human-ness, all the way up through his entrance into civilization and society and the struggle that arises as he faces the conflicting demands of his breeding and his nature.

Plainly stated, I liked this movie--particularly the first half which dealt with Tarzan's life amongst the apes (and which was filmed on location in luscious Cameroon, thus, mercifully, sparing me from cheap backlot sets and stock footage). However, our man didn't figure out how to make himself a loincloth until he became Christopher Lambert, so prior to that transformation there were a lot of strategically placed items and interesting choreography. I thought the writing weakened after the action moved to England; however, hot monkey sex did occur so it's all good.

The one great drawback of this movie is the fact that Christopher Lambert is as absolutely French-looking as a man can be. Prior to the most recent presidential campaign this would not necessarily have been a problem; however, this is a post-2004 world, and John Kerry in a loin cloth making monkey noises with his chimpanzee friends as he frolics within the wild, steamy African jungle is not an image I wanted indelibly burned upon my brain.

At any rate, all my recent viewing of Tarzan films has forced me to, if not exactly abandon, then at least reformulate my longstanding theory about Tarzan. I realize now that I cannot have theory about Tarzan; rather, I must create a theory about Tarzans. There are, I believe, multiple Tarzan realities ("Tarzaverses" if you will), and the bronzed Jungle lord within each of these realities possesses his own particular sexual orientation. What precisely determines his orientation I have not yet determined and must conduct more research before deciding. However, I have already gathered some important data....

The Tarzan of the classic comic strip is flagrantly homosexual.
Johnny Weissmuller's Tarzan is straight but sterile.
The Tarzan of the modern day comic strip is theoretically straight but so busy being a self-righteous know-it-all with the stiffest possible stick up his ass that sex really doesn't enter the equation.
Christopher Lambert's Tarzan is French.

I think that about sums it up...for now.

Dude, Where's My Brain?

2006-08-17T18:57:00.000-07:00

The truth is, [I confided to Alex} I like watching stupid movies and then posting snarky reviews about them on my website; it's much more fun than reviewing genuinely *good* movies.

Being the considerate person he is, Alex was swift to respond....

[I]f you truly love stupid movies, try "Dude Where's my Car?" I felt so much stupider after watching that movie. I seriously think it fried my brain in some way. I'd love to see your review on that one.

This intrigued me. And I became only more intrigued in a few days when I revealed I was taking steps to procure this movie for myself and saw Alex begin to panic.

I was joking about that movie Sweetheart [he declared, going into damage control mode] "Dude Where's My Car?" will melt your brain and I value your intelligence far to much to see that happen.

Needless to say, that clinched it. I simply had to watch that movie...and I did.

Dude, Where's My Car? stars Ashton Kutcher and Seann William Scott as two lovably idiotic stoner roomies who awaken one day after a night of wild, pot-fueled partying to discover that Ashton's car is missing. This puts them in something of a bind because they have each been dating their respective girlfriends for a year and their ladies are expecting anniversary gifts...which are in Ashton's car.

Thus begins a journey to find Ashton's missing set of wheels. A journey that will involve transexual strippers, aliens, bubble-wrap garbed cultists, pot smoking dogs, Fabio, and a French ostrich rancher.

Sophie's Choice this is not.

Was Dude Where's My Car? the movie equivalent of a comedy sketch whipped together by highschoolers for their end-of-the-year pep rally? Yes, it was. I am, therefore, left not knowing how to respond when this stupid Ashton Kutcher flick has fewer plot holes than The Da Vinci Code, more internal coherence than The Day After Tomorrow, and is, quite honestly, more compelling than Spider-Man 2. It's also about as funny as Battlefield Earth.

The fact that I am actually praising an Ashton Kutch film (in however a roundabout fashion) is (a) an indication I have lost my mind, (b) proof of the level to which the artistic standards in Hollywood have sunk, or (c) a sign of the Apocalypse. Keep in mind that, unlike our two unlikely heroes, I am not a stoner, so there's little chance anything is wrong with my gray cells.

....Which leaves me wondering: Is Ashton Kutcher the anti-Christ?

Sweet God, please protect us.

A Message To The English Speaking Population Of The World

2006-08-14T16:42:00.000-07:00

Contrary to what your brain apparently is telling you, the correct spellings are "voila" and "ciao" not "walla" and "chow". While I appreciate your desire to appear educated, I would prefer you to actually be educated.

Also, it's "grazie" not "gratzie", "gratzee" or "gratzy".

The Problem Is Tarzan's

2006-08-13T16:05:00.000-07:00

Panic in Old Person Land! To say the least, my friend Mark was distressed when he saw how mercilessly I dealt with Tarzan, King of the Apes, and was understandably anxious to come to the aid of his childhood hero.

I've GOT it! [he exclaimed in desperation] One theory you have completely forgotten....no kids? IT WAS A JANE PROBLEM!!! You must look beyond the obvious young grasshopper.

As a matter of fact, I did consider this theory but then discarded it as patently false and decided to not mention it because I knew the cold bitterness of my logic would only cause pain to certain members of my audience. However, now that the issue has been brought up by one of my readers, I believe it is my duty to proffer my thoughts.

What compelled Jane to leave civilization and make her home amidst the jungle vines?
One word: hormones. Superficially, Tarzan looks like an alpha male who ought to be able to impregnate a woman at a moment's notice. I submit to you that, upon seeing this, Jane's ova released a primal scream demanding she remain within the steamy jungle in the company of the bronzed jungle lord.
The very fact that she has chosen to make the jungle her home is proof of her ability to bear children.
How many opportunities does Tarzan need?
If we were only dealing with Maureen O'Sullivan's Jane then Mark's suggestion might carry some weight, but Brenda Joyce's Jane came along and Tarzan still didn't have any success.
How many barren woman can a man find while traipsing around the jungle?
Do you honestly believe a woman with curves like this is not fertile?
Seriously...
Who is more likely to damage their testicles by falling off swinging vines and leaping down from high tree branches onto the backs of wild animals: Jane or Tarzan?
I rest my case.

The Theories Proliferate

2006-08-12T22:24:00.000-07:00

I have just this day finished watching the six classic MGM Tarzan films starring Johnny Weissmuller and Maureen O'Sullivan. Needless to say, my life will never be the same again.

In Tarzan the Ape Man we first meet Tarzan, the lonely feral lord of an LA studio backlot populated by African stock footage. The film features Tarzan kidnapping Jane and seducing her by thumping his chest as he declares "Tarzan!" then striking her chest hard enough to leave a bruise as he yells "Jane!" It was a romance made in heaven.

The plot of the second film, Tarzan and His Mate revolves around Jane's sexy jungle costume, the climax of the film occurring during her nude swimming scene.

Tarzan Escapes was originally entitled The Capture of Tarzan, and in it we see Tarzan escape after being captured by an evil hunter who wishes to put him on display as a sideshow freak.

In Tarzan Finds A Son! Tarzan finds a son and Jane dies only to miraculously return to life moments later in the best tradition of Duke from G.I. Joe: The Movie.

In Tarzan's Secret Treasure, Tarzan becomes friends with a funny-looking, drunken Irishman. Concurrently, a scientist and his guide are corrupted by the allure of gold, their desire leading them down a path that involves murder and kidnapping and ends with their capture by natives and eventual demise in the snapping jaws of hungry crocodiles.

Finally, this romp through Tarzanland ended with Tarzan's New York Adventure which sees our bronzed jungle hero donning trousers and heading to New York to rescue Boy who has been kidnapped by evil circus owners.

While all of this was, to say the least, great fun, I must reluctantly admit that these movies have dealt a serious blow to my "Tarzan Is Gay" theory. At a minimum, they force me to ask several questions.

Why did Tarzan kidnap Jane instead of one of the men?
Why did Tarzan have to "Find!" a son instead of getting one the old fashioned way?
Does Tarzan's discovery really warrant an exclamation point?
What induced Jane to remain with Tarzan in the jungle?
Was it the stimulating conversation?
Why does Tarzan have such perfectly coiffed hair?
What does Tarzan's loincloth, bulging muscles, and hairless body say about him?

The information is so contradictory that I find it difficult to collate it properly. But after much thought, I have come up with three (3) possible solutions to the question of Tarzan's sexuality.

Tarzan is gay and Jane in the most dedicated fag hag on the face of the earth
This would explain the lack of reproduction but not the absence of jewelry and eye shadow.
Tarzan is mentally and emotionally underdeveloped and in need of a mother figure
If this is the case I don't even what to think about why he and Jane routinely make out.
Tarzan is sterile
Look, just because he can swim doesn't mean his little fellas can. And just because he can mount a rhinoceros and stab the blade of his knife through its thick protective hide does not mean Jane's ova are being penetrated.

The Things I Ponder

2006-08-08T14:04:00.000-07:00

The world is filled with questions...many of which go forever unanswered. Currently I am plagued by two persistent and possibly insoluble enigmas....

Who is the person who, on a regular basis, comes to my website in search of information about V: The Final Battle?
I know it's the same person because they google the exact same phrase every single time:

marc singer and michael ironside are part of a resistance movement battling lizard aliens who are taking over the world
Subquestions to my main question include...
- Why do you google that particular phrase?
- Isn't it kind of long and unwieldy?
- At this point, haven't you read enough about V and its various sequels?
- Are you some sort of übergeek?
- Should I be frightened that you come to my website?
Feel free, strange person with the V fixation, to email me at any time with illumination on any or every one of these questions.
What is that big blob of stuff that's been lying on the sidewalk outside my apartment for over a month?
Seriously, it's a big blob of yellowish off-whitish stuff. It doesn't seem to melt or evaporate. It doesn't dry up. The rain does not wash it away. It just lies there, day after day, week after week, month (I fear) after month. I don't want to touch it, but every day I grow more curious as to what it is.

An Open Letter To Matt Drudge

2006-08-07T00:14:00.000-07:00

Mr. Drudge, it has suddenly occurred to me that I do quite a bit of PR work for you. Although to a casual observer my focus on you may appear to be merely the first step in a Play Misty For Me scenario, the truth of the matter is that my tireless work has improved your standing among people who otherwise would not care a wit about you.

Marine[s] are worried you're competition, my sister who started out disliking you now has a raging crush on you, with a little more effort my brother will want to be you, and now my friend Wildwood has this to say about you:

[H]e looks sort of like Cary Grant running in that gray suit from the crop dusting airplane...only with a hat! I'm beginning to understand the attraction...

My point, Matthew, is this: because of my dedication, a woman who otherwise wouldn't give you a second look is now comparing you to Cary Grant. Yes, you are being compared to only the coolest, sexiest, suavest screen idol in the history of Hollywood.

...and all this is due solely to my efforts.

In all honesty, I believe I ought to receive some sort of remuneration for the hard work I have expended on your behalf, and after much thought, I have come up with several ways in which you could recompense me, any one of which would be acceptable....

You could pay me a million dollars
Ever since I was a small girl I have dreamed about gaining a million dollars in one big lump sum that I could swim in like Scrooge McDuck.
You could play some David Bowie songs as bumper music on your radio show
Look, you must be the only person on the face of the earth who doesn't realize that Bowie is a musical god.
You could buy me a drink
I am addicted to orange juice. You live in Miami. How hard can it be for you to ship me a gallon of fresh-squeezed Floridian deliciousness?

Think about it, Drudge. After all, it's not just any girl who can get you compared to Cary Grant.

A Further Message To The Fine Folks At The Dove® Company

2006-08-05T17:20:00.000-07:00

That's it, people from the Dove® Company! I am returning to consuming the delectably flavoured Cherry Garcia ice cream by Ben & Jerry's.

As you may recall, I very politely warned you that this was a possible eventuality, but you apprently did not take my assertion seriously. I have, over the last several weeks, bought three (3) pints of Chocolate and Cherry Courtship flavoured ice cream from you. The first possessed not one, single solitary cherry. The second, not only possessed no cherries but also had a very thin, flimsy and altogether unacceptable layer of Dove® chocolate ganache. The third pint disappointingly possessed a mere three (3) cherries--partial cherries at that, not full cherries.

How many strikes did you expect you would get?

But Was It As Good As Corky Romano?

2006-08-04T17:12:00.000-07:00

Chris Kattan is beginning to grow on me. Should I schedule surgery asap to remove this cancerous malformation? I don't know. While it's true, he plays absolute buffoons, they are all, at the least, good-hearted buffoons (except in the case of Undercover Brother in which he portrayed a murderous white supremacist with a hidden love for black music, but that movie, frankly, cracked me up, so it's all good).

Surprisingly, Chris Kattan's character in A Night At The Roxbury is perhaps even more a fool than his character in Corky Romano. As we have already discussed, in that latter movie, he portrayed Corky, the lovably buffoonish youngest son of mafia head Peter Falk, who "sails through life in what appears to be a blissful fog of stupidity and good feelings, his greatest dream to be not merely a veterinary assistant but a full fledged veterinarian". In A Night At The Roxbury, he portrays one, Doug Butabi, the stupid, lovably scrappy son of Dan Hedaya, a faux-flower store owner, who cruises down life's boulevards to the beat of the dance soundtrack in his head, his greatest dream to be not simply the victim of an exclusive dance club's bouncer but, in fact, to become the owner of an exclusive dance club himself. Joining him on this wacky ride through L.A.'s nightlife, is his brother Steve Butabi, as portrayed by Will Ferrell.

A Saturday Night Live movie ensues.

Things that Happen in A Night At The Roxbury

Chris and Will unknowingly blackmail Richard Greico
Chris and Will lose both their virginity
But, thankfully, not to Richard Greico
Club owner Zadir befriends Chris and Will
Everybody gets high on whipped cream in a canister
Molly Shannon gives Will Ferrell a blow job
Molly Shannon and Will Ferrell get engaged
Chris breaks up Will and Molly's wedding moments before the ceremony is complete
Richard Greico provides free psychotherapy to Chris' and Will's father
Chris and Will find out that they are part owners of a new L.A. dance club
They hook up with two club-going girls
Everything ends happily

I think I covered most of the plot points.

Needless to say, the movie was, in a word, stupid, but it was a good-hearted sort of stupid. The Butabi brothers may be complete and utter tools, but they're complete and utter tools who possess both genuine fraternal affection and a dream that they refuse to let go of even in the face of overwhelming odds--both of which win out in the end.

Of course, during the process, they utterly ruined "Secret Garden" by Bruce Springsteen for me, but I guess you can't have everything.

Mounting Evidence

2006-07-28T09:25:00.000-07:00

t seems the evidence of Tarzan's sexual flagrancy just continues to mount. As three quarters of my reading audience is aware, several of my family members recently vacationed in Italy. Whilst on the journey home, my father noticed a particularly telling item in the in-flight magazine....

click image to enlarge

There you have it. No less auspicious a source than the KLM In-Flight Magazine has revealed that the word "Tarzan" translates from Hebrew as "dandy, fop, or coxcomb".

Is there any possible way we could make this case any stronger?

A Message To The Fine Folks At the Dove® Company

2006-07-22T18:01:00.000-07:00

I am not sure if you at the Dove® Company are aware of this, but, when I buy Chocolate and Cherry Courtship flavoured ice cream, I expect to find (and I quote) "Creamy cherry flavoured ice cream with dark cherries and Dove® dark chocolate chunks." I do not, however, expect--and I certainly don't desire--to find creamy cherry flavoured ice cream with Dove® dark chocolate chunks sans dark cherries.

Do you want me to return to eating Cherry Garcia flavoured ice cream by Ben & Jerry's? Because that could very well happen.

Help! I'm Flirting And I Don't Know With Whom

2006-07-19T22:09:00.000-07:00

Let's pop open the champagne and roll out the kegger; everybody's favorite Marine is back. Yes, I speak of the one and only LCpl Rutland, Charles Alexander--AKA "Alex". When we last left LCpl Rutland he was writing me fan mail and preparing to head off to Iraq. Now, he has returned, if only until January, and seeing as I am excessively ginchy he just had to look me up and send me an email.

In a display of shockingly intense dedication, he actually went through the hassle of reading all the blog entries I wrote during the time he was kicking ass on the other side of the world, and, after doing so, he has come to me with a request of sorts....

You wanted 3 questions from your readers and then said you had enough but I wasn't in the country to participate so I reserve the right to submit in lieu of my absence.

Okay, you've convinced me. With logic like that I cannot refuse.

And now, for the questions....

If you could be any animal, fictitious, extinct or otherwise, what would it be and why?
After several seconds of deliberation I have decided that I definitely don't want to be a fictitious or extinct animal. Being so would only lead to trouble, most likely of the hunted-down-trapped-and-shown-off-in-zoos variety.
After several more seconds of deliberation, I have decided that I definitely do want to be a cheetah. Due to my personality, I simply must be a cat of some type, and cheetahs are much sleeker and more elegant than other large felines. I would get a killer set of teeth and claws, and, above all, who wouldn't want to sprint across the savannah at speeds as high as 70 miles per hour?
What is your obsession with Matt Drudge? That last name alone makes me think of scum or something just by the way it sounds
Yes, yes, we all know his name sounds like sludge and dredge. But the man can't help that.
Props for figuring out who your competition is, and props for baldfacedly attempting to collect intelligence on him. Now, normally I would keep mum about such important and classified information. However, because you just got back from kicking ass in Iraq, I will make an exeption to the general rule and properly delineate the reasons for my flagrant Drudge luv.
Though Drudge and I are currently on the outs, there was a time I looked with great affection upon him--and that for several reasons....
- He has a way with words
  Four years ago, while living in LA, I first stumbled across his radio show and was immediately entertained. One night, shortly after I started listening he went off on a rant about how skanky recording artists have become which culminated in the histrionic ejaculation, "It's reached the point where you have to wear a condom just to walk in to a Virgin Record store."
  How can you not like a man who can make a penis joke with that much flair?
- He pisses people off
  The White House sued him, Bill O'Reilly called him a "threat to democracy" and, at one time, suggested that killing him was an acceptable course of action, and I strongly suspect that Michael Savage is going to have a heart attack one of these days while in the midst of one of his "Drudge is stupid" rants.
- He has a quirky personality
  Excitable, a little irascible, occasionally vindictive, pretentious, passionate, rebellious, old-fashioned, hopelessly independent, melodramatic, sentimental, and somewhat paranoid, all wrapped up in a good-hearted, well-meaning package.
- He has discerning taste in movies
  I seem to recall him once declaring something very close to: "If you liked Spider-Man 2 I don't even want to know you."
  Well said.
- His taste in music is fairly good as well
  All in all, he seems to like good music; however, during the four years I have listened to his radio show, I have only once heard him use David Bowie as bumper music. But at least Drudge is only ignoring one musical genius, not praising a score of mediocre musicians.
- Up until recently I would have said he had a fairly reliable moral compass
  And here's where the flagrant lust breaks down a bit. I like his positions on abortion, cloning, and general freedom, but, for the life of me, I can't understand his Catholic love. I'm damned if I can figure out what there is to respect about an organization that protects and defends child rapists.
- Quite honestly, he's a total cutie
  ...with the most adorable voice and the prettiest brown eyes. ^.^
  (But, before you start feeling too good about yourself, Mr. Drudge, keep in mind that Lieutenant Columbo has a lot of these qualities too, as well as a full head of hair.)
I continually see you referring to yourself as a "well bred lady". While I for one surely don't dispute the fact, princess, I would like to know what your family heritage is and if you have any true royalty in your blood line.
I wasn't sure exactly where you intended for this question to end. Was I supposed to include the part where you gave me your pedigree and measurements?
The truth of the matter is I don't know if my bloodline includes any royalty. The most I can say is that my ancestors hail from Germany and the British Isles (England, Scotland, and Wales if my mother is to be believed). Like most Americans, I also number a Native American as one of my antecessors, though to what tribe she belonged seems somewhat up in the air; I have been told that she was a Chickasaw and alternately that she was a Chochtaw.
Royal ancestry or no, I like to think that my measurements make up for any plebleian status I may or may not hold--5'8", 135 lbs, hair 20+ inches, and very sexy pupils. If that doesn't beat some inbred royal girl I don't know what does.

So, to recap:

I'm a bad tempered cat.
To achieve true sexiness Matt Drudge needs to give up the child rapist love and play more David Bowie music
I may be fairly ignorant about my ancestry, but the fact I'm a hottie makes up for it.

But Was It As Good As Undercover Brother?

2006-07-18T23:01:00.000-07:00

I recently mentioned that, at one time, I rented the movie Corky Romano only to return home and discover that I couldn't watch it because the DVD player on my computer was broken. Needless to say, I could allow such good fortune to remain for only so long before seeking out some good, olde fashionèd misery.

In this instance, I had to go through rather a lot of hassle to procure my pain. The film in question was checked out of the libraries I frequent as well as all of the other nearby public library establishments. Eventually, I had to have it brought in from Shiocton, a move which afforded me the embarrassment of having to walk into the Appleton Public Library, inform them I had an interlibrary loan on hold, and watch them discover that the item over which all this fuss was being made was, in fact, the film Corky Romano.

For those not in the know, Corky Romano was a 2001 Chris Kattan vehicle, so you know you're in for a ~~rollicking fun ride~~ ~~laugh-out-loud spectacle~~ 86 minutes of mild amusement.

Chris Kattan is Corky, the lovably buffoonish youngest son of ~~the reasons I rented this movie in the first place~~ Peter Falk AKA Pops Romano, head of an east coast mafia family. Disowned by Pops and cut off from his family, the Corkster sails through life in what appears to be a blissful fog of stupidity and good feelings, his greatest dream to be not merely a veterinary assistant but a full fledged veterinarian. Meanwhile Pops is reaping the rewards of his life of crime. Bedridden after suffering a heart attack, he is on the verge of being indicted for his mobbie crimes when he, with the help of his two older sons and his lawyer, develops a cunning plan...make his soft-brained youngest son infiltrate the FBI and steal the evidence against him. It's so crazy it just might work!

A Chris Kattan movie ensues.

I could recap it, but, let's face it, it's a Chris Kattan movie.

As I am in a somewhat charitable mood today, I feel inclined to point out that the film in question actually had more of plot to it than I expected and at only 86 minutes it is mercifully short (something that would have really improved Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest). Beyond that, the story had a heart to it, Chris Kattan wasn't as big a dork as he could have been, and Peter Falk was very sexy. If one day you're in need of a mild laugh you could do worse than waste your time by watching this movie. However, that doesn't change the fact that it's a Chris Kattan film and really doesn't justify the extreme lengths I went through to procure and view it.

Peter Falk, I did it for you.

The Things We Google

2006-07-13T21:08:00.000-07:00

And now, Dear Readers, it is time for a little feature I like to call: Jessica Responds To Various Search Engine Queries That Have Brought People To Her Website. (And, yes, I realize the name is somewhat cumbersome.)

Basically, this feature consists of me responding to some of the search engine queries that have brought people to my website....

hugh jackman
Has a perfect nose
gay tarzan
Stop being redundant
marrying a quadriplegic
Is not something I would do
ann coulter
Is all that separates me from Hugh Jackman
matt dart
Is an imbecilic fool who, apparently, likes to run google vanity searches
jessica dart
Good God! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!!
i am a workaholic and unsocial
Thank you for informing us of that fact
my nose is so ugly
Thank you for informing us of that fact
leonard horatio mccoy
Is sexy
gil grissom
Is sexy
drudge
Is sexy
kfed
Is the antithesis of sexy
appleton christian school
Was Hell on earth, and I would not recommend it to any parent considering sending their child to a private school
bill o rielly transcript loofah
Can be found here, but should only be read if you want to be filled with the desire to rip your own eyes out
path that leads to blindness
Reading Bill O'Reilly's loofah fantasy
marc singer and michael ironside are part of a resistance movement battling lizard aliens who are taking over the world
Yes, yes, they are
the funniest picture in the world
...probably involves kittens making silly faces or contorting themselves into wacky poses

And there you have it folks.

All of the above mentioned search queries were completely genuine, which leaves me wondering whether I should laugh or cry. When I ask google "should I laugh or cry" it just gives me the lyrics to an ABBA song, which, while not answering my question, does leave me wanting to dance

The Replacement: Part 2

2006-07-11T15:37:00.000-07:00

Apparently, my choice in bloggy crushes proved more controversial than I expected. Upon reading my most recent journal entry, both of my sisters immediately began squawking.

lol. bravo, bravo. [wrote Julia somewhat obsequiously] however, I must say that Hugh Jackman is all mine. I suppose you may lust over. but lust only.

Rebekah, on the other hand, skipped the flattery and went full out on the offensive....

Um....I'm afraid to inform both you and Julia that Hugh Jackman is already taken. He is in a complicated relationship with me and it doesn't look like it's about to end anytime in the near future. If this should change, I'll let you know, of course, but until then...BACK OFF!

So, in the interest of sisterly affection and unity, I have decided to seek a replacement for Hugh Jackman as Chief Object of Bloggy Lust at the Jessica Journals.

My friend Matt Twain recently offered some advice on this subject.

yul is your man. throw the others out. Tarzan? Give me a break. A metrosexual in the jungle. Probably uses styling gel.

While Mr. T is, of course, thoroughly correct when it comes to T-zan, I am not sure I can view Yul with as much assurance as Matt does. I am, after all, trying to find a replacement for Matt Drudge's replacement, a position not easily filled. While Yul possesses a rather considerable degree of charisma and personal pulchritude, I have a nagging feeling that I would ultimately end up regretting my choice, if only because it is somewhat clichéd. Anybody can love Yul's bald head, brooding brow, penetrating eyes, luscious lips, sculpted abdomen, sexy ass--

Erm...What I mean to say is, after much thought and consideration, I have decided that Peter Falk is the perfect object of bloggy desire for these several reasons:...

He continues the whole quirky-brown-eyed-Jewish-boy-with-adorable-voice motif I had going with Matt Drudge
Smarter than he lets on
I hate the modern day asides in The Princess Bride, but he made those scenes in the movie almost bearable
I want to be the good-looking charismatic one
I checked out Corky Romano from the library just because he was in it (Of course when I got it home I found out my DVD player was broken so I couldn't actually watch it....Is that good or bad?)
There was this kid in my elementary school who had a glass eye, but it didn't seem to fit very well, it looked really gross, and I did everything I could to avoid accidentally glimpsing that boy's face; Peter Falk, however, has a good glass eye, of which I thoroughly approve

Sense And Taut Buttocks

2006-07-04T23:55:00.000-07:00

Having recently listened to an audio book version of Emma, I was struck forcefully, as always I am when reading Austen, by the need to conducted all my affairs with prudence and circumspection. After deep reflection I am, somewhat abashedly, forced to admit that I have not acted in an entirely advisable manner as regards the chief object of my fixation.

While Mr. Drudge is in most respects a most worthy individual--witty, of good family, in possession of a large income, and, in general, a most amiable gentleman--the favor with which he views the Catholic Church (the leaders of which have covered up numerous instances of child rape perpetrated by certain priests and have fought tooth and nail to avoid any sort of legal punishment or repercussions) speaks of a sort of moral blindness that is simply unacceptable in the object of the bloggy crush of a well-bred lady of sense.

Now, having resolved to conduct myself in a more sensible manner, I have now focused my energies toward finding a new bloggy fixation. While Mr. Drudge occupied the chief place, there was beneath him a veritable ocean of lust from which I hope to draw at least one suitable replacement.

Sherlock Holmes
Is not a child rapist +10
Does not look favorably upon protectors of child rapists +8
Is fiercely bohemian +2
Is addicted to cocaine -3
But it's a vice that affect mostly himself and I plan to only obsess over him not date/marry him +5
Total Rating on the Bloggy Crush Acceptability Scale: +22
Humphrey Bogart
Is not a child rapist +10
Does not look favorably upon protectors of child rapists +8
Does not seem to consider his actions to be limited by legality -4
But beneath his gruff exterior usually lurks a relatively good heart +2
Besides, dammit, he's hot in a gruff, dog-faced sort of way +5
Total Rating on the Bloggy Crush Acceptability Scale: +21
Fabio
Is not a child rapist +10
Does not look favorably upon protectors of child rapists +8
He's Fabio +2
He's Fabio -3
He's Fabio +1
He's Fabio -1
He's Fabio Ergh
He's Fabio Heh
He's Fabio ---
Total Rating on the Bloggy Crush Acceptability Scale: +17 or thereabouts
Hugh Jackman
Is not a child rapist +10
Does not look favorably upon protectors of child rapists +8
Would use his Adamantium claws to rip the entrails out of any child rapist he came across +1000
Possesses the most perfect nose known to man +10
Possesses a very cute butt +15
Possesses a very cute body in general +20
Total Rating on the Bloggy Crush Acceptability Scale: +1063
Fox Mulder
Is not a child rapist +10
Does not look favorably upon protectors of child rapists +8
Possesses soulful, brown, puppy-dog eyes +8
And also a very nice set of lips +4
Is addicted to porn -5
But, as with Sherlock Holmes, I'm only obsessing over him not dating/marrying him +2
Total Rating on the Bloggy Crush Acceptability Scale: +27
Tarzan
Is flagrant 0
Would not make as good a gay friend as Hercule Poirot -3
Insists on wearing nothing but a leopard-print Speedo and bronzing cream -10
Though I have no proof, I suspect he has a "thing" for animals -20
I know for a fact he likes to bugger small boys -1,000,000,000
Total Rating on the Bloggy Crush Acceptability Scale: -1,000,000,033
Gil Grissom
Is not a child rapist +10
Does not look favorably upon protectors of child rapists +8
Would use all the formidable powers of his scientific intellect to hunt down a child rapist +1000
Would look cute in a geeky way while doing so +10
Has the bad taste to lust after Sara Sidle -15
Total Rating on the Bloggy Crush Acceptability Scale: +1013
Yul Brynner
Is not a child rapist +10
Does not look favorably upon protectors of child rapists +8
Is somewhat short -2
Possesses a very sexy head +5
To say nothing of a very sexy chest +5
And a pair of very sexy lips +8
Total Rating on the Bloggy Crush Acceptability Scale: +34
Barry Pepper
Is not a child rapist +10
Does not look favorably upon protectors of child rapists +8
Is better looking than Sarah Jessica Parker +5
Is intensely desirable to young, impressionable boys -10
Would never use this power +5
Would use his vast intellect and formidable man-animal strength against any child rapist +1000
Total Rating on the Bloggy Crush Acceptability Scale: +1018

Well, there it is, Hugh Jackman will, I believe, make an acceptable chief object of bloggy desire, though I'm not sure Jane Austen would approve of the role taut buttocks played in my choice of men. But at least, unlike paedophile priests, I know how to look but not touch.

Brother Flower, Sister Child

2006-06-30T19:37:00.000-07:00

Between vampires, catholic-bashing, and anti-christ movies this blog is in serious need of some uplifting religious fare. To that end, I betook myself to the Appleton Public Library where I temporarily acquired the movie Brother Sun, Sister Moon.

This Franco Zeffirelli directed 1972 film tells the story of Saint Francis of Assisi starting some time prior to his conversion and working its way up through his audience with Pope Innocent III. While I suspect that the film makers played fast and loose with the facts of Francis' life, the movie itself is visually stunning--a brightly coloured feast for the eyes. The costumes are beautiful and the scenery is absolutely breathtaking. But, for those who do not care about vibrant colours or lush landscapes, the movie also provides eye-candy of a different sort. Graham Falkner plays a puppy-dog-eyed religious mystic, Judi Bowker is a very attractive 13th Century flower child, and Alec Guinness is very hott in a decrepit papist at death's door sort of way.

Visuals aside, the movie sadly seemed to be lacking the very thing I watched it for. While not nearly as cool as Martin Luther, Francis of Assisi was an influential religious personage. As such, I expected God and religion to actually play a part in a movie about him, but in this I was roundly mistaken. The movie focuses on Francis' love for birds and nature and, to some degree, his love for the common man, and, while he rhapsodizes these themes, God is never included. It is true, the film shows him rebuilding a ruined church, but this ends up only being an excuse to gather all the commoners together so they can sing a maudlin Donovan tune.

The great weakness of this movie was that it never suitably explained Francis' motivation. Many people love nature deeply but never feel the need to become beggars. What made Francis act so differently? Was it his war experience? The screenwriters never made Francis talk about it. Was it his father? Although tiringly garrulous, he seemed a decent sort of person, happy to allow his son to marry a girl with a very small dowry, and anxious that his son should be provided for. Was it because his father's servants were mistreated? Although the movie seemed to imply such, the images on the screen did not back up this implication; I saw nothing in the fabric-making shop that struck me as untoward. Was it because God spoke to him? A carved figure on a crucifix staring down upon you does not a divine revelation make. Was it because the filmmakers were hippies? Very possibly.

While not a bad movie in any sense of the word, the fact that Brother Sun, Sister Moon spent much of its 2 hour running time on the verge of slipping into mawkish clichés prevents it from being a truly great film. As long as earplugs are inserted whenever Donovan starts warbling, the movie should be enjoyable.

Confessions of a Racist

2006-06-26T19:54:00.000-07:00

Vampires are one of the most pathetic and annoying species on the face of the earth. This is a statement that ought not need saying, but, sadly, in this day and age its verbalization is most necessary if only for the fact that a large portion of the population does not realize its inherent truth.

Why, you may ask, are vampires the most pathetic and annoying species on the face of the earth?

Lo! Let me count the ways!

Vampires are rigidly conformist and, therefore, hopelessly old fashioned.
Now I realize this may be difficult for vampires to fathom, but there are forms of residence beyond castles and gothic mansions. There are styles of music beyond Nine Inch Nails and Korn. There are types of garb beyond black leather and flowing shirts. Which brings me to my next point....
Vampires have terrible fashion sense.
I am curious...is there even one vampire who has recognized that skin-tight leather and vinyl cause uncomfortable motion constriction? That bustiers become very tacky when worn 24/7? That black eyeliner looks good on only a very few men--likewise, long hair? And that black nail polish is so mid-90s?
The only thing worse than vampires' clothing style is when they choose to wear nothing at all. The emaciated form of an individual suffering from anorexia or manorexia is, in a word, unappealing.
Vampires are consumed by their basest instincts.
I realize this might be difficult for even some of the humans in my audience to realize, but there is more to life than revenge and illicit coitus.
Despite, their disgustingly wasted forms, vampires never seem to lack sexual partners. Apparently, even after five hundred years of wild, oat sowing, the idea of settling down, adopting a couple kids, and having a stable home life has not occured to even a single, solitary creature of the night. And if they must spend their time killing people, why not spend it killing the right people--Hitler, Stalin, Fabio, and other scourges of humanity.
Vampires don't know how to drink blood in a polite manner.
Just once I would like to see a vampire suck somebody's jugular and not smear the blood all over their face and let it dribble down their chin. It's called a straw--use it!
Their pathos long ago degenerated into bathos.
Feeling overpowering rage, depression, and isolation following your recent transformation from human to vampire is understandable. Feeling overpowering rage, depression, and isolation six hundred years after your transformation from human to vampire is overwrought.

I think those are the main reasons why vampires are pathetic. However, that I may not end this journal entry on a complete down-note, I am grudgingly forced to admit that, for all their faults, vampires are a step up from vampyres, and for that I commend them.

The Wages Of Sin

2006-06-20T21:31:00.000-07:00

Sweet fulfillment is finally mine!

Having dropped out of high school at the end of my ninth grade year in order to pursue a course of autodidactism, I, understandably, never had a yearbook of my own. Yes, I have appeared in yearbooks, both in my sister Julia's 8th grade one, the committee of which I helped head up, and, somewhat more inexplicably, in some of the candid photos that appeared in one of my brother John's yearbooks.

I have not, however, up until this point, ever had my actual portrait appear in a yearbook, but now in the Year of Our Lord 2006 at the ripe olde age of twenty-four, that deficit has been fully balanced.

As you, my Blessed Reader, may or may not remember, in September last, out of the kindness of my heart, I engaged in a bit of harmless legerdemain on behalf of my sister Julia. Namely, when she was tired, cranky, exhausted, and still not registered at her school, I stood in for her, signed all her papers, and had my photo taken for her student ID. Good fun was had by all, and when I say "all" I mean "myself"--my sister being asleep at the time in question and my mother being brought to the verge of a mental breakdown by this bit of illegal play-acting.

Now I have discovered, lo these many months later, that the picture of myself, which I so kindly lent to Julia's student ID, is also the picture that appears in her freshman yearbook.

Somewhat appropriately, I appear on page 66 where I have a class clown above me and to my right, a third-rate jock to my left, and the future Kirk Cameron directly beneath me, all of which apparently makes me nervous because I am flashing a forced I'm-10-Years-Older-Than-All-Of-You-And-You're-All-Idiots smile.

My sister Julia has, very kindly, given me her yearbook as a keepsake, which I will now treasure for the rest of my life--particularly the inscriptions scrawled on the last page which include the following declarations: "AMAZING ~~SUGUOI~~ (whoops) SUGOI SUGUI...SUPERBE!!" "Bethany thinks that your [sic] amazing!!" and "Pankakeboy".

Thank God none of those phrases have any particular meaning to me because, although my portrait appears in the yearbook, I did not spend a single day attending class...which is really the best way to face education.

In My Defense, I Only Went Because It Was Recommended

2006-06-13T05:20:00.000-07:00

It was recently suggested that I possessed a personal character well suited for the perusing of the horror flick The Omen. Needless to say, I was deeply touched by this kind interest in me and my entertainment consumption and jumped at the chance to watch a movie which someone like Mary from Wisconsin recommended so highly.

True to my above stated nature, I tricked my sister Rebekah into accompanying me. I began to feel remorse for my bitter and twisted actions about five minutes into the opening previews when Rebekah whispered, "I didn't like that trailer," and halfway through the movie my conscience kicked in and I tried to alleviate her suffering by giving away the plot....

JESSICA: "Okay, the priest is going to get skewered by a metal rod that falls from the roof."
[Priest gets skewered by a rod that falls from the roof.]
REBEKAH: AAAAAHH!
JESSICA: They're going to get attacked by dogs in the graveyard, but don't worry--they escape.
[Dogs attack]
REBEKAH: AAAAAHH!
JESSICA: The nanny is going to jump out and attack him...now.
[Nanny jumps out and attacks him]
REBEKAH: AAAAAHH!

She did, at least, have the presence of mind to close her eyes during the decapitation scene.

Now, I don't want to disparage Mary from Wisconsin too much, but her taste in movies is, in a word, terrible and I don't think I'll seriously consider any of her future movie recommendations for several reasons.

She recommended a movie that stars Julia Stiles.
Is this woman capable of playing even one character that isn't frigid, seemingly stuck-up, and somewhat bitchy?
She recommended a movie that replaced Gregory Peck with Liev Schreiber.
Look, as far as manflesh goes, you can have a thin-lipped, bulbous-nosed, weak-chinned piece of space-filler who goes by the nickname "Huggy", or you can have Gregory Peck.
She recommended a movie that make Catholic Church officials appear to lack even a basic understanding of (1) eschatology, (2) Biblical prophecy, and (3) hermeneutics.
If there's anything I simply will not tolerate it's Catholic-bashing.

So, what have we learned?

I am gullible and trusting.
My sister Rebekah is easily frightened.
Remakes are usually disappointing.
Especially when they star Julia Stiles.
The word "manflesh" is pretty funny.
Child abuse apologists have poor taste in movies.

Someone In Hollywood Takes A Stand

2006-05-28T15:15:00.000-07:00

I have experienced something that I have not experienced for several years and which, frankly, I suspected I would never in my life experience again. I have gone to the cinema and seen a movie that is a genuinely excellent film. I can now die in peace.

X-Men: The Last Stand is not simply a good movie because it features Hugh Jackman, and my movie watching experience was not enjoyable simply because I was sitting next to my sister Rebekah who missed no chance to approbatively gush over the hunk of manflesh in question. ("Eee" she squealed when she first caught sight of him, later giggling, "Look at his butt," as he--his fine form squeezed into a leather jumpsuit--swaggered away from the camera and toward danger. "He's such an animal," Rebekah gasped as, breathlessly, she watched him tear apart yet another lawless villain.)

No, X-Men 3 was an enjoyable movie because it did not offend my intelligence by being an inane plot-hole riddled excuse for the movie makers to showcase explosions and special effects. Instead, the creators of X-Men 3 decided to actually tell a story, and, beyond that, a story that both involved realistic character development and maintained internal coherency--such that I was not forced to suspend my disbelief every two or so minutes. Sam Raimi, watch and assimilate.

Things I learned while watching X-Men: The Last Stand:

Good movies can still come out of Hollywood.
My sister is a very silly person.
Shockingly, I still possess the capability of enjoying a movie in a genuine, non-ironic manner.
Osama bin Laden would be much cooler if he had a British accent and mutant powers.
Hugh Jackman is still hott as ever.

Now, if only Matt Drudge would ask me out my life would be complete.

If Love Lifts Us Up We Don't Need Cars

2006-05-24T16:50:00.000-07:00

My brother Paul recently asked me a thought provoking question.

What would you do for the flying car?

It is an interesting query if only because it is a perfect example of masterful, almost politician-level, duplicity and general misrepresentation. He chose to ask me "What would you do for the flying car?" and yet there are so many different, more honest ways to frame this inquiry.

What would you do to have your view of the sky and clouds marred by flying vehicles?
What would you do to fill--not only our streets and highways--but also the air above us with SUVs?
What would you do to bring drag racing to the heavens?
What would you do to bring about constant fear of death from above?
What would you do to put small, arthritic, half-blind old women behind the controls of what amounts to a small plane?

What would I do for the flying car? Absolutely nothing.

The Greatest Movie Ever Made

2006-05-20T02:04:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, as I'm sure Christ and all his descendants were aware, was the day The Da Vinci Code was released in America. This, of course, put me in a difficult position. I could either give into conformity by paying $6 to watch an overrated cultural phenomenon or I could abstain and, thereby, figuratively kiss the pope's toe. Cultural conformity here I come...

As catholic church leaders have made certain the entire world knows, The Da Vinci Code is a spiritually subversive work that is built around the blasphemous premise that the holy grail was not a cup Jesus drank out of but was, in fact, Mary Magdalene whom he impregnated and who, shortly after his crucifixion, gave birth to a child, the first of a royal bloodline of people whom the catholic church has spent the intervening centuries covertly hunting down and attempting to wipe out while, at the same time, doing its best to cover up Jesus' true history and erase all record of the truth in an effort to maintain its ill gotten religious power. Thankfully, religious salvation came in the form of Dan Brown who, though not giving his life as a ransom for many, has revealed all of these earth-shattering secrets and conspiracies in a tome which can be purchased for the low low price of $24.95 hardcover or $7.99 soft cover--or own your very own special, illustrated copy of the book that has rocked a world-wide religious organization for a one time fee of $35.00 and your first born child.

The movie stars Tom Hanks as a chubbed-out and greasy-haired professor who is drawn into this web of myth, deceit, and gaping plot-holes by a melodramatic corpse. He spends the next two hours with Audrey Tautou, getting chased around Paris and London by a masochistic, psychopathic albino monk, as they search for Mary Magdalene's sepulchral and for her last remaining blood descendent.

The movie is a mediocre, moderately entertaining archaeology-based, treasure hunt movie, several steps below The Mummy Returns on Ye Big Olde Scale of Fun. Farcically, the treasure hunt begins when a museum curator who has been fatally shot in the stomach scrawls out a coded message in his own blood, leaves two more hidden messages near paintings that are separated by a wide distance, and eventually strips himself naked, decorates his body with more blood-painted symbols, and arranges his body like a famous Da Vinci sketch, before finally dying. One wonders what would have happened if he had simply used that time to call an ambulance.

"My God," I thought to myself, "This is the movie that has catholic officials quivering in their robes?" And therein lies the mystery. The movie is so convoluted and riddled with plot-holes that only a fool or an insane person could possibly believe that there was any validity to the "theories" presented within it, yet the catholic church has attacked it with the vehemence most people would reserve for a life-threatening adversary. If I were walking down the streets of Santa Monica and a crazy homeless man berated me for being a ho and declared I was going to hell, technically, yes, he would be disrespecting me, but it does not follow that I should berate him in return or even, necessarily, respond to him at all. His claim are so wildly disconnected from reality that were I to respond to them I would only be relaxing my own grip on reality by giving his crazy rantings more credence than they actually possess. Thankfully, I apparently have a better sense of proportion than the catholic church.

Now, if you will excuse me, my secret society is having an orgy in half an hour, and I simply must sacrifice a goat to Dan Brown.

The Morality Code

2006-05-08T02:34:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 7th, 2006: but twelve short days from the greatest day in Hollywood history since King Kong was released, which in turn was the greatest day since Brokeback Mountain first showed. Yes, I speak of the wide release of The Da Vinci Code, a sure-fire blockbuster based on a book I've never read, starring a man I am apathetic about, revolving around a lot of conspiracy theories I think are rot.

As only a person who has been living under a rock does not know, the Catholic Church is none too happy about the popularity of the book or the release of the film, and, when Matt Drudge started talking about the Catholic Church's reaction to the film I did something that my social anxiety disorder has never allowed me to do before. I called into a nationally syndicated talk radio show, and, beyond that, I actually got on air and talked while who knows how many people listened to me.

Thanks to the Pretend Pundit, and his Drudge Radio archives I have a clip of my appearance from which I have been able to write a transcript, both of which can be obtained here.

Needless to say, public extemporaneous speaking is not my forte, and, while I don't think I made a complete idiot of myself, I can express myself much more coherently when I am writing.

I find it utterly impossible to take the reaction of Catholic leaders to The Da Vinci Code as anything more than a poorly executed PR move. The Catholic Church has made a mockery of itself by the way it has allowed its most innocent and vulnerable members to be abused and has, for many years, systematically ignored and covered up that abuse. Now, Catholic leaders are hot and bothered by a popular work of fiction and the rehashed conspiracy theories about Christ and the Catholic Church presented therein. On the one hand, a Cardinal who was a candidate for pope is advocating or encouraging catholics to take legal action against The Da Vinci Code, on the other hand, the Catholic Church has fought tooth and nail against the lawsuits brought against them.

I have not heard Catholic leaders take anything approaching as strong and unequivocal a stance against the abuse of children by priests as they have against The Da Vinci Code. On the one hand, we have fragile human beings wounded to their souls by men they should have been able to trust. On the other hand, we have a book of fiction and a movie that do nothing more than repeat old lies in, from what I have been told, a rather second rate manner. The kindest thing I can say is that Catholic leaders have their priorities hopelessly mixed up.

Needless to say, I angered a couple catholics (whom you can listen to here), specifically Mary from Wisconsin who IMed Drudge the following:

Jessica from Wisconsin really ticked me off. I am sick to death of all the Catholic-bashing. No one is more troubled by the criminal activities of a tiny percentage of priests than faithful catholics, but the issue has nothing to do with The Da Vinci Code. For her to use that scandal as a reason to see that movie is indicative of how twisted she is. What a bitter, hateful person. Let's go send her to Omen. I won't be seeing the movie not because the Vatican tells me what to do or because there's some sort of organized boycott. I personally am choosing not to pay [pave?] Sony pockets, by paying for something that disrespects my faith. I dare Sony to mock Islam. Let's see Opie take on Islam.

I don't understand how it could be considered "Catholic-bashing" to merely point out the obvious: The Catholic Church doesn't have a lot of--if any--moral authority right now because of the way it has responded to the victimization of its youngest, most fragile members.

It is perfectly reasonable to refuse to see The Da Vinci Code because it disrespects your faith, but do you not disrespect Christ just as much by paying tithes to a religious institution that speaks out far more strongly against a movie that will soon be forgotten than it does against the rape of children who will never forget what they endured?

Beefcake

2006-05-04T00:02:00.000-07:00

Today's questions come to us straight from the one, the only, the teenager-hating Arielle.

I recently saw a commercial featuring the one and only Fabio...and it seems he has dyed his hair dark brown! What do you think of this development?
A month or two ago, while at work, I caught his guest appearance on the sit com Yes, Dear. Like you, I noticed that his flowing, once flaxen, locks were now dark brown, and, like you (if the exclamation point you used is any indication), I was shocked! Shocked, I say! And I was forced to ask a question no woman should be forced to ask: What is Fabio without his platinum tresses?
To better answer this question, I forced myself to peruse images of Fabio to provide some pictorial references.

I believe there are several conclusions we can draw from the above photos.
...What exactly any of those conclusion are I don't know. Flaxen-haired Fabio's loincloth has driven them all from me.
Jake Gyllenhaal's career: is it ruined, and is he destined to be typecast because of his Brokeback Mountain role, (perhaps offered the lead in a straight-from-the-comic Tarzan biopic?) or is he still a pretty fine piece of man?
Can anyone be considered a fine piece of man when compared to Fabio?
As far as Jake's career goes, I think being typecast as a manly-homosexual would be a definite step up from his The Day After Tomorrow role. Instead of failing miserably in his attempt to play a teenager with a genius IQ, he could instead portray dumb-as-rocks beefcakes.
The idea of Jake starring in a straight (hah hah) from the jungle T-zan biopic is intriguing. Needless to say, it would have to be only the first in a long series of Tarzan films. In the first movie, I picture Jake in more of a trainee position, laboring under the tutelage of the fabulous Fabio who would portray an aged (yet still buff and bronzed) jungle sage in a story that allows me to utilize lascivious quotation marks. Fabio will, no doubt, take a young Jake under his "wing" and "impart" to him all of his "hard"-earned jungle "knowledge", eventually, at the end of the movie, "bequeathing" to him his bow and "arrow" and a "cheetah-print speedo" and "instructing" him to "go out" and "rule" the "wild", "untamed" land as "King" of the "Apes" "and" "Lord" "of" "the" "Jungle".
Why does it seem like men don't know how to have actual friendships with women?
And how, pray, are they supposed to have actual friendships with creatures who spend all their time obsessing over Fabio and Jake Gyllenhaal?

Dead, Libertarian, and Anorexic

2006-05-02T00:54:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Oh, right, I have a blog thingy.

Truth be told, I was so caught up in the adventures of Jane Eyre that I hadn't time for anything else.

"Mr. Rochester is an incredibly skeevy person." Respond.

At any rate, I have not yet entirely depleted my store of questions. Today's have been supplied by Steve Erbach, aka, The Town Crank.

Why did Ned "The Dead" discontinue his weekly Nednac the Magnificent (or whatever sobriquet he used) routine on "The Eagle", 106.7 FM? Is he leaving? Is "The Rev" (the writer of all the Nednac Q&A) leaving? What? I'm distraught!
Several years ago, my family bestowed upon Mr. Dead the gift of a mechanical metal monkey on a string. This act of benefaction makes him practically a part of our family, and, as such, I know as much about him as I do about the other members of my family, which is to say: whatever he posts on his Xanga page. Since Mr. Dead has not seen fit to open or maintain a Xanga page, I know precisely nothing about his affairs.
This, I think, should hammer home the Great Truth: better Google search results than a 24-year-old blogger.
Where does your particular flavor of political consciousness fall on the Pournelle Axes ( http://www.baen.com/chapters/axes.htm) and on the World's Smallest Political Quiz (http://www.theadvocates.org/quiz.html)?
You have put your links in the wrong order. You ought to have asked me where I scored on the World's Smallest Political Quiz before you asked me where I fell on the Pournelle Axes.
Thankfully, I am smart and capable enough to handle these sorts of minor difficulties. According to the quiz, I fall smack in the middle of the libertarian sector of the graph, which would, I assume, place me in the "various libertarians" section of Pournelle's Axes. While that means that I fall short of worshiping Ayn Rand, I am, however, still capable of experiencing a shudder of horror at the thought of Brad Pitt portraying John Galt.*
Do you like to eat or would you prefer it if all your nutritional needs could be satisfied by taking a couple of pills?
It would depend on whether I had an acceptable partner with whom I could...better spend the time I would usually use to consume food.

Footnote

*I do however, think Angelina Jolie could make a smashing Dagny.

When The Question's Age-Old Only Pseudo-Science Can Help

2006-04-13T16:26:00.000-07:00

I now officially no longer need to for my blessed readers to send me questions. I have received enough questions that I can now say, as did James Cromwell in Babe, "That'll do, pig. That'll do."

As anyone who has read my last few journal entries knows, I have already answered questions from my sister Julia and anonymous internet denizens as well as informed my brother Paul how to actually ask a question. Now, I turn to the question asked by my sister Rebekah.

[W]hat's up with the majority of men being complete ass-holes around women? You'd think they'd grow up by age 30 or so, but they rarely do.

Being, as I am, a young, well-bred woman I am uniquely suited to answer this question, provided that you take "young, well-bred woman" and replace it with "genius blogger".

There are, of course, many theories which attempt to explain why men are the way they are....

They are not as high up on the evolutionary scale as women are.
They are actually higher up on the evolutionary scale than women, and we are therefore incapable of understanding them.
[insert something involving Kevin Sorbo]
The brain above the belt is hacked by the brain below the belt.
Come on lighting farts on fire is pretty funny.
Hoooooo!!!
They house a Y chromosome.
It's all a giant practical joke.

For what it's worth, I, personally, believe the cause is phrenological.

If you take time to study this diagram which I cadged from the British Library's website and which first appeared in A Vindication of Phrenology by W. Mattieu Williams (London, 1894) you will see how the human brain is in the ideal.

click image to enlarge

Now, if you turn your attention to this diagram, you will see how the male brain is in actuality.

click image to enlarge

If that doesn't explain things I don't know what will.

Million Dollar Questions

2006-04-11T01:53:00.000-07:00

Well, it seems as if, yet again, my sister Julia has proven herself to be my most faithful reader, being, as she is, the only person in my audience to actually send me--as per my request--three questions (thus allowing me to not have to endure the discomfort of actually having to come up with blogging material on my own).

To her I give many thanks and now answer her three questions....

If you could become any person/creature from any movie that you've seen, what would it be and why?
That's an easy question to answer because every girl has the same response....Elizabeth Bennet. Although I find it tempting to be the Keira Knightly Eliza if only because Keira is such a babe, I think, in the end, I have to go with the Jennifer Ehle version if only because Colin Firth is such a babe.
If you could do any one thing in the world (besides become God, the Devil, an angel or a demon) what would you do?
It intrigues me that you would ask me what I would do "in the world" then stipulate that I can't become a supernatural (i.e. extraterrestrial) being. But, be that as it may, I will still condescend to answer your question.
The problem with questions like this is that, much like with wishes granted by evil genii, you run the risk of saying you want a particular thing and then receiving a horrible, twisted version of what you want that, while technically fitting your desire, is completely and totally not what you longed.
For that reason, extreme specificity is required. When I first read this question I wished to have $1,000,000 before I turned 25; then I got a lawyer to draw up a contract so that I wouldn't be blindsided by any unseen loopholes. I got my million dollars, but then I had to pay my lawyer.
Now I only have ten bucks.
Who's your favorite Disney character, and why?
You are an evil, evil person. Knowing how easy it would be for me to tell you who my least favorite Disney character is (that prissy girlie-man the Beast turned into), you asked me the opposite of that. But, having begged you to ask me questions, I am hardly in a position to now, having received some, to refuse to answer them.
After an entire three (3) seconds of moderate thought, I have reached the conclusion that my most favorite Disney character is the lucky cricket featured in Mulan. I choose this particular character because, much like the Spanish Inquisition, no one expects him.
Also, I hope that with a lucky cricket I will be able to (re)acquire $1,000,000 by the time I am 25 years of age.

So, to recap:

Question 1 Mr. Darcy is hott (and also really rich).
Question 2 Lawyers suck because they steal your $1,000,000.
Question 3 Lucky crickets are a viable way of gaining cash.
The Recap: Moola is valuable.

It Raises More Questions Than It Answers

2006-04-06T21:45:00.000-07:00

Being, as I am, essentially lazy, I recently put out a call to all my wonderful readers to send me three questions, in the hopes that they would actually act upon my appeals and give me something to write about, thus saving me from the hassle of having to come up with material myself.

In answer to my summons, my brother Paul wrote the following:

Maybe...something happy. Or about something you like.
But still filled with humourous anecdotes?

God knows I love humourous anecdotes. I still remember the time I pleaded with my readers to ask me three questions and my li'l bro' Paul revealed that he possessed no working knowledge of what a question entails. I had to actually provide him with a link to a website that explains what an interrogative sentence is. Ahh, those were good times.

I remember it as if it were today.

Because Fight Predictions and Breakup Advice Belong Together

2006-04-05T01:19:00.000-07:00

My Friends and Readers, as many of your are no doubt aware, I have recently put out a call for questions from my readership because I am a lazy blogger and don't feel like coming up with material on my own.

Of course, most of you have let me down. I say that in a effort to guilt you into fulfilling my needs. But, be that as it may, I am not without my resources....

As the proprietor of my JessicaMenn.com, I have access to internal data not readily available to the public, among which is a rundown of top search key phrases that have brought people to my website, and I think that now is a good time to give them a full answer to their queries.

In years past, a recurrent quest that drew people to my site was Craddock, Eyelesbarrow, Dermot. Before I move onto current searches I would like to reassure you that, yes, Lucy Eylesbarrow has set her sights on dashing detective Dermot Craddock. By the end of 4.50 From Paddington Dermot was still oblivious, but Lucy is such an efficient person I don't think his feelings are going to be an issue.

Now, it is time to move from the past and face the three top search queries of the present....

Barry Pepper?
This is a difficult question to answer honestly. On the one hand, we here at the Jessica Journals absolutely love Barry Pepper in all of his man-animal splendor. However, we also unabashedly carry a flame for Matt Drudge.
Now, while it is true that Barry, being, as he is, a raging cave-man who also knows how to fly one thousand year old Harriers, is a formidable foe, Drudge possesses the Links That Influence the News Cycle of an Entire Nation--plus, there's no knowing what Matt's capabilities are after he's imbibed a couple redbulls. Beyond that, feuding with Michael Savage has got to toughen a person up.
In the end, I think Matt would get his ass whupped, but, ironically, that would only awaken my maternal instincts and I would spend the next several weeks nursing him back to health.
Final Answer: Barry Pepper, no. Matt Drudge, yes.
Bette Davis?
It is a well known fact that Bette Davis possesses more balls than most men, and if we were to factor her into the above free-for-all I have no doubt but that she would wipe the floor with both of them.
Final Answer: Matt Drudge would still win, but, ironically, I'd think Bette Davis was really cool.
How To Reply When Turn Down Courtship? [sic]
This is a question women throughout the ages and across the world have faced, so, as you can imagine, the women of 2006 America have a multitude of answers before us, a few of which I will now enumerate.
- "No."
  
  If he demands to know why you refuse, inform him coldly that you are a liberated woman in a modern country and are not required to give reasons for your actions.
- "I'm allergic to your cooties."
- "I'm sorry but I don't like you in that way; let's just be friends."
  
  If you say this with the right degree of surprise that he would ever have considered you available (to him) mixed with apparent concern for his emotional state, you will crush his ego to such an extent that he won't actually take you up on the "just friends" part.
- "I'm sorry; I already have a boyfriend."
- "I'm sorry; I already have a girlfriend."
- "I'm sorry; I'm dating Matt Drudge."
- At the first sign of flirtation, ruthlessly mock him on your blog
  
  He will be so intimidated by you that he will never talk to you again. Of course, you'll make yourself so intimidating that no man will attempt to hit on you after that, but at least your original problem is solved.
- Say "yes" then tell him you want to make your first date extra romantic by making him a home-cooked meal.
  
  Lace it with arsenic.
- Hire a mafioso to break his kneecaps.
  
  This only works if you have connections.
- Tell him that you will only go out with him if he proves his manliness.
  
  After he joins forces with a crazy scientist and leaves for an extended period of time to explore a prehistoric island, date/marry someone else.
- "You're straight?"

It's A Smash Hit Because Lots Of Things Get Smashed And Hit

2006-03-28T23:51:00.000-08:00

Apparently, my readership no longer consists of merely my youngest sister but has risen to almost a handful of individuals, amongst which I can number Steve Erbach who most kindly responded to my last blog entry as follows:

The solution is to go to movies like "King Kong" or "Van Helsing" (one of your sister's personal favorites) rather than try to find satisfaction watching movies in a genre that enjoyed its pinnacle of success decades ago ("Father Goose", "Roman Holiday", and "The Philadelphia Story" come to mind). The most notable examples of romantic comedy in recent decades are too few and far between ("Sleepless in Seattle" being one of the few) to offer one much hope that anything new or even diverting can percolate to the surface of one of these insipid excuses for movies.
You might as well go for the faux peril and artificial thrills of the action-adventure genre, though those are getting depressingly samey, too. A "Raiders of the Lost Ark" doesn't come along very often.

Truer words were never spoken.

I am, as you may or may not know, a die-hard fan of action movies, provided, of course, the movie in question is not Spider-Man 2. Who, after all, gushed over The Scorpion King? Who spent approximately 10 pages more than necessary describing the wonder that is V: The Final Battle? Who once spent all day standing in line just so she could watch Collateral Damage? Even more than that, I am one of the few people who consider Battlefield Earth to have reached a pinnacle...of what I'm not exactly sure, but whatever it is, BFE is definitely there.

As I did briefly mention in my last journal entry, I have already watched V For Vendetta. While I found it enjoyable enough as movies go, I think its sole purpose was to allow the Wachowski brothers to inform the world they possess a deep-seated terror that their rights to engage in homosexual activities will be taken away. The lack of goose-stepping was the film's major deficit.

For a brief moment I was worried that having watched the only action movie out at this moment I would be left bereft of all entertainment. However, I then remembered that A-Town is home of the cheap seats and all of the second-run movies found therein.

...One of which was King Kong.

The most recent version of King Kong is, at it's heart, a story of passion--of Jack Black's consuming fanaticism for film-making, of Adrien Brody's desire for Naomi Watts, and, above all, the heart-tugging affection and love experienced between our heroine and a big green screen.

It is also the story of Jessica Menn's lust for Thomas Kretschmann.

But, if you're not one for the touchy-feelies, this movie still pleases, provided you are pleased by dinosaurs, gigantic insects, other oversized monsters and the carnage they wreak.

There's also a bunch of coked-up, half-naked savages.

All in all, I found it an enjoyable movie. However, it was directed by Peter Jackson, and, just as I have done following other Peter Jackson movies, I walked away from King Kong having sat through the whole movie never once experiencing a deep or even--dare I say--genuine emotion. I can almost imagine Mr. Jackson saying to himself, "At this point in the film there needs to be longing. Ah, longing is [this sort] of music and [this sort] of camera angle and [this sort] of expression upon the face of the actors." Emotions are very deep and primal things, and I, personally, think their portrayal suffers when they are reduced to a mere set of stock actions, and I am very curious how well Mr. Jackson actually knows or understands the characters he writes about.

But, when it comes down to it, it's just a silly action movie, not Sophie's Choice, so why am I griping?

Besides, who needs deep emotion when you have Thomas Kretschmann?

Failure To Satisfy

2006-03-27T20:37:00.000-08:00

If there is one thing guaranteed to make me want to rip my eyes out in sheer, unadulterated horror it is the words "Hillary [Clinton] still has sexual power". Sexual? Power? Still? My eyes! My brain! My fragile psyche!

So, how does one combat the horror? The answer should be obvious, one goes to the cinema in the hopes of diverting one's attention. As we are all, no doubt, aware movie choices are very thin at the present, and, having already watched V For Vendetta my choices were reduced to Firewall or Failure To Launch, and Sarah Jessica Parker didn't appear in What Lies Beneath.

As we are all no doubt aware, Failure To Launch tells the tale of one, Tripp, a thirty-something-year-old still living with his parents. In an effort to alter this situation, his parents hire Paula, a woman who earns her living romancing adult-men-living-at-home to the point that they move out at which time she promptly dumps them, unless, of course, the man in question is Matthew McConaughey, in which case she falls in love with him and experiences the forced situations of a light-hearted romantic comedy before linking herself permanently to a person with whom she has no chemistry.

Matthew McConaughey is cute in a hemped-up, somewhat surfer-dude-esque way that is, no doubt, typical of nude bongo drummers. SJP is still causing teen boys to lust after Barry Pepper.

And that, I think is the point at which the movie starts to fall apart. It is a well-known fact that for a romantic comedy to work the two leads have to possess intense personal pulchritude. This is light-hearted fluff we're talking about. Audience members aren't coming to engage in intense brainwork. We don't want to be forced to parse the vagaries of human character and personality as we watch two average-looking people seek their emotional, intellectual, and spiritual counterparts and overcome the conflicts that arise as they try to make their two lives one. We want to be reassured that 1 Pretty Person + Another Pretty Person = True And Lasting Love (as comedy ensues).

Tied in with the above issue is the fact that Sarah Jessica Parker is forty years old and looks forty years old. This, in and of itself would not necessarily be a problem, but it becomes a problem when the movie decides to blithely ignore this critical aspect of its female lead and brazenly treat her as if she is in her late-twenties/early-thirties.

Needless to say, the makers of Failure To Launch do not appear to have been overly concerned by the above mentioned problems. Being creators of romantic-comedy, they didn't try to give us characters who had any depth to them or a story that had anything insightful to say, and being lazy creators of romantic-comedy they were content to follow their genre's formula regardless of the deficiencies of one of their leads. No doubt, they were hoping that the audience would be sufficiently amused by the scene in which an injured bird is given CPR.

It made me laugh.

Of course, when all is said and done, I still left the theatre wondering why Matt McC decided his Happily Ever After should involve the ubiquitous presence of Sarah Jessica Parker. She wasn't pretty, had no personality to speak of, and was, in fact, quite vapid. Perhaps the answer is simply, like Hillary, she still has sexual power.

I Guess It Saves On The Cost Of A Shrink

2006-03-21T03:11:00.000-08:00

As you, my Loyal Reader, are, no doubt aware (being, as you are a Loyal Reader [named Julia {who is, in fact, my youngest sister}]), dreams have become something of a motif here at ye Jessica Journals. "Why is this?" you may ask, and I shall answer, "Because I have them all the time." As a matter of fact, I had one just last night....

I was at my place of employment [in my dream] doing my best to fulfill my duties; however, I was not working as quickly that night as I had in times past. I spoke to my supervisor about this and mentioned to her that the reason why I was a little behind my time was because I was distracted by the world's present state of excessive turmoil. My supervisor proceeded to roll her eyes and say, "What is your problem? You're so embarrassed you feel compelled to blame your slowness on concern over a global exclaimation point. Why can't you just admit the truth--that you're slower tonight because you're very tired. It's not like anyone is going to think less of you."

This dream causes me to ask several questions. (1) Isn't a person supposed to wait until after they wake up before practicing psychoanalysis? (2) Does a person who engages in dream interpretation while the dream is still going on need less therapy or more? (3) If you are told while you are asleep that you are very tire how much hope can you reasonably hold that you will, in fact, find rest?

Booty Call

2006-03-02T20:24:00.000-08:00

2006 is apparently shaping up to be the Year of Stupid Phone Calls. It does not seem to matter that I recently had my (extremely expensive) land line disconnected in favor of going completely mobile. These people apparently can track me down wherever I go.

I was sitting in Confucius having dinner with my father when my phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered, somewhat surprised to be getting a call this late in the evening.

I received no answer and, after checking to see if I was still connected I said again, "Hello?"

"...you available tonight?" a generic male voice queried.

My heart sank. It was my night off, and I had absolutely no desire to go into work.

"Uh...it depends," I answered, " What do you need me for?"

"Full service," came the answer.

Admittedly, I haven't had my job for that long, but I thought I knew all of the different things we were supposed to do.

"...What is that?" I questioned, thinking I had misheard him.

"Full service."

"Do you mean freight processing?"

I received silence in answer to my question and the rest of our conversation went exactly as follows:

ME: Hello?
MAN: Hello?
ME: Hello?
MAN: Hello?

"Whatever," I muttered after the phone line had gone dead, then returned to conversing with my father.

...Only to have our dinner interrupted yet again but a minute or two later....

ME: Hello?
MAN: Sorry. Got disconnected there.
ME: That's okay. What did you want?
MAN: Are you available tonight?
ME: That depends on what you want me to do.
MAN: Everything.

At that point I realized that this definitely was not anyone from work calling me.

"Excuse me," I asked, my voice growing hard, "who is this?"

A moment of nervous silence ensued before the man spoke again. "Uh, I'm a serious caller. I'm not comfortable giving my name out over the phone."

Illumination occurred.

"You think I'm a call girl?" I demanded, no doubt to the confusion of nearby diners. "The hell?"

For the second time that night the line went dead and one man's quest for ass remained unfulfilled.

...But, meantimes, my father's quest was just beginning.

"Hey," he exclaimed, "Why don't I get calls like that?"

Yes, He Is Gay

2006-02-02T05:51:00.000-08:00

Now, I realize that few people need more proof that a ripped, bronzed man who traipses around in a leopard-print speedo is, in fact, gay. However, for the single, solitary member of my readership who still needs proof that Tarzan is, to say the least, "flagrant", I offer you this....

click image to enlarge

Yes, I too wonder what will happen when Clyde finds them together.

Attack of the Mummy

2006-02-01T05:02:00.000-08:00

click to enlarge

I am considering adding a new feature to the old Jessica Journals and it shall be entitled "Jessica Dreams of Drudge", an occurance which happens more frequently than I should like to admit.

I was at work and Saturday Night Live was playing on the TV. Matt Drudge of all people was hosting the show that night.
"Weird," I mused to myself, "I thought he was a Mad TV man." And then, later, "Hmmm. He's a better actor than I'd have guessed."
He was portraying Bill Gates who used his mummy to try to kill Dan Rather. Then he drank all of Dan's kivia, which in the real world is (a) a blue soapstone found in Finland and (b) a sacred Hopi meetingplace, but in my dreamscape was (c) a sweet, mildly alcoholic beverage. Dan was pissed.
The really crazy thing of it was not the mummy but the fact that Dan Rather looked like Tom Milbourn the news anchor for the local Fox affiliate in Green Bay.

Do you think this is a sign I am losing my grip on reality?

The Run On The Donut Store

2006-01-29T23:06:00.000-08:00

Although I know that I have at least hinted that the city in which I reside is fairly lame, I do not remember if I have come out and stated such in blunt and simple language. Therefore, in an effort to help my readers understand the full and exact state of the city that I am ruefully forced to call my home, I will state in blunt and simple language "Appleton, Wisconsin is fairly lame."

Why, you may ask, O Blessèd Reader, do I consider this city to maintain such a state of existence? For this one very simple reason...

Until but recently, Appleton boasted a Krispy Kreme donutry (to coin a word). This, in and of itself is reason enough to call A-Town lame, however, 'tis nothing compared to what happened next. The donutry in question recently turned off its grease ovens, threw out its year-old flour, ceased making its sacremental food, and closed the doors to its hallows halls permently.

The closing of the Krispy Kremery is, in and of itself, an occurance which could actually raise Appleton up slightly in my estimation...were it not for the one thing which followed....

Not only did a local radio station consider the closing of a donut store worth mentioning on the air, they actually went out of their way to remind everyone that there was still a Krispy Kreme in Green Bay.

Lame--how could it be anything else? But at least the Great Donut Scare of '06 was averted.

He'll Be Boche

2006-01-28T02:43:00.000-08:00

There are countless questions within this universe that simply beg to be answered. As often as not, however, those very questions are the one to which we mere mortals never discover an answer. For me, certain of those questions are as follows:

Who is Gesanni Boche?
Does he realize that his last name is a derisive term for people of German ancestry?
Does the fact that he calls me at least once every single day result from some sort of overwhelming inner compulsion springing from mental illness or merely from an adolescent desire to be stupid?
If I one day decided to pick up the phone and state quite plainly into the receiver that Mr. Boche is a pile of dark, blobby, vaguely phallic-shaped German ordure whose father's face resembles a donkey's ass and whose mother possesses somewhat indeterminate moral fiber and who, himself deserves to have radishes shoved very deeply up his nether-regions, how would he respond?

Home Is Where The Curry Is

2006-01-17T03:51:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you but whenever I am in need of validation, I need look no further than the Drudge Report. It is here at this portal of knowledge that a large number of my deep rooted, though oft mocked, beliefs have found vindication....

And, it is here again that the fortress of my beliefs have been unexpectedly stanchioned.

Now, I realize that a number of my detractors think that I would make a terrible wife. They point to my habit of mocking anyone who hits on me, my unconcealed scorn for that pathetic and worthless movie which is adored by all male members of my generation (yes, I speak of Spider-Man 2), and the fact that all of the men I am attracted to are either dead or fictional.

Now, I must point out that it is not my fault that the boys who hit on me are--across-the-board--idiots. Nor can I change the fact that Spider-Man 2 has absolutely no artistic merit whatsoever, and does, in fact, fall somewhere below The Day After Tomorrow on the scale of movie watchability. However, I agree that these are three very large and problematic issues which are not necessarily easy to surmount; however, I submit that they are not quite so difficult as they might first appear.

Let me draw your attention to two stories which have appeared on the Drudge Report today...

As my family will attest, when I'm not fainting, I make a mean curry chicken. And, as for the other story, I don't even own a t.v. so...hot diggity.

And if those two facts don't more than make up for my so-called deficits I don't know what does.

Things Could Be Worse (but I can't see how)

2006-01-05T13:27:00.000-08:00

The new year is upon us, and I am holed up in my murky lair consuming copious amounts of Zoloft, Wellbutrin, and peanut butter M&Ms as I listen to a never-ending loop of David Bowie singing Days off that standout of albums "Reality".

It was in the midst of this heavenly setting that I was roused by the sound of my telephone ringing.

"Hello?" I answered, somewhat groggily.

"Hello, this is [insert nameless peon name here] from the Wisconsin Highway Patrol."

"Yes," my lips formed even as my mind said, "Shit, this is about that illegal U-Turn I pulled over in Manitowoc the other day."

"First off," the man on the other end of the line droned, "there's nothing wrong and no one is in trouble."

Whew.

"I am calling," he continued, "to inform you that in 2006 the Wisconsin Highway Patrol is going to be stepping up our "Don't Drink And Drive" and our "Seatbelt Safety" programs."

"Yes?" I said, peevishness beginning.

"If you see someone who has had too much to drink will you tell them not to drive?"

A long pause followed.

"Yes," I answered.

The ill tone of my voice must have been evident because the Highway Patrol man said, "You don't seem to be pleased by my call."

"You know," I answered, leveling the full force of my choler at the unseen man, "you've never met me and you have no idea whether I even drink at all or don't wear a seatbelt, but you call me up out of the blue and start telling me what I should and shouldn't do. That seems like a very busybody thing to do, so...goodbye."

I hung up.

2006 is going to be a stellar year.

Better Than A Fudgesicle

2005-10-25T00:25:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's probably illegal...

...but, I suppose it's an understandable business choice considering most adults will steer clear of a margarita they have to eat.

Don't Say They're Not Inclusive

2005-10-04T17:36:00.000-07:00

After some consideration, I've decided to try to continue posting at least something every once in a while.

click image to enlarge

I suppose that's one way to keep the congregation from dozing off during the service.

Hasta La Vista

2005-10-03T13:48:00.000-07:00

My dear and beloved fan and reader, while it is true that I have enjoyed entertaining you for the last year and a half, I fear that I must call at least a temporary halt to our activities. The truth of the matter is, at this point in time, it takes far too much energy to consistently write things that are amusing and entertaining when I feel miserable day in day out, month after month, year after year. Humor only carries you so far.

But think not that I care so little for you that I wish to leave on a note of complete sorrow and bitterness, for, in truth, though life sucks and is miserable, we've had some fun times.

We've explored the sordid sub-culture of metrosexuality, we made fun of would-be suitors, engaged in cultural anthropology and political criticism, and we ruthlessly excoriated more bad movies than can be remembered. Who can forget the infamous jury duty debacle or that time I got a little carried away with the Photoshop? Good times.

Yes, we've had tears, tears, and more tears, but through it all there were always moments of bliss that punctuated the darkness. And, if nothing else, we got to make fun of my sister more than was strictly necessary.

So, although I bid you farewell for an undetermined length of time, if not forever, remember the good times, forget the bad, and hold me fondly in your memory.

Courage.

Problem Solved

2005-09-24T20:18:00.000-07:00

I was recently perusing the Fall 2005 Edition of the Problem Solvers™ catalogue, wherein "Practical Solutions For Everyday Living"^SM are profered. This is, as you can no doubt guess, an invaluable catalogue, which offers all sorts of handy items to make your life more comfortable and manageable.

As I idly flipped the pages my attention was suddenly arrested by a particularly intersting item offered for sale.

Good grief! thought I to myself. Who on earth would ever need such a contraption? Not even K-Fed owns 24 baseball caps.

Thankfully, this was the Problem Solvers™ catalogue, and, when I had turned several pages, my problem was solved.

That guy...that guy needs a rack to organize 24 baseball caps.

Martin Luther And The Killer Brains

2005-09-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

When life is tedious, dull, and all around boring there is a beacon in the midst of these doldrums which shines its light of hope and joy out across the motionless waters. This beacon is The Public Library and the light which emanates from it consists of the many movies one can procure free of charge at that fine establishment. In my particular case, those movies included Fiend Without A Face and the 1973 version of Luther.

Fiend Without A Face takes place up in Manitoba, Canada in and around a U.S. Air Force "Experiment Station". Those wacky American army guys are playing around with atomic power again and they're doing so right next to a crazy scientist who enjoys conducting outlandish telekinesis experiments in his secret laboratory. This of course can only result in one thing...mutants, mayhem, and massacre. And when I say "one thing" I mean "three things". The villain of the picture is, of course, the fiend without a face. He's also the fiend without a head...or a body...or even, for most of the movie, any visible form whatsoever. Face, body, or no, the creature in question is a mental vampire--literally. It chokes its victims and sucks their brains out of their bodies, in most cases leaving their prey without lobes, stems, or even spinal columns but in one instance showing mercy by merely turning a man into a raving lunatic.

The true horror of the monster is revealed only at the end of the movie after it gorges itself on atomic power and is strong enough to make itself visible. What little body it possesses consists of a brain and a spinal column, which, via the magic of stop-motion animation, is able to slide through the underbrush, crawl up walls, and even use its spine to spring itself into the air at its helpless victims. To make matters worse, the little bugger has had the entire movie to propagate (proving that men's brains are beneath the belt even if they don't have a belt or even a stomach, chest, or neck) and has built up a sizable army of brain offspring which proceeds to menace the main characters of the film.

More than anything, I think this movie was a cautionary tale about the dangers of thinking too hard when you're near an atomic power plant....which is actually good advice for the viewer of this film because if you allow your pesky brain to engage in even mild activity you might be bothered by the fact that the hero's solution to the problem of the faceless fiends was to blow up the control station of the nuclear power plant.

I'm still waiting for the mushroom cloud.

Meanwhile, in Reformation Germany, Martin Luther is busy battling spiritual vampires in the form of the villainous Catholic Church. While he doesn't resort to TNT, his solution is as explosive as a nuclear blast and the shockwaves have reverberated down through the centuries. Not too bad for a guy who spends a good portion of the movie having seizure-like fits and complaining about constipation.

On hand to guide us through these world-changing times is our very own 16th Century peasant historical-lecturer/insurrectionist. Yes, you read that right. Apparently, the movie decides to live up to it's docu-drama genre by, every so often, inserting educational commentary by a professor dressed up in period garb. It's kind of weird, and yet, if my college professors had come to class decked out in chain mail and leather jerkins I might have stayed around a little longer than I did.

At any rate, while novel, the weird narrative device can't save Luther from being overly long and somewhat plodding. As a character study, it is highly interesting and provokes a great deal of thought, but as a movie it really suffers from the lack of vampire brains. I think it would be interesting to see Martin Luther face off against something more pernicious than the ol' CC. If John Tetzel gets his noggin sucked dry it'll be even better.

Off To Iraq

2005-09-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

So, guess which girl got some fan mail from a marine?

I won't keep you in suspense. It was me.

Yes, I received some fan mail from one LCpl Rutland, Charles Alexander, telling me, of all things, how much he enjoyed my magnum opus Tapestry of Power and very kindly asking me to inform him when the book is published so that he can procure himself a copy which he can--and I quote--"re-read...a hundred times over".

Alex, as he prefers to be called, is certainly different from the typical, teenage fantasy geeks who occasionally stop by my website from time to time, and definitely a step up from Matt Dart. Plus, he likes my book. Very hott.

As all of my readers except for the one person who isn't a family member know, my book actually was published many moons ago. True, it needed much more editing, and true the cover art was horrible, and true it didn't sell, but it was published. Normally, because of the overall amateurish nature of the work in question, I would not inform someone of this fact; however, the guy is heading off to Iraq within days, so I figured I could bite the figurative bullet and give him a copy. After all, he's going to be dodging real bullets soon enough, to say nothing of grenades, landmines, rockets, and various and sundry other weapons of individual destruction*. Of course, one does wonder if giving a guy bad reading material right before he goes off to the hinterlands for an extended period of time doesn't constitute a form of torture, but I still thought I at least ought to give him a choice....

I informed him of the situation, offered to send him a copy, and told him that even though the published version isn't that great it'll still fetch him something on E-Bay if I ever become famous**. Of course, being the gentlemanly person that he is (Matt Dart take note), LCpl Rutland protested that he would never sell a first edition copy of any book.

In the end, I sent him two copies--one in all it's unaltered unsightliness, and one with a better picture affixed to the cover.

I even signed them for him, giving the first the inscription "Semper Fi" and in the second asking him to "Kick ass for me". Of course, now I'm left wondering if those were a bit too clichéd. In a way, isn't saying "Semper Fi" to a marine rather akin to asking a college-bound student "So, what's your major?" However, what's done is done.

I just hope he enjoys it.

Footnotes

*Although Alex informs me that (a) he'll do his best not to put himself into harms way unnecessarily (b) he's coming home no matter what and (c) he's actually looking forward to this deployment because Iraq beats North Carolina any day.

**But, then again, Britney Spear's used pregnancy test got money, so that's not saying much.

Back To School

2005-09-03T22:07:00.000-07:00

I fully thought the moment I walked out of the University of Fox Valley after four days spent within its hallowed halls marked the end of my association with academia. However, fate and I rarely see eye to eye.

My youngest sister Julia is just beginning her freshman year of high school. This, of course, involves a number of things foremost among which is a move to a new school. Normally, school registration has been a relatively painless process for the students in my family if only because we have all attended small schools. Julia, however, is attending a large school, so registration involved being crammed into a cramped vestibule with one thousand other people and spending half the day slowly being herded, like so much cattle, through a stuffy, enclosed hallway to an equally crowded library where, finally, after what seems like a lifetime of agony you finally got to pick up your school schedule and supply list. Of course, if you're my mom and my sister Julia you said, "Screw this," after an hour or so and ducked out to get a smoothie.

Ditching school may feel good at the time, but it leaves you with the inevitable problem of getting registered later on. This problem was made even more difficult by the fact that my sister was so worn out from standing in line that she went up to her room and promptly fell asleep.

Sleeping beauty or no, registration had to be completed. Therefore, my mother and I returned to the high school of horror in the hope that the Powers That Be would allow us to register Julia without my sister actually being present.

We arrived half an hour after the registration was supposed to be over. Students were still waiting.

...However, the place had cleared out considerably and instead of waiting three hours, my mother and I were able to waltz up to the main desk and talk to someone almost immediately.

"So, Julia," said the person glancing up at me, "you're starting school here?"

The fact that I was mistaken for a fourteen year old probably had more to do with the exhaustion caused by having to register one thousand, tired, angry, restless people than anything else, but please don't tell this twenty-three year old that.

I shrugged my shoulders and made a non-committal grunt, which the person took to be an affirmative answer. She proceeded to hand over some papers and instruct my mother and myself on how to complete the registration process.

"I don't think this is a good idea," my mother said in a low voice, a stricken look upon her face, as we headed over to the next table in the registration process.

"Oh, please, Mom," I begged. "It'll be so much fun, and Julia needs to be registered."

"All...right," she reluctantly relented, unable to hide a wince of pain.

We breezed through the various registration stations, picking up papers here and forging Julia's signature to documents there.

"Hee hee! This is fun," I thought to myself, all the while doing my best to look like a quiet, wide-eyed freshman. "I wonder if anyone will comment that I look old for my age."

"Ow. My stomach," my mother groaned.

Finally, it was time to get my picture taken for Julia's school ID. It's a well known fact that you could have a picture of Barney on your ID and nobody would notice, this goes double for a cheap high school ID.

I sat on the stool and looked into the camera, doing my best to look like a pretty, innocent fourteen-year-old.

"My stomach. My stomach," I heard someone muttering from somewhere behind me.

Three minutes later the ID was printed, we finally were allowed to have a copy of Julia's schedule and supply list, and my mom and I were out of there.

But, that's not the last Julia's high school has seen of me. I'll be coming back every weekday for the next nine months on Julia's ID.

Easter In August

2005-08-23T23:03:00.000-07:00

August is now officially the unofficial A-Town Appreciation Month here at the Jessica Journals. First we went on a tour of one of Appleton’s top museums and then I presented you with a brief guide to A-Town's more interesting attractions. Now I think it's time to look at one of the artistic offerings of A-Town's golden boy. I speak of The Last Temptation of Christ and of Willem Dafoe--or "Billy" as he's known hereabouts.

There are, I suppose, many things that one could say about The LTOC, but, for myself, I feel compelled to echo my brother Paul's sentiments when he reached the end of this movie...."The hella I just watch?"

The movie came out in 1988 to much controversy and tells the tale of a schizophrenic's nightmare. It also tells the tale of my nightmare, but only because my greatest fear is to sit down to watch a movie at Easter only to rise upon its completion, pop out the DVD, flip on the lights, and discover that it's August. Yes, the movie is that long.

Needless to say, this being a Scorsese movie, The LTOC seems to rest firmly upon a foundation of hallucinogenic drugs. I don't know what was more whacked-out John the Baptist's cult of booby-flashing hippies or the fact that Jesus ripped his own heart out of his chest.

Yes, that was the kind of person Jesus was--big on flash and yet, when you get down to it, fairly creepy and most likely insane. In fact, as I watched the film, I began to suspect that Jesus wasn't the real Son of God at all. I know, it's blasphemous for me to even think it, but I think there's just too much evidence to reasonably reach any other conclusion....

No Christ should have a Wisconsin accent.
Call me crazy, but I think that a real Holy Son would know how to properly pronounce the name "God".
A real Christ would have studied up before giving his major sermon.
All the other Christs I've seen actually took the time to read the first four books of the New Testament instead of merely skimming the Gospels Cliff Notes.
Under no circumstances would the true Christ have such a hideously large mouth.
God, in his mercy, did not want to force images of an Incarnate Mick Jagger onto the minds of any who gazed upon His Son.

One thing, however, that was very Christ-like was Willem's flowing locks. All Jesuses have them, though whether they're the creation of a First Century desert hair-stylist or the result of excessive Pert Plus usage I have yet to discover.

Now I know that some people consider this movie to be a poorly written, controversial piece of blasphemy. I, however, thought it caused people to think by raising some interesting questions, foremost among which were (1) What is a red-haired man with a mafioso accent doing in First Century Israel? And (2) What is the appropriate length for two prophets to hold a mouth-to-mouth kiss?

Needless to say, there were, as there are in all movies, some ways in which The Last Temptation of Christ could have been improved, and you will find it difficult to convince me that this movie wouldn't have been ten times better if Pontius Pilate had had a song and dance number. Seriously, what director in their right mind casts David Bowie and doesn't let him sing? If he's got socks in his crotch and muppets backing him it's even better.

I can picture it now...Pontius whips off his toga to reveal sequined Eighteenth Century evening garb as he begins to wail, "I saw my Jesus crying hard as Christ could cry. What could I do?"

It might have cheered up our clinically depressed Messiah to the point that he didn't feel it necessary to throw in the towel and die on the cross.

If nothing else, it would have cheered me up.

Sweet Vindication

2005-08-18T20:59:00.000-07:00

As you are all no doubt aware, Matt Drudge graces the pages of this blog far more often than I care to admit--much to the delight of my sister Rebekah who enjoys making fun of my love for him and my general taste in men at every opportunity. As far as she's concerned, a man's not a man unless he's exactly 5'10" without an ounce of fat upon his hairless, well-muscled body, and in possession of a chiseled face with a nose as straight and thin as Hugh Jackman's. And she can't see past this lust for gay bodybuilders even far enough to begin to grasp why I think Drudge is attractive.

But, now, finally, from quarters I would never have expected, I have received fortuitous aid. "Playgirl" recently conducted a survey and discovered that women prefer their men to be "scruffy, a wee bit chubby - and definitely not a metrosexual".

Vindication is mine!

All this time I thought I was backing a dark horse, but it turns out he's the front-runner. Is a large cash payout soon to be mine?

Matt, when can we expect the "Playgirl" photospread?

A-Town Attractions

2005-08-17T16:58:00.000-07:00

With the way already pointed out with our excursion to the Paper Discovery Center in Appleton Wisconsin earlier this month, I thought perhaps we might further trod the Path of Tourism. After all, the Jessica Journals are all about increasing knowledge, correcting falsehoods, and generally promoting truth in all it’s many forms.

Now, I realize that many people incorrectly view Appleton, Wisconsin as a provincial town with few cultural attractions of any significance to people outside of the limited area of the Fox Cities, but in this believe they are sorely mistaken for A-Town is, as a matter of fact, chock full of highly interesting and/or enjoyable attractions....

That Statue
Technically, it’s titled “The Oracle”, and it stand majestically on the north side of the Oneida Skyline Bridge where all can gaze upon its splendor. Although it’s easy to find, what exactly we’re all looking in awe upon is somewhat more difficult to ascertain. Commonly held beliefs are that it’s (a) a pile of blocks, (b) a horse, or (c) a horse nuzzling a penis. I am in the minority when I state that it’s obviously a deformed camel. This, to me, seems quite evident by the large, trapezoidal protuberance upon the hideous creature’s back.

I still don’t see a penis though.
The Corner Of E. John St. and E. John St.
Just follow John St. You can’t miss it.
Chef Chu’s
The food was great, the boba was greatly disappointing, and the service just plain sucked. Those are, in and of themselves, hardly noteworthy; however, this restaurant is home to one of the most shockingly dirty and algae-filled fish tanks I have come across during my 23 year sojourn upon God’s bright earth. Also of note is the solitary white employee in an establishment that is, otherwise, populated by Asians. Although everyone else wears white shirts and black pants, this particular individual apparently is forced to wear an ill-fitting, tan, Mandarin-themed costume which, I suspect, in some way explains the less-than-cheerful service.
The City Park Statue In Honor Of Paedophilic Lust
It’s entitled “Ring Dance” and Dallas Anderson, the artist, originally wanted to make all the children naked, but I had lunch with him once and he thinks I’m cool so I won’t make any jokes about either of those two facts.
Coyote Rose
Technically, I believe the fine women who work there attempt to pass off their place of employment as a massage parlor. Admittedly, the Fox Cities aren’t the five boroughs, but we aren’t that naïve.
Menasha Grill
The great Cajun restaurant next to the whorehouse.
Vulcan Heritage Park
I hear that if you put out a bowl of plomeek soup and wait in a very still and quiet manner Mr. Spock will wander over from nearby Fratello’s where he was having lunch, raise an eyebrow as he observes you making an idiot of yourself, and say “Fascinating.”
The Pedestrian Death Trap On Water Street
What can I say? Sometimes the herd needs thinning.
Famous Dave’s
Well does it deserve the mascot of a pig, for it’s inability to provide it’s customers with either plates or descent-sized napkins is, in a word, disgusting.
The Tom’s Drive In Down The Street From My House
I suspect the only reason that it’s still in business is because it is the home of the evil UPS Conspiracy which has been so well documented elsewhere on this website. It certainly can’t be a result of the customers because there are none.
Hearthstone House
Nobody famous ever lived, died, fornicated, or signed an important treaty within it’s walls...but it was the world's first home lighted by a central hydroelectric station.
The Alien Homing Beacon On Top Of Appleton Alliance Church
This massive metal tower sits atop the AAC and transmits telluric currents out into the vast reaches of space where it can be intercepted and used as a guide for the alien's when they return to earth. Although we are all waiting with bated breath, the citizens of A-Town have yet to experience the second coming of Xenu.

...And if that doesn’t prove that Appleton and its outlying towns aren’t worthy of respect and interest, then I don’t know what will.

Forget About Getting America Out Of Iraq; Let's Get Cindy Out Of Crawford

2005-08-16T21:37:00.000-07:00

I did not think it was possible for The Huffington Post to become more trite, obtuse, or pretentious than it has been since its debut, but I reckoned without the sharp mind and ready wit of Cindy Sheehan.

Yes, she is now officially a contributing blogger at the HuffPost, and, while she may have caused a noticeable decline in the HP’s overall literary quality, she has single-handedly made Arianna’s website hysterically entertaining. Cindy’s blog is, quite frankly, more outrageously funny than the Bill O’Reilly/Michael Moore showdown of last year. The only time I think I’ve laughed harder was during the more outrageous moments of Battlefield Earth.

Reading Cindy Sheehan’s blog is a somewhat surreal experience if only because stylistically the writings of this 48 year-old woman resemble the LiveJournal ramblings of a 13 year-old girl. There’s angst aplenty combined with a limited worldview and the typical adolescent belief that she knows far more than she actually does. My one regret is the lack of Emo poetry.

Self absorbed? Totally. Practically illiterate? Surprisingly so. Filled with nuggets of unintended hilarity? Oh, thank God, yes!

“We had a very interesting day. We had Bush drive by really, really fast twice. I caught a glimpse of Laura. I was hoping after she saw me that she would come down to Camp Casey with some brownies and lemonade. I waited for her, but she never came.”
Angst! The poor, disfavored, and beleaguered blogger yearns for a mother’s love but is instead ignored and forsaken.
“I am a continued thorn in the side of right-wing bloggers and right wing-nut ‘journalists.’ One man, Phil Hendry [sic], called me an ‘ignorant cow.’”
My own personal opinion: If Cindy Sheehan is a thorn, tell Androcles to go home ‘cause I'm having too much fun laughing!
Also, I don’t know about Phil Hendry, but Phil Hendrie is neither a journalist, nor a blogger, nor even a Republican.
“Yesterday was kind of a blur to me. From running around from interview to interview, to getting a visit from Viggo Mortensen, it was a whirlwind of activity.”
Swoon! Now, if she can only get Legolas to show up also... Hee! ^.^
“It was a busy morning of interviews. Almost all of the reporters ask me if I have accomplished anything at Camp Casey and I think we really have. We have brought the war onto the front pages of the newspapers and the top stories of the mainstream media.”
Apparently, I live in an alternate dimension in which the news providers offer constant coverage of the situation in Iraq.
Also, I suspect that any resurgence of interest in the war has less to do with the camping trip of a homely, 48 year-old woman and more to do with the end of the Michael Jackson trial.
“The most fantabulistic (I needed a new word, none of the old ones fit) thing happened in Crawford today.”
I sounds like George W. is rubbing off on her.
“I will try and describe today. It was the most incredible, fantastic, fabulous, amazing, powerful, miraculous event I have ever been a part of.”
And that was the most inane, clumsy, childish, frivolous, tediously protracted sentence I have read since the last time I randomly searched Xanga.com. The only thing missing is a smiley. ;p

Is this really the face of the anti-war movement--this incoherent woman who is apparently incapable of writing above a 6th Grade level? God knows I hope so.

...Because, if she is, it portends an amazingly entertaining future. Think of it...first we had Michael Moore, then Howard Dean, and now Cindy Sheehan--each one more freak-show-esque than the one before. Imagine all the entertaining carnival sideshows we have yet to witness. I await them with bated breath.

Who Knew Paper Could Be This Interesting

2005-08-06T22:55:00.000-07:00

Finally! The mystery is solved. That $70,000 the Paper Industry International Hall of Fame recently scored off the federal government is, apparently, going toward the creation of a paper industry research library. A worthy cause if every there was one.

Those of you not blessed to live in the fine town of Appleton, Wisconsin have probably never experienced the excitement of visiting the Paper Discovery Center (Home Of the Paper Industry International Hall Of Fame), in which people spend their time “celebrating all things paper”.

Thankfully, I do live in A-Town and, for a mere $4.00 surcharge, was allowed to enter the sacred doors of the Paper Museum wherein I was able to explore to my hearts delight, all the while taking an excessive amount of photographs. As has been stated on many a previous occasion, the Jessica Journals are all about education, so I feel it my sacred duty, O Blessèd Readers, to provide you with the more interesting details of the Paper Discovery Center in Appleton, Wisconsin.

It was, perhaps, a warning sign that one of the very first displays included a question about hemlock. I certainly didn’t need to progress much further along my journey of Paper Industry Enlightenment before I wanted to kill myself.

Much of the museum was taken up by a display illustrating the journey a tree makes from vibrant life in the forest to roll of toilet paper in some overweight gormandizer’s bathroom.

Just prior to my entry into this exhibit I was treated to the sight of a pile of logs upon which rested a sign saying, “Please do not touch the logs. They are leaking sap.” ...At which point I was reminded of God’s words to Cain in Genesis 4:10: "What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood is crying to Me from the ground.”

Apparently, a tree’s journey from forest freedom to poop-cleaner involves being turned into wood chips and then being pickled in liquor at which point, rather like Michael Jackson, it has the blackness bleached out of it (although, thankfully, it is spared the ignominy of a bad nose job). Finally, it is prepared, and all of the little mushed up wood fibers are turned into paper utilizing the mutual attraction the various little bits of pulpy wood have to water. Desperate and lonely, they are drawn (via the power of hydrogen bonding) to the little bit of water in their nearest slurried neighbors and cling desperately to them, until all of the little fiber particles have come together in a giant orgy of paper love.

However, because they’re all hydrophilic at heart, if you throw them in water, the party will quickly break up as all the fibers ditch their newfound sex partners and swim off in pursuit of their first love.

In a way, it’s much the same as two people who are brought together by their mutual adoration of David Bowie. All will go well as they horde Bowie CD’s, stalk him through the streets of New York, and travel the world to hear each and every one of his concerts, but let him become even remotely accessible and the former passionate partners will abandon each other in a heartbeat in the hopes of a wild night of passion with their musical idol.

But, typically, you only dump toilet paper in water after you’ve used it, so the various fantasies of the fibrous material that makes up your Scott Brand Bathroom Tissue really don’t affect us humans.

Other exhibits of note were...

The Jordan Refiner
Of course, this is only a must-see if you’re into large, metal, and vaguely phallic objects.
The Scale Model Paper Mill
In and of itself, I would find this hardly worthy of mention, but I was greatly intrigued by the plastic figure of a mill worker giving what appears to be the Nazi salute. Since leaving the museum, I have found myself spending a great deal of time pondering what, exactly, it means, but, as yet, I have reached no conclusions.
The “What Do You Think?” Display
As may be evident by the name, this display invites the museum-goers to write out their thoughts on the paper industry and put them in the comment box. Later, museum workers post them on the board for other museum-goers to read. Judging by the comments posted, a majority of the people who visit The Paper Discovery Center are tree-huggers, one enjoys creating bad bumper sticker phrases, and one is a very excitable pseudo-philosopher who failed first grade grammar.
I was a bit put off by the general triteness of the messages so-far posted; therefore, to counteract that, I wrote out my own message. Hopefully, it will appear on the message board shortly.

Exhibits not worth your time include...

The Big, Ugly, And Ungainly Pillar Statues
Arnold Grummer’s Collection Of Paper Mache Pen Holders
The Paper Industry International Hall Of Fame

Yes, surprising as it may sound, although I specifically visited the Paper Discovery Center because of the famed Paper Industry International Hall Of Fame which it houses, I discovered that the Paper Industry International Hall Of Fame is really quite boring. Beyond that, all of the information is available at their website, where you can see that Dr. Douglas Atack looks like a Ray Milland/Bob Hope mutant clone gone wrong, Jaakko Poyry is Isaac Asimov’s long lost twin, and Derek H. Page had quite the copious facial hair--all from the comfort of your own home and without paying a $4.00 entrance fee.

Swoon!

2005-08-03T00:26:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday night was one of the best nights of my life. I was doing what I do every Sunday--namely, listening to Matt Drudge’s radio show--when, wonder of wonders, our hunky cyber reporter acknowledged my existence.

Swoon!

Okay, okay, technically, he revealed he was vaguely aware of the existence of Appleton, Wisconsin. And, if I were to be entirely frank, I suppose I would have to admit that he did so in the context of griping over the excessive amount of pork in the latest Transit Bill. But, as I’m sure you’ll all agree, there’s no better way to declare your undying love than by complaining that Congress gave $70,000 to the Paper Industry Hall of Fame.

There are no doubt two thoughts fighting for dominance in your brain right now...

Isn’t this taking the Drudge luv a little too far?
How is that possible?
Appleton has a Paper Industry Hall of Fame?
Why, yes we do.

As a matter of fact, the Paper Industry International Hall of Fame, Inc. is located a mere .85 miles from my house--a distance one can leisurely stroll in ten minutes time--and sits upon the banks of the scenic Fox River right next to Fratello’s Restaurant, a somewhat quaint and, dare I say, romantic eatery*.

For those reasons, I must conclude that Drudge’s seemingly off-the-cuff mention of A-Town’s Paper Mill Museum was really a highly calculated effort on his part to declare his love without actually having to come out and say it in so many words. After all, I hear that he’s pretty shy around women, and, as you might remember, he was fairly reticent the last time we met, so sending me an all-caps email wit hsome cute typoes in it asking me out would probably be a bit too much for me to expect.

But, one can’t really blame him for not truly committing himself. After all, one has to factor in the fact that the poor guy probably still hasn’t figured out the exact nature of my feelings for him--whether it’s pure undefiled lust, or an ironic obsession fueled by my love of camp and my desire to crush on someone at least slightly less clichéd than Brad Pitt.

And, how is he supposed to figure out the truth? IM me?

Mdrudge: IM MATT DRUDGE. DO YO LIKE ME??
FeignedAIMName: Rebekah? Are you pranking me?
Mdrudge: LOL IM MATT DRUDGE...THE LORD OF THE LINKS THE EARL OF THE URL...
FeignedAIMName: Get out. You�re totally pranking me.
Mdrudge: IM NOT
FeignedAIMName: Look, pal, I�m gonna lay it out plain and simple....
FeignedAIMName: I don�t know how you got this im name--which not even my family members know--and, frankly, it�s creeping me out....
FeignedAIMName: So, if you don�t leave me alone right now, I�m going to jump through my computer screen, physically enter cyberspace, travel across the vast reaches of the internet, until, like the demon girl from �The Ring�, I will pop out of your computer screen...
FeignedAIMName: At which point I will pummel you to within an inch of your life.
Mdrudge: THAT ANSWERS MY QUESTION

That is, of course, a sad way for it to end, but he has to find out sometime that I have the same mild and easy-going nature as a cat.

But at least I don’t shred the furniture.

Footnotes

*I highly recommend the herb and cheese ravioli.

It's The End Of The World

2005-07-30T11:12:00.000-07:00

Yes, it’s me again. I realize that it has been an almost criminally long time since I last graced the internet with my written words. However, before you cruelly castigate me, let me point out that it has been wickedly hot and humid for the last couple of weeks--a state which is hardly conducive to creativity. On top of that, it’s July, and who works in July?

At any rate, this has been a pretty crazy month. When the world hasn’t been on the verge of spontaneous combustion, religious fanatics have been wreaking havoc with barbaric glee.

I, therefore, think that now is an appropriate time to ask one question: Which is worse--nuclear annihilation or nucular annihilation?

On the face of it, I know we’re all tempted to say that nuclear annihilation is by far the worse if only because we know for a fact that it involves large explosions, wide-spread devastation, melted flesh, hideous deformities, and, if we’re really unlucky, gigantic, rampaging mutants, whereas nucular annihilation is a grammatical impossibility.

But, then, a thinking man will ask the question: Doesn’t that, in a way, make it worse? That somehow, against all the rules of grammar this thing exists--a hideous, twisted, freak of linguistics. And, if it exists inexplicably then who knows what bizarre and unexpected form its fury will take?

This, in turn begs the question: If nucular annihilation involves Justin Timberlake zombies, an acid-puss-oozing Snoop Dog, and L. Ron Hubbard would we really want it? I dare say, if a hideous Noam Chomsky slime-monster showed up, nuclear annihilation might suddenly start looking pretty desirable.

I think the worst thing would be the difficulty in finding a hero to help us combat this most hideous of enemies. Who could we turn to? George W. Bush? Arnold Schwarzenegger? Yoda?

Alas, I think not, and it is my very great fear that in this instance, we would be forced to turn to my 8th grade English teacher for aid, which is a very scary thought indeed....

I can picture it now, nucular annihilation would not be so much beaten as it would be put to sleep by her neverending railings against “the colloqialization of the English language” or else hypnotized by the swaying of her upper arm as she shakes a censorious finger at it.

But, this may be one of those instances in which the cure is worse than the disease, for, after she has destroyed nucular annihilation, what is to stop her from turning on us and taking over. And if nucular annihilation fell so readily before her how can we ever hope to stand up before the strength of her awful fury?

I think I prefer the rampaging Noam Chomsky.