Ocean's Twelve smallpox survivors

I'm on a bit of a sneak-preview tear! I saw Ocean's Twelve last night in a Warner Brothers' private screening for about 20 people, and thought it was great. Where it falls behind the original in plot twists, it makes up for in fun & laughs. Which reminds me, I saw the old Rat Pack original Ocean's Eleven over thanksgiving break with my brother, and found it brought a lot of what the 2001 version did into perspective; there are a lot of little inside references people miss without a clue. Anyway. Go see it. Better than Alexander.

Had a discussion yesterday with a friend about Thanksgiving; she told me that she annually apologizes at the table with her family for the white man's gifts of smallpox and other disease to the New World. My response was:

"Noble efforts on your part for the eternal peace and forgiveness of los indios nativos. But I've gotta say, if the slaughter of a few tens of millions of innocent nature-cohabitants and the enslavement of two continents' worth of culture to eurocentric monotheist Christian hegemony is the only price I have to pay in exchange for the invention of turkey with cranberry and a two day holiday over which to eat it, just show me where to sign."

Happy Eat-A-Turkey Day

I'm Thankful for stories.

-27 people at the table in my dining room. One table. Couldn't fit
said table (extended) in said dining room. Solution? Like Shaq said, "My offense is like the Pythagorean Theorem... there is no solution." Table goes diagonal across dining room.

-We had an English Vicar say grace. An honest-to-god, wait make that
God, travelling Vicar. He gave a stirring tribute of thanks and
blessing. After a moment, I followed him up with "we also give thanks for the Red Sox."

-My mom toasted "to the Vicar and his wife for their first Thanksgiving in America." My mother's best friend, an ex-pat Brit sitting down the table, says "Vic, it's their first Thanksgiving anywhere."

-My roommate's crazy sister was found to be locked in my bathroom.
But not for what you think- she might be anorexic, but she's not
bulemic. Regardless, she is certainly addled. My house has old
skeleton key locks. She locked the door. She couldn't figure out out to unlock it, and started calling for help. My very large brother got a stepladder and went out into the rain to help her out from the window. I warned him not to go too far in, or he'd get stuck like Winnie the Pooh and have to wait until spring. She ended up handing him the key, who re-entered the house and unlocked it from the outside.

-I think the only household member to put on more weight than me this
weekend was the used-to-be-45-lb.-dog. Blind as a post, she still
knows how to find where to sit. My roomate pointed out my dog always sits under him when he comes over. I pointed out that when he eats, there is a 1 meter radius around his mouth where the food might actually land. Darwin therories on animal survival at work, folks.

ALEXANDER

I very much wanted to like this film, but suspension of disbelief has its limits. And when 3 hours into the film a theater full of adults watching Alexander's solliloquy during the climatic death scene of his best friend and companion burst with rolling-in-the-aisles laughter, those limits are crossed. A witty remark overheard afterwards likened the scene to a good SNL skit-- probably
not Oliver Stone's intended reaction. But with this movie, the ham-handed execution of all attempts at drama left one feeling like the slapstick routine of Colin Farrell crying tears in reverie at the grand future of the empire out his window, while his lover comically twitched in convulsions behind him, was par for the course.

"Alexander" botches history, botches cultural understanding, botches good storytelling and botches basic hair bleaching. Granted, I set a high expectation for the film, but only because it tells one of the greatest tales of conquest in human history and thought that would be hard to overshadow. Unfortunately I never saw coming that Stone could portray one of the most charismatic, unifying leaders of all time as an Oedipal Greenwich village queen with an irish accent wearing a wig cut from the scalp of fitness celebrity John Basedow. My bad.

Above all, Stone's script most egregiously mauls the story of Alexander's relationships to his parents, even moreso than the boorish approach to the culturally out-of-context assumptions of homosexuality. At the end of the day, I'd suggest that if you want a rousing cinematic performance of ancient world leadership and perserverance, stick to "Gladiator." And if you want to learn how and why Alexander conquered the known world, stick to the History Channel.

Although this movie does give a chance to see Rosario Dawson as Alexander's wife show off her truly legendary breasts. I don't know how the History Channel is going to match that.

Oh. My. God.

Let it never be said I didn't always succeed at finding new ways to embarass myself to the fullest. For the record, I'm not actually a seamstress. At least, not an expert one. Read on, if you dare.

Copyright 2004 Boston Herald Inc.

The Boston Herald

October 31, 2004 Sunday

ALL EDITIONS

SECTION: SPORTS; Pg. B18

LENGTH: 479 words

HEADLINE: WORLD CHAMPIONS;
Red Sox, fans put title on parade

BYLINE: By Michael O'Connor

BODY:
Rolling Rally? Try Rolling Thunder.
As the number of those hopping on the Red Sox bandwagon swelled into the millions along the parade route for the 2004 World Series champions, a seemingly region-wide roar greeted the honorees.

It was as if the entire city was doing a 1,000-decibel version of The Wave yesterday as a convoy of 17 Duck Boats passed, from the once-filthy Fens to the not-quite-so-dirty water of the Charles River.

It was difficult to hear anyone. The red- and blue-clad players and families, coaches and front-office personnel were simply enveloped in a joyful cloud of white noise.

But David Ortiz made sure his voice was heard at Fenway Park, where the Ducks had gathered up their special guests. The big slugger said he witnessed a woman weeping after Game7 last year.

``This lady was crying and it was kind of sad,'' recalled Ortiz, dressed in a red warmup suit for the celebration.
He made a vow then and there to turn that fan's frown upside down.
``I went and told my teammates, `Hey, we should make people laugh, be happy,''' he said.
And Ortiz said he knew how to accomplish that: Just return to Fenway Park one October later with the World Series trophy.

That gleaming symbol of baseball supremacy was proudly displayed on the infield yesterday.
If Ortiz was a study in scarlet, Pedro Martinez more than matched him in blue, right up to his tinted, Bono-esque shades.

Sporting a headband that read ``Dominican Republic,'' Martinez said his chief goal for this season ``was to be part of this ball team that would end up here at the Green Monster, with a whole bunch of fans behind us, and actually pull it off for Boston. I don't think I will ever get any bigger gifts than I got right now.''

Once the raucous parade got under way, both the fans and their heroes were reduced to gestures and hand signals.
Near the Boston Common, Andrew Danberg-Ficarelli of Newton caught Ortiz' attention by emulating Big Papi's trademark, two-finger motion from his heart to heaven.

``And then he did it right back to me,'' said the Newton man, looking as gleeful as if Ortiz had just handed him season tickets for 2005. ``This is just amazing for everyone.''

Danberg-Ficarelli's girlfriend, Mollie Conroy, hails from Illinois, but she could boast a Red Sox connection that would be the envy of any fan. Her great uncle was Bill Conroy, a catcher for the team from 1942-44. She even wore a Sox team jersey with ``Conroy'' stretched across the back - courtesy of her boyfriend, an expert seamstress.

Danberg-Ficarelli's mother, Victoria Danberg, suggested there was just one more symbolic gesture to make to put right all of Red Sox history.

``We've got to take back the Babe,'' she said. ``I mean, he helped the Red Sox win three World Series (1915, '16, '18) before he went to New York, and he ended his career with the Boston Braves.

``Finally, we have to welcome back Babe Ruth.''

GRAPHIC: CHAMPS' SALUTE: Red Sox outfielders Johnny Damon (left) and Dave Roberts wave to the crowd on Boylston Street during yesterday's parade celebrating the team's World Series title. Staff photo by Tara Bricking

LOAD-DATE: October 31, 2004

Georgia: Bag-of-Hammers dumb

Those who support the Cobb County stickers testified this week that they are aiming for a more open-minded education for students.

"I think the (evolution) theory is atheistic. And it's all that's presented. It's an insult to their intelligence that they're only taught evolution," said Marjorie Rogers, the parent who first complained about the biology texts.

SNL: "As a compromise, dinosaurs are now called 'Jesus Horses'."

that's "DOCTOR" Evil

I didn't spend seven years in evil medical school to be called "mister," thank you very much...

Japan chasing mystery submarine

cha-ching

I just got my first forward to tips@gawker.com posted!

Rush Limbaugh Explains The Cult Of T-Bro
Conservative pill-popper Rush Limbaugh breaks down East Coast liberalism and Tina Brown to his red state audience:

Tina Brown used to publish Vanity Fair, used to be the editor, and that's the bible of the left, folks, and then the New Yorker, she straightened that out, and then she tried TALK magazine with Harvey Weinstein's Miramax. It didn't work out [...] The queen of the social circuit; the arbiter of what's hip and what isn't, and who's hip and who isn't and who's worth talking to and who isn't worth talking to; who's worth profiling and who's not worth profiling, she's it, and I think it's interesting that the East Coast's leader in all of this has a 0.1 on CNBC on her Sunday night show.

Ummm, what's your point?

Previte

Some things change. In the Andrew/Matt apartment, we are proud not to be one of those things.

ACT I
Me: [on couch, in underwear, eating hersheys from a 4 pound bag and dipping them in Skippy while watching the history channel] "Oh, I didn't know you already went to the gym, I would have gone with you. Wait, what time is it? Damn, I think I'm 45 minutes late for class. Hey, can you put away all the costco food my mom sent me?"

Roommate: [in kitchen, in underwear, stirring creatine-supplemented protein power shake with hands washed raw, standing on towel with neck shavings, flexing at the refrigerator door in hopes of catching an angle with convex reflection as he throws a tissue at the heaped pile of them next to the trash] "Listen pal, why don't you stop being such a fat, pathetic, helpless sack of goo? You're disgusting. You sicken me worse than that ugly bitch JP Morgan recruiter who interviewed me last week, who wouldn't stop pulling on her mole hair and had breath that stank like jungle rot. I'm so glad I did well and don't have to see HER again!"

Me: [sees woman standing behind roommate] "Oh, by the way, I forgot. There's an i-bank lady here to see you."

ACT II
So the Show goes on. Andrew and Matt, with no Ernest C. Howard in the middle to balance them out, are back under one roof. The last time these stars aligned in Fall of 2000, George Bush was losing popular elections to coastal voters, Yasir Arafat was spurring comatose Palestinians to start an initifada, and the Yankees and Red Sox were finished 1-2 in the AL East with the winner going on to be World Series champs. There was no job security, which meant you couldn't get a job, and meant you could get to the 8th floor of a midtown advertising company without a radiotag photoID and a background check. The last Super Bowl had an ad with a sock puppet.

Ahhh... the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Doing justice to any '00 recollection begs mention of one other seminal event of Y2K. The 1F Watt Ice Luge Party. Dim the lights... remember the strobe... see the disco ball. bathroom kegs. kitchen bar. rabbit-bumpin' techno. strangers crawling in through open windows. drunk swedish fish luging their way to reverse Jonah impressions. Waking up in bed the next morning with an open beer. Who else misses college?

This Saturday night, Matt and I are going back to the future with a college party for immature 20somethings (with some latitude on each end), and you are coming along. The apartment is nicer to look at; the inhabitants maybe less so. We can afford more booze; our alcoholisms have progressed. Our neighbors were really, really jewish... well, there are some things to which no adapting will be necessary. Its an event not to miss! Ice sculpture and 4-can capacity beer funnel on the smoking balcony. MP3s from napster. A mini-bar looking for companionship. Ernie, drooling in the shower, covered in urine, not his own. Oar-stealing raids on frat houses to follow!
Saturday, 10pm, my FDR Ju-plex
Gmail me or wait for the actual evite for more details.

Something's Gotta Give

Last night, I came to a realization. It's not actually possible for me to work a full/over time job at a big law firm, get A's as a part time student in a post-bac pre-med program, maintain a social life, date a girl, go regularly to the gym, eat actual meals, and also meet the time requirements of blog reading and updating. It just can't be done. I had to prioritize.

My job and the regular meals thing are for daily sustenance. The classes are to ensure a successful future. Keeping up a social life probably falls in the daily sustenance category; friends have told me that solitary confinement in prison would most likely kill me. Going to the gym hasn't really been much more than an on-paper endeavor for me for years, anyway, so continuing to lie to myself about it won't hurt any. Which leaves the time-wasting, narcissistic, socially and professionally awkward blogging.

Naturally, the decision last night on what had to go was clear.

So I dropped my class. Physics is really hard! I'll try again at it some other time; the future, is, like far away and stuff. Now I want to go read Wonkette and get ideas on how to make up for a month's worth of missed posts. I've got a lot of garbage rattling around in my head that needs a place to air out! Is that election thing soon, btw?