Actually, X2 times 2 times 2, really. Second time, this time around with two children.
I'd promised two of my (now former) students that I'd bring them to see the new X-Men flick, and every time we've tried for the past month of weekends, we couldn't get it together. Finally, this afternoon, everybody's schedules meshed, and Jason and Aaron and I headed off for the theater, with a stop at the store for (ugh) sour octupi. I hate those gummy-type candies, but the kids love 'em, and I was treating, so there you have it. We did have a scare when we discovered that the first theater we went to was sold out. The weather was rotten, so all the families were out seeing Finding Nemo, and when that sold out, the spillover ran into the X-Men. I simply could not take the looks of disappointment on the boys' faces, so I called Jason's dad and got an alternate theater, which we made with moments to spare but which had a long line, alas. So they missed the first scene, but heythey saw all the rest.
You know, being a comics fan and having the X-Men come to the big screen in a couple of pretty decent movies is nice enough. But watching X2 with two ten-year-olds is a hoot. Aaron had seen the first movie (I lent him my DVD), but Jason hadn't, so I had two different sets of questions to answer. One was regarding the first movie as it relates to the characters in the second, and the other was of the "Who is that?" variety. But Jason had read some of the comics and seen many of the cartoons besides, so it evened out. And it truly was a lot of fun answering all the whys and whos and whats.
I had warned both boys that the fight scenes were going to get a bit brutal, but when the final fight between Wolverine and Lady Deathstrike broke out, Jason said, "It's not scary. They're not real, anyway." And prior to that, I warned Aaron that he might find the scene where Magneto removes the excess iron from his sadistic guard's blood a bit much, Aaron said, "I'll close my eyes" and proceeded to cover his eyes with his hands. Then he peeked. He wound up watching the entire scene with his hands on the sides of his face, bringing back memories of my watching most of Vincent Price's "The Last Man On Earth" through my large-weave orange sweater, back when I was Aaron's age. I tried very hard not to let him see that I was laughing. Then he told me the scene really wasn't all that bad.
I had a great time. They had a great time. Got lost on the way home, but that gave us more time to discuss things like how neat it was that you could feel the raindrops on the roof of my Jeep from the inside, and how much cooler it would be if the roof was off. (They thought it would be cool, I did not. When I pointed out that we'd be getting wet, Jason said, "Aren't the seats waterproof?" Well, they are, but that's besides the point.)
Anyway, we have a tentative date for the Hulk movie, and with any luck, by that time the soft top will be on and it will be a sunny day, so we can drive with the top down.
I love kids. Gotta get me one of my own someday. permalink
For those of you who still think Salam Pax is some kind of heroic wunderkind who fought the Ba'athist pull, here's an article that details how much the party infiltrated Iraq lifeparticularly in the life of wealthy Iraqis, who, in an American phrase, had to go along to get along.
Think about that when Salam brags of how his father negotiated several Iraqi government officials' surrender.
One of the things that bothered me no end was the idiotic fan club that grew over Baghdad Bob. Yes, he was funny, and amusing to imitate. But when I started reading some bloggers' comments that we should bring him over here and give him his own talk show, I began to wonder what the hell those bloggers use for brains, because no oneno one gets that high up in Saddam's regime without having blood on his hands. Anyone who thinks otherwise is hopelessly naive.
We don't know what Baghdad Bob did to get where he is. And we don't really know who Salam Pax is, and what ties his family has to the Ba'athistsbut we do know that it's highly unlikely they were that privileged without being members of the club. permalink
See, there's supposed to be a dash between non and working. And that en dash in the title is supposed to be a plain old dash. You have no idea, as a touch typist, an English major, a former copy editor, and a perfectionist, how much it's going to drive me crazy if I can't get the dash key to work. I also can't seem to get the number six key to work, which means I can't use the caret, but I can't think of the last time I needed to use the caret, so who cares about that? The six key, now that's different. How am I going to put a six in the date if I can't get the six key to work?
Well, anyway, I'm now reading old emails that were in the "I'll get to these a bit later" file, and a bit later turned into even later to later still to "Ohmigod, I'd better answer these emails or they'll all think I'm an awful snob!"
Rocket Ray reminded me that it was the movie Bananas that I was thinking of for the Howard Cosell bedroom commentary. (I said I was behind in my mail.)
Wayne T. sent me this email, which makes me think that perhaps my cats aren't quite this annoying:
Yes. I'm more and more convinced that cats were created to annoy us.
Patty D. wrote in response to this:
Okay, I'll grant that. But a bingo night in a country club and bingo in a city bingo parlor are two wholly different creatures. Bingo, possibly. Setting foot in a working class Bingo hall? I doubt it.
Oh--mi--god. ^6. Look. My missing characters returned while I was writing this post. I'll be damned. If I were a credulous type, I'd ascribe some mystical, ridiculous theory to it instead of something like, well, the keyboard had some dirt in it and I dislodged it while pounding the keys that didn't work. But then again, that's me.
Sigh. Gone again. Something tells me that there's going to be a new computer in my future, and it's going to be relatively soon. Damn. I really can't afford a new laptop. I'm going to be chained to a desk.
Bill Herbert publishes a follow-up where a journalists actually corrects his mistakes. It's a little old (sorry, this is all old email), but still pertinent. Check it out.
This is a fascinating blog. Rajan, the Dissident Malaysian. Talk about someone willing to speak his mind! Here's what he says about himself:
That's my kinda blogger.
Here's a site so lame it asks you to choose your resolution screen. (Don't blame me if yours isn't the same as mine.) We can only hope that this is true. Breaking OPEC would be a wonderful thing.
From reader Ben F.:
And we are now officially all caught up, and my dash key is still not working, dash it all. One of my favorite lines from The Once and Future King: "After all, dash it all, it is the capital!" permalink
Update 2: I think I owe Salam an apology. I think it was a cache issue on my end. I cleared mine, and the page reappeared after having disappeared again. (Which made me suspicious. I'd refreshed the page more than once and didn't get the blog back on the main page, but I didn't clear the cache to be certain.) Whoops. Sorry.
That being said, well, I don't delete my posts, so here it is, in all its embarrassing glory. Unlike some people (hi, Sean Paul!), I face up to my mistakes.
Update: The deleted page is now back on the main site. But I know what I saw, or didn't see: It was gone this afternoon.
Interesting. The Iraqi blogger who enthralled his audience with tales of his electronic derring-do, explaining that he was outwitting various Iraqi controls with his computer expertise, apparently can't delete a post from his main page and from his archive.
But delete the post from the main page he did. The one that says this:
Did you give away too much, Salam? Thought better of it? Don't want people to know how connected your family really is? After all, how many Iraqis got to meet the American administrators? What kind of Iraqis helped negotiate the surrender of government officials? Well-connected ones, who had to be part of the regime, no?
Interesting information. And yet another clue for people that Salam Pax is more than he seems, and far more than he lets on to be. permalink
Saw this on LT's blog, then went over to Salam's to read more. Seems our child of privilege is upset that people are digging around and prying into his past, and accusing his father of being a Ba'athist:
Then there's more. He discusses the price of pizza, a necessity that Iraqis simply couldn't live without:
And then there's his fear of the mullahs taking over.
And Salam's reaction to that:
Here's a suggestion for you, Salam, which I'm sure you'll find disrespectful: If you want to improve your country, get off your whining, fat, spoiled ass and do something more than blame the Americans and hide from taking any personal responsibility for your nation's problems. You say your family weren't Ba'athists? Good for you. Go do something to show what an Iraqi patriot you are.
Saddam is gone. Your life isn't at risk any more. Stand up to the mullahs yourself. And bring some friends. Perhaps things would get better faster, and the price of pizza would go back to normal. permalink
I was checking my referrer logs, and found myself on the Blogstreet "biq 100", which is something I frankly don't understand but that seems to try to impart a ranking system on weblogs. Curious, I checked their top 100 list as well, and discovered that yes, I'm still not there. (Of course, if, say, 50-75 weblogs suddenly linked to me, I think I'd be back in the top 100 again. Not that I'm asking, really. No, I'm not.) Then my eye was taken by a graphic in the corner, and the words on the top of the screen:
And I thought, well, what are they gonna do? Sue me?
That's right. I'm gonna use the gif without permission. I ain't in the top 100. Whatcha gonna do about it, Blogstreet?
Come and get me, Blogstreet Legal Department.
(This has been brought to you by: yourish.com, skewers of inflated blog egos since 2001.) permalink
Last night I attended a lecture at my synagogue given by a member of AIPAC, which I suppose now puts me firmly in the Zionist World Takeover Conspiracy (just wait until I actually join AIPAC, then I'll really be in the conspiracy). But I came out of the speech feeling more hopeful about peace in the Middle East than I ever had before. I strongly recommend that any of you living in a city with an AIPAC presence get a chance to hear one for yourself.
Though I've had my differences with Leon Wieseltier, this speech is magnificent. You know the cliché; read the whole thing. permalink
Folks: I received the following email from a woman we haven't heard from since the grand old days of Saturday Night Live, Ms. Emily Litella.
When last we left the saga of Woody E. Woodpecker, the war had been won. Woody no longer pecks on the metal chimney hood at 6:30 in the morning, which means I no longer have to go outside in my jams and lob ice cubes (that really is a very strange phrase when you actually read it), and can sleep until 7:15, or later, if I so choose. (I so choose, for the most part.) But
I was reaing an email from LT Smash, and he had mentioned Woody Effing Woodpecker, andI swear this is trueas I was reading this letter, a woodpecker started pecking on something that soundeded like a tree. I went outside to see if I could find the pecker, and a bird flew off my kitchen roof. And then I heard a woodpecker singing from the tree in which this bird landed.
I don't know about you, but all the clues are pointing toward Woody coming back to my apartment to continue annoying me. Well, except that I can sleep through normal wood woodpecking. As long as he stays away from my chimney, I think I can handle it.
I can hear him talking even as I write this. Once you learn what woodpecker song sounds like, you never forget. Probably because it makes you want to reach for something you can throw at the little effer. permalink
Glenn Reynolds obviously didn't read this site or Kathy Kinsley's yesterday, or he'd know exactly what had happened to his weblog yesterday. [waving] He won't see me waving, either. Bummer. I used to know the guy. [insert stupid ascii grin here]
(Say, is a capacitor in a UPS any relation to a flux capacitor?)
Anyway, Dean Esmay is hosting the Carnival of the Vanities, and his server was hosed yesterday, so I'm linking to it again. (You other bloggers should, as well.) Poor guy tries so hard, and then the universe decides to show him the meaning of the phrase bad luck. permalink
Well, it's not exactly an update. More like a "neener, neener."
Hosting Matters is a NAC customer. I am a NAC customer. Hosting Matters' servers are at the Parsippany site. yourish.com is hosted on a server at the Parsippany site. When the capacitor in the UPS blew, Hosting Matters' sites when down. My site went down.
My site's been back up for hours, and wasn't down for long. Hosting Matters' sites are still mostly kaput.
NAC likes me better than they like Hosting Matters, and they pay a lot more than I do.
Neener, neener, neener. permalink
A friend of mine says that my posts on PETA amount to baiting them. Of course, she also says they deserve to be baited, because all they do is bait the rest of us with their offensive advertising campaigns, etc.
Anyway, in the interests of raising more PETA hackles, I thought I'd mention that a certain friend who will remain nameless has a miniature poodle that will not stop peeing on the floors, on various objects, and well, on so many things that Certain Friend's husband calls the dog "The Urinator." And Certain Friend is only half-joking when she says she wants to put an ad in the newspaper offering the poodle up for medical research.
So if you know anyone who needs a miniature poodle, about six years old, for medical research, send me an email. I'll pass the word along to Certain Friend. permalink
In the Serendipity Dept.: Kathy Kinsley had the scoop on the Instapundit server problems. I found this out after I linked her in the post below. Some days, everybody's on the same wavelength. permalink
I'll be damned. Hosting Matters rents space from Net Access Corporation, which is my host, and Net Access had a fire this morning. That's why you can't get to Instapundit, and I'll venture anyone else on Hosting Matters.
No wonder Hosting Matters is such a good service. They're using my guys, who have been great since I first started with them as my ISP.
Anyway, I know they're working hard to fix things, and Glenn should be back up fairly shortly. permalink
Is anyone else having trouble reading Instapundit? I can't get to it at all, and reader Leslie S. said she hasn't been able to, either. There was a brief problem reaching my site as well, but it seems to be all right now.
There have been no referrals from Instapundit for the past two hours, which is extraordinarily rare, so I'm thinking Glenn's got server problems.
Well, Charles is back. Or did I just mention that? Okay, then, Marduk is still around. And the folks at Silent Running. And Michele. And Lair. And Andrea. And the Bellicose Broads. And Lynn. And Bill Herbert. (Look, she's checking her referrers and making a list.)
It's a good thing I'm not hopelessly addicted. Addicted is bad enough. permalink
It's over at Dean Esmay's this week, and of course, I forgot to submit something again. Ah, well. There's always next week.
So the Cat Crisis of Memorial Day Weekend is effectively over; Tig is home, eating the spoonful of wet food I've been doling out every so often and actually eating it with medicine mixed in. (Someone call the newspapers; in this house, it's as shocking as if gravity were suddenly nullified.)
When I woke up (far too early) this morning, Tig was scratching at the bedroom door, and when I opened it, he meowed and seemed quite fine, and the best news is that he had cleaned his fur between my bedtime and that morning. So I allowed him some dry food, let him out, and he promptly threw it up. Vet, I decided. Last time something like this happened, it turned out that Tig had an indigestible mass of fur and coarse grass, which was, well, blocking him. I told my new vet, who decided an X-ray was in order. So I dropped Tig off at the vet, went home, did a few things, called to find out when they'd be done with my cat, as I was picking up Sorena after school and heading to Heidi's house for dinner, plus I had to get the corrections done for the synagogue newsletter. It turned out that I picked up Sorena, then got the pages (my synagogue is next door to Sorena's school, which is how I found it in the first place), then we went to get Tig. Sorena came in to talk to the vet with me, of course, and got to see the X-ray of a cat's insides, which pleased her no end. The vet pointed out the kidneys, the colon, the stomach, and various gas bubbles in the stomach and intestines, as well as getting a dig in about the mass of fat. (Hey, she was no Slender Sadie herself, ya know?)
So we got Tig, brought him home, and watched in awe as he actually ate the medicine-impregnated wet food. Then we drove to Heidi's, and I was talking with Sorena about how cool it was to see what Tig looks like inside. I said she could tell all her friends at school the next day that she'd seen an X-ray of cat farts, because she saw the gas bubbles in the X-ray. Told Heidi that later, and got the evil look and a sarcastic thank-you from her. I'm not getting why she's annoyed. I mean, Sorena did see an X-ray of cat farts.
Gracie started the day off still freaked out, because the only room open upstairs was the bathroom, and she can't hide there. But while Tig was gone, I decided to give her the entire half can of tunafish left over, as Tig isn't getting anything but normal food for a while. That seemed to calm her down somewhat, but boy, can she keep a grudge. And as always, when Tig comes back from the vet's, Gracie looks at me with a "Why? Why did you have to bring him back?" expression on her face. She just hissed at him for disturbing her in the kitty condo. This is a nightly occurrence. She's trying to sleep in the cylinder, and he pretends to sharpen his claws on that very cylinder, when he's really trying to get her to come out and play. Hiss, growl, "Tig, come here!"
Anyway, it's past midnight, and I'm tired, and the cats are tired, and with any luck, I'll get a decent night's sleep without a torrential downpour waking me up, or the fighting of white-trash boyfriends of the white-trash neighbor across the way (who is getting evicted this week, thanks in part to my complaints about Friday and Saturday night's 3 a.m. boyfriend fights, and am I happy about that? You're damned right I am!).
Raise hands, those of you who are shocked, shocked to find out that Arafat is still running the show.
What, no hands in the air?
Hey. Doesn't curare cause the same symptoms as a heart attack? Mossad, anyone? permalink
Is it just me, or have I been rather angry these last few days? Because it actually feels like weeks since I've written something funny. Or thoughtful.
Perhaps I'd better take a break from watching the news for a bit.
Well, after this next post, anyway. permalink
Emile Lahoud, Syrian puppet of Syrian-occupied Lebanon:
Meryl: Shut the fuck up, you Syrian sock-puppet. Nobody outside Syria and Syria-occupied Lebanon cares what you think. Get rid of the Syrian soldiers in Lebanon and we'll begin to think that you have a thing known as an independent country, let alone an independent thought.
Yeah, I've had a lousy day. Why do you ask? permalink
Well, it's near 11 p.m. and no trip to the emergency vet, so that's about three hundred bucks not spent. And Tig appears to have perked up quite a bit since I brought him a bowl of water as he lay exhausted on the bathroom floor. He's grooming himself right now. But overall, what a shitty day. Ahahah, get it? Get it? Shitty day! Ahahaha, sometimes I'm so funny I just slay myself.
Man, he stinks. Bathe him? Yeah. Because he doesn't need to be wrapped and have three people hold him merely to clip his claws. Bathing him would be a breeze. If you were wearing a suit of armor, anyway.
Guess who's not sleeping in my room tonight?
No, him, not me. But I think it's time to get back to business. (See above.) permalink
We had about an hour of sun. It's overcast now, but at least it isn't raining. However, I have one sick cat who is basically leaking from his behind, and one cat whose paw got stepped on, which means that for the rest of the day, she'll be running away from me on a regular basis, and worse still, I have closed all of the upstairs rooms but the bathroom due to Tig's digestive ailment, so Gracie can't hide from the monster who obviously no longer loves her because she stepped on her foot. And of course, the vet is closed today and I am unwilling to contribute to the emergency vet's Rolls-Royce fund (how else to explain the prices they charge?).
Plus, I'm finishing up the last of my own illness and putting the final touches on the synagogue newsletter. My, what a fun day it's been. I can only imagine what the rest of the day has in store.
The lone piece of good news: I am now certain my video problem is that something was knocked loose, as the last time the screen darkened I tried, well, slamming it shut and opening again. It worked. (I didn't slam it too hard. Relax.) Now, all I have to do is take the computer apart and be able to tell what is loose and what isn't.
Yeah, like that's going to happen. "Gee, this looks okay. Hm. Does this look okay?"
Well, I'll try. Can't hurt, and this day blows giant monkey chunks already. permalink
And it's not a baby bunny, either. Just a cute little new Bigwig, which would make him a Littlewig.
Hey, Bigwig, I found my copy of Watership Down and will be throwing quotes at you for the next week or so. Of course the line I always remember is "There's a dog loose in the woods!" permalink
It has been raniing for forty days and forty nights here in Richmond. I saw a guy gathering animals up, two by two, of every kind, and putting them on this funky-looking boat.
Okay, maybe not, but it's so effing wet that mushrooms are growing from my straw welcome mat outside my door. Had I realized what they were, I wouldn't have kicked them over; I'd have photographed them, so you wouldn't think I'm making this up. But not to worry, it's currently thundering and raining as I write this, and I expect that by tomorrow morning, more mushrooms will have grown on my mat. They're strange-looking onestall, thin, white things about four to six inches long. That's why I didn't recognize them as mushrooms.
Heidi tells me that I have yet to find the mushrooms she finds the most amusing. They're penis-shaped. She swears she's not making that up, either. Says she's going to save one for me to show me. I'll take a picture of that one, too.
Anyway, I guess I wasn't a very good Charles Johnson substitute, as I got very busy today and couldn't post a thing. Oh, well. He's an original, anyway. Silly to try to be him. permalink
Last week's blogs are archived. Looking for the Buffy Blogburst Index? Here's Israel vs. the world. Here's the Blogathon. The Superhero Dating Ratings are here. If you're looking for something funny, try the Hulk's solution to the Middle East conflict, or Yasser Arafat Secret Phone Transcripts. Iseema bin Laden's diary and The Fudd Doctrine are also good bets if you've never been here before.