I started writing this post several months ago and sat on it for a while until I had actually seen the movie in question. Being informed, yo!
Back those some odd months ago on a message board, there was an increasingly heated discussion over the upcoming film "Orphan" and whether it paints older adopted children in a bad light and furthermore whether doing so will affect the future of older child adoptions.

Yes, I'm being quite serious.

Although by discussion, I mean more like "OMG THIS MOVIE IS HORRIBLE THE CHILDREN THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!11!!". And yes, I'm grossly exaggerating.

It's a bit difficult for me to wrap my head around this sort of knee-jerk reaction, but nonetheless, I try to be understanding, really, and respond rationally to thoughts like this. I guess some basic human genetic workings can allow me to see that yes, this could be a sensitive subject for some people. I realize that I'm biased, from someone who aspires to be more involved in the movie business and as someone that watches a hell of a lot of movies. And cause I'm just too incredibly awesome for words. YEAH!

But with that in mind, my approach to this topic is one of logic. You see, it's my belief that if a person is so impressionable to think that older children are evil because of something they saw in a movie and therefore not worthy of adoption, then that person is not in the right state of mind to be adopting a child anyway. This could be, perhaps, an unpopular opinion, but mine is that just because one has the capability of becoming a parent doesn't mean they should go ahead and do that.

One could argue that movies do provoke a visceral but sometimes subconscious feeling in us that can leave a lasting imprint on us. I, for example, still look at the crawlspace to the attic with some irrational trepidation because I think to myself that the Grudge could quite easily make her way down there and get me. But when I think rationally and without this emotion, do I honestly believe that? No way. No, really... I know it's fake.
When I had my youngest son, and I was in the hospital holding him in my arms, there was a marathon of none other than "The Omen" movies. Sure, I did eye him a little suspiciously, but did I really think he was going to be a Damien? No way.
So I would hope that anyone looking to adopt a child would think through the idea rationally and not allow a movie to influence that decision. To me, that's the normal response to have.

Now, like I said, I watch a hell of a lot of movies. Some are very violent or some can be grossly misogynistic -- a topic that tends to get my fires o' wrath burning -- or they deal with uncomfortable subject matter. But I still see those movies as a story someone felt the need to tell. More importantly, they should be allowed to tell that story, regardless if people's feelings can get hurt, and we should have the choice to listen to their story or not. Life is not a comfortable existence where we all walk around placating each other. How unbelievably dull would that be, not to mention highly impossible?

My stance has been, and always will be, if you are offended, don't watch it.

I never really understood dream analysis that much. I'm sure the process has some valid points about the inter-workings of the brain and the subconscious, but I tend to think sometimes a dick is merely a dick. Not that there's a large collection of peni making cameos in my dreams or anything.
For a while, I've been having dreams with a reoccurring element popping up, and for the life of me, I have no idea why.
In the dream, I start out doing something or about to do something when I stop and say "First, I'm going to get a snack." But I refuse to use the vending machines readily available and instead announce that I'm going to use the "better vending machines in the basement". These vending machines are located in a parking garage and are truly awesome machines.
What I found most interesting is how the outer shell of the dream changes. Sometimes I'm in an office building. Sometimes it's a university. Once, there was a terrorist situation going on and I was sneaking down to the good vending machines undetected. Another time, there were zombies and I wanted to get a snack before barricading the doors.
So maybe there's some dream analysis that would interpret what an awesome secret vending machine in a parking garage symbolizes, but I'm almost certain it's merely my head messing with me.
And it is incredibly disappointing to wake up and realize these machines don't really exist.

Just the kind of day I'm having:

• Couldn't get to sleep until after 1 AM, thanks mostly due to dog's horrendous gastro-intestinal problems.
• Woke up earlier than usual to get son up for school, only to find out his Thurs morning early class was canceled this week, thus costing me 30 mins of sleep I could have been having.
• Drove half-way to work, stopping to get gas as the car was on E. Hopped out at the pump, open the wallet AND...no debit card.
• Drove back home to meet husband, aka "Thief of the Debit Card", aka "Won't get his own debit card fixed already", so I could get some freaking gas in the car. Ended up being ridiculously late.
• Computer is acting like as ass to me today, making it take twice as long to do tasks.
• My poor lava lamp, keeper of my tranquility and emergency heat source, is overheated.
• It MAY be colder in the office than it is outside. And outside is pretty damn cold.
• After getting up to sign the birthday card of yet another person I don't know, I inadvertently dropped a Skullcandy earbud into the remnants of a seasoned sauce. I'm not even sure what was in the sauce. The Green Giant bag only said "seasoned". But it's only 70 cals a serving, so it can't be that bad. But that's not the point.
• Tried to do yoga, but the combination of lasagna and pets being jackasses were working against me. Note to self: Never eat lasagna again. Delicious, but way too heavy.

Sigh. Zesty buds, indeed.

Ah, my first foray into the audio world.
Lessons learned:
1) It is hard as hell to talk to my computer when it's not talking back.
2) I say "you know" and "whatever" a lot.
3) Editing is mah friend.
4) I don't really have a four.

Enjoy this tidbit of advice being smacked your way.

I don't visit fast food restaurants too often at all -- one of the benefits of being a vegetarian. Or I suppose a disadvantage if you're the type that enjoys fast food. Anyway, when I do make a quick stop at one, I am quick to remember that they don't exist on the same plane as me, common sense speaking. I'm always amazed when a restaurant nonchalantly introduces a new burger made with three slabs of meat and a pound of bacon and ten slices of cheese. It's not just from a vegetarian aspect either that causes my disgust. I am baffled that anyone can order that for lunch and think they should eat for the next few days.
Today, I walked out of my doc appt and realized that I had eaten lunch way too early and I was hungry again. What I really wanted was edamame or some sort of fresh veggies, but I don't live in the sort of city where you can walk up to a nearby restaurant and get random veggies to go. So I settled for a close fast food restaurant by the highway to grab a drink and onion rings. Healthy, I know.
This is where I made my mistake. I ordered a medium beverage, expecting a medium beverage. I got a this:

This is not a medium. This is a small bucket.
In comparison, here is the faux-medium next to a standard cup, semi-filled with delicious fizzy water:

The medium towards over the normal cup. To me, medium means "average". It's not smaller than average (aka, small beverage) nor is it larger (aka, large beverage), so why does this fast food restaurant's beverage tower menacingly over the normal, "average" cup?
At what point did medium become large? What marketing genius decided that what consumers REALLY needed was a bucket of soda? Was there some focus group that decided 12 oz of beverage was for suckers? I'm really baffled. It reminds me of when I would go to a theatre and get a beverage, only to have the employees attempted to upsale me the bucket for a "quarter more". While I realize I get 20 extra oz for a mere 25 cents, I would point out to the employee that my bladder would surely explode if I even attempted to finish something that size. We're talking a what, 16, 17 oz capacity size for the average human bladder? Is a 64 oz soda really beneficially to the average person?

That title should bring some interesting traffic, yes?
I stumbled across this video on YouTube, or the youtube, if you prefer. What was of most interest to me was that it dealt with a local case of a teenager who sent a nude pic to her then boyfriend who, upon the breakup, sent the pic to fellow classmates. The girl committed suicide after months of harassment at school.

To add insult to injury, her parents are suing various parties, which I believe illustrates that I do not agree with what her parents are doing. Not only will it not bring back their daughter, it passes over an accountability that their daughter has in the situation.
Don't get me wrong...harassment is not okay at all, and I feel the school officials should have done more to stop the harassment. But I don't believe culpability for this tragedy should be placed solely on the student body and school. I've gotten the feeling from reading various articles on this situation that the parents are trying desperately to point fingers without owning up to the fact that they should have told their daughter that sending pics of her nudie bits would never have a good outcome. To me, that is common sense.
Unfortunately for the girl who committed suicide, school life is never one happy rainbow of friendship goodness. Other girls get mean and catty. That's pretty much a general. Hell, I've gotten more than my fair share of bullying growing up. If you were the first to start wearing a bra, you were tormented until the next school-age faux pas was committed to distract the attention away from you. A few years later, it was if you were the last to wear a bra. If you dared to trust the wrong gossip hound with who you were crushing on, inevitably that information would make the rounds and life seemed like it was completely ruined. But kids get over that shit as soon as they find the next thing they can tease someone about, and it always seemed that letting it roll right off stopped the teasing sooner than later. Humiliation is tough, but that is school. That is growing up. I don't envy kids now with their gadgets and social networking. Seems like it's all too easy to make the wrong move and open the flood gates to be picked on by peers. But these are conversations we as parents need to be having with our children. Just because a sex tape catapults a rather rich nobody into the public eye doesn't mean this is a formula to replicate. More often than not, it will end in a huge steaming pile of lost dignity and humiliation. And for crying out loud, I know how gossipy my high school was when I was growing up...who in their right mind would think for one nanosecond that anything like a naked pic would be kept confidential? That is a serious case of delusion.

I feel bad for the parents of this girl. But unfortunately suing people will not make up for their lack of talking to their daughter about the dangers of misusing multi-media and how you should never take any picture that that if there is the slightest probability of being intercepted. Hell, at least make sure you're not able to be identified in it.

At my previous job, staying up-to-date on the latest celebrity gossip was almost a necessity. My coworkers enjoyed sharing tidbits on who was dating whom, and who was seen wearing what. If there was a particularly hot story, of course you wanted to be the first to get and share the scoop. It was all pretty exhausting and particularly mind-numbing. At my current job, no one seems to give a damn on such things, so avoiding gossip sites was a welcomed change in the daily routine. After almost a year of not being engrossed in it, I'm pleased to say that I have no clue as to who is boinking who. Hell, a good percentage of the time, I have no idea who various "celebs" are. It's refreshing.
There is something inherently disturbing about the media's obsession over public figures' private lives. I never understand why it becomes news when a well-known person admits to diddling people on the sides. Isn't that a matter than he/she needs to take care of with their significant other? I suppose the newest morbid fascination is the whole Tiger Woods affair, which I've done my best to avoid completely. I couldn't care less about who he's having the sex with or how many women claim to have ridden Tiger's wood. How is that news? People have sex...get over it already! He's not the first person nor the last to have cheated on his wife. *yawn* It bears no relevance to my life nor should it affect his professional career. It may change the meaning of "hole in one", sure. *cymbal crash*

I will mention that one thing did catch my eye that I've rolled my eyes at and declared it the sign of the coming apocalypse. While doing some research to see if I was the only person who thinks German actor Daniel Bruhl resembles Smashing Pumpkins' Billy Corgan, one of the first things shown in the google search under news stated that Corgan was dating none other than Jessica Simpson. I'm telling you, that IS the apocalypse coming. Get your affairs in order, and quickly!
While I'm on the subject of celebrity gossip mags, I'm going to repeat the sentiments of so many others : since when did TMZ become a reliable source for anything? It is downright vile to see the AP quote TMZ or mention "TMZ had this story first." Bleck.
Anyway, I highly recommend removing this sort of mental clutter from your daily routine. Allow celebs their private lives and stop encouraging these gossip sites from invading the privacy and supplying pics every time Britney Spears gets a hamburger at a drive-thru.
Also:

Image via Wikipedia

That had nothing to do with any of this, but seriously, how often do you see Mariah Carey and Robert DeNiro together? Weird, right?

I had this utterly brilliant idea for a script and I want to pass the goodness to the world as a treat. Here world, have this nugget and savor it. Let it melt in your mouth as you inhale the sweet aroma. Let it drip... okay, I'm freaking myself out now.

I call this idea "Figgy Pudding". It's a slasher flick. Close your eyes. No, wait..you won't be able to read this if you do that. Pretend you are closing your eyes so you can pretend to imagine the structure I'm throwing at you. Let's say our main locale is a dorm. Eh, I know what you're thinking: "Dorms are SO overdone for Christmas slashers." True, my friends. But we need a single location of terror for this to work and "convalescent home" just doesn't have the same ring to it. That's a whole other issue of terror there.
Okay, so dorm-like setting. Enter the carolers. The carolers are the new mutant cannibal backwoods folks for 2010. Trust. The carolers seem oh so sweet and normal, but deep down they are some crazy bastards. They enter the scene singing at the dorm's steps. Maybe the dorm inhabitants poke a little fun, cause we all know that college students are all jackasses, right? Unfortunately for these jackasses, the carolers have picked them as their target for the evening's festivities (wink wink). As they get to their closing song ("We Wish You A Merry Christmas"), they get to the verse about figgy pudding:

But these freaks are serious. They want their figgy pudding and they plan on killing until they get it. Unfortunately for the college students, no one knows what the fuck figgy pudding actually is, so of course no one has any on them. Then the stalking and killing begins, complete with over the top death scenes utilizing any and all improbably mortal Christmas decorations, along with corny one-liners like "Your balls have been jingled".

So there. Take it, love it and give it a home. Just don't name any of the characters some stupid shit like "Maximilian Stead" and describe him as "the wealthy, playboy type" or this entire deal is null and void, I shit you not. It's important to have standards, even for shitty slashers flicks.

And check it out: flaming figgy pudding!

Image by tedkerwin via Flickr

So thanks to the economy sucking, and my money management skills sucking, and wanting to actually pay bills instead of letting them accumulate, I was a little worried how plentiful Christmas was going to be this year. Part of the issue is that Christmas growing up was maybe a hell of a lot different than normal people's christmases. Is that a word? "Christmases"? Spell checker isn't picking it up, so I'm thinking perhaps it is.
But I digress.
Growing up, we had the "Santa" presents, which was a multitude of gifts in a selected spot. I seem to remember my spot being closest to the hallway and across from the Christmas tree. Then, there were the presents under the tree from the parents and siblings. These were wrapped while the Santa presents were not. Every Christmas Eve, I would be laying in my bed way too excited to sleep, and hit with a fresh dose of anxiety. I'd be frantically wondering if I was good enough that year for Santa Claus to visit. Had I fought too much with my younger brother that year? Had I talked back too much to my parents? What if I wake up in the morning and there weren't any presents for me?
It all seems silly now, but I never had one moment where I realized there wasn't a Santa Claus. I was 18 and still had doubts. (And I wonder why I had such a hard time adjust to the real world.) My parents were THAT good.
Unfortunately for me, this set the bar really high for me with my own kids. I was so determined to keep Christmas the same as it was for me. I have no idea how my parents pulled it all off though. There were four of us kids, and we were all going to parochial school. They must have started saving in January or something. I, however, kinda suck at saving money too far in advance. Every year I say I'm getting Christmas shopping done before Thanksgiving and every year that hasn't happened. This year felt especially different. There were no big bonuses to be had and the bills were aplenty. I could get the kids the major presents they wanted, but I couldn't do an extravagant cornucopia of toys. And I actually felt bad about that.
Then I started thinking seriously about things. What was the point of spending extra dollars to get them toys that they may or may not play with? They have plenty of toys as it is now, perhaps even too much as the result of birthdays and Christmases of past. They got the item they most wanted and a few corresponding accessories. I have to say, they were completely happy. My house wasn't overfilled with tons of packing waste and a million pieces of toys. It was very simple and stress free and definitely how I want to continue Christmases in the future.

Part of my goals for a while was to redesign this site to my own liking without the use of someone else's style. Maybe it was a lack of motivation or focus, but it took me a while to actually commit to the project. I'm still toying with a few things, but the main overhaul is done. I'm really enjoying the color scheme I've got. It's not that I don't like blue, I'm just rather sick of it. I worked off a scheme that contained about 9 different colors, and I think it all turned out rather nicely.
Now if I can figure out where the hell the "previous" button is...

This morning, I stumbled into the bathroom stall barely awake. As I sat there whizzing (too much info??), I found myself humming a tune out of no where. I paused for a second, scanning my mental media database of songs and jingles, only to realize that I was oddly humming the jingle to a 1987 cereal commercial:

My initial reaction to this revelation was to exclaim "What the fuck!"
....
I do not recommended yelling "What the fuck!" from a bathroom stall. It doesn't look good, no matter how you try to spin it.
....
What I love about this commercial (which I still have the words memorized, 22 years later..eeks) is the Jimmy Durante impersonator and the use of the word "indubitably" to describe a kid's cereal. They don't make commercials like this anymore. Now we have talking babies and pseudo-hipsters who love Miracle Whip and Jettas. What the fuck, indeed.

Ah-cha-cha-cha!