April 15, 2006

Just because I sleep all day, my mortal friends think that gives them free rein to come on in and change things without asking. Is there no respect anywhere? If it was at NIGHT, nobody would DARE intrude and move stuff around my Crypt without permission.

*updates*

*surveys the new Crypt*

*gives Homie an eternal "pass" on being fodder for the undead in gratitude*

WOW.

This is... gorgeous! Thank you, Homie!
Homie Bear here, breaking into the Crypt to make some minor alterations. But I'm not pressing the "alterate" button until the resident undead has a chance to see the changes I have wrought before anyone else. So if gabrielle would be so kind as to post something, she would then see these changes, and hopefully approve. That's all! Except for one thing- you may recall in the Challenge that she wanted an Anne Rice quote- here is my favorite one:
"I was particularly stunned by the casting of Cruise, who is no more my Vampire Lestat than Edward G. Robinson is Rhett Butler."

April 14, 2006

Important lessons are learned every day. "The sparky end of cigarettes burns" and "Locked doors stay shut when you walk into them". It's valuable information, being alive. Yesterday I had one of those life-altering informative moments which, at risk of seeming childishly incompetent at basic comprehension-oriented tasks, I'll share with you to assist in smoothing out your learning curve when you come up against the same situation I did.

Lesson: Spyware, that insidious infestation of "cookies" and "bots" and other things that sound delicious and exciting but aren't, infects your computer fastest when you surf porn sites.

Brushing aside the more obvious (and therefore unanswerable) questions like "Why were you surfing porn sites?" and "What is porn?" (O pure virginal friends of mine who are yet unscathed by the vagaries of hormonal existence on this wretched sex-driven planet, how much you have to learn), I'll cut to the chase and get right to the heart of the matter.

First, a definition of spyware, courtesy of dictionary.com.
Main Entry: spyware
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: any software that covertly gathers information about a user while he/she navigates the Internet and transmits the information to an individual or company that uses it for marketing or other purposes

Second, never accept cookies from strangers online. It's the same rule as not accepting candy from strangers in cars. The very same things can happen to you if you ignore this time-tested advice: rape and pillage.

Third, it may shock you to learn this, but the purveyors of the world-dominating and truly unifying plague of pornography are actually rather shady characters who prefer to profit off another man's (or woman's, all things being equal) fascination with "things that Sesame Street says are bad" by way of subversively (hence the "shady" part) planting tiny internet minions into your PC while you surf so that reports about your every activity from that day onward can be made to marketing CEOs in sulfurous boardrooms in the bowels of L.A. every time you use your computer. Spyware and porn, what constant bedfellows ye be!

Thus, my computer, due to fraternizing with the unclean in a fit of perverse lust and callous disregard for basic safety protocols, got itself infected with a Trojan Horse and thirty-two different varieties of spyware.

Interestingly enough, the spyware mostly manifested itself through constant and unending pop-ups and internet redirections to anti-spyware software sites. HOW HEINOUS! HOW TRULY EVIL! Not content to infect you, spy on you, make notes about how many times you spell the word "diaphanous" wrong, and report to big-wigs about your internet shopping preferences, spyware is also hell-bent on separating you from your hard-earned cash in a desperate bid to rid yourself of it. Thus perpetuating my conspiracy theory that spyware creators and anti-spyware retailers are actually the same people.

At last, in despair, I turned to my beloved when he arrived home and beseeched him to help me rid my fledgling little laptop (a "Latitude" as in "give me some latitude, I'm only human") of it's sick and horrid disease. He asked how I had gotten infected by so much spyware in such a short time. (I've only had the computer for about a week and it was fine the day before.) I had to confess that I had surfed porn. Incredulous look from him. "Why were you surfing PORN?" AM I NOT HUMAN? IF YOU PRICK ME, DO I NOT BLEED? IF I WORK ALL DAY, AM I NOT AIMLESSLY AND DESTRUCTIVELY HORNY? I blame Sharon Stone. He deferred from assigning or pursuing blame and instead, with an admittedly smug grin, set about exorcising the demons.

My baby laptop is now clean. Though it will never again be virginal and shall henceforth be required to run "spybot: search and destroy" every day upon start-up, followed by a thorough "immunization". *deep, regretful sigh* It can be said that I learned my lesson. Porn is bad... for computers. Spyware is like the government: meddling in everything you don't want it to touch and very annoying. And if I'm strictly honest I should probably also admit that porn is bad for me too. The internet requires a condom most days. And sometimes a frontal lobotomy. There's a lot of total shit out there that loosely disguises a nefarious global marketing research scheme so insidious it defies description. Really my best advice is to purchase a Playboy if you're so inclined.

What?

As though you've never done it. Must I always be the first to choose "truth" in the endless life game of Truth or Dare?

April 12, 2006

My friend JT was over the other night and while he and Peter* (*name changed to protect the real) made dinner in the kitchen, I skipped online to chat and update my blog. JT snuck back into the lounge while I was typing and started intoning, behind my back, "Dear Sharon, The plans for your temple are progressing nicely, as you requested. Please send additional instructions for the furtherment of your worship." Ha ha. Funny boy, that JT. As though it's some kind of crime to allow yourself to appreciate the aesthetic value of those who force themselves into the spotlight for your scrutiny/pleasure. As though all I do is talk about Sharon Stone. So this post is not about her.

Instead, I must ask what malady seizes celebrities when they procreate and prompts them, in fits of what we'll loosely term "inspiration", to name their offspring horrid taunt-magnet things like "Dweezil"? I have a day job that bores me to tears so sometimes my assistant manager and I take time off to talk about such vital things. Celebrities are a nice distraction from the drudgery of everyday life because they aren't really REAL. Not in the earthly fleshly bound-by-rules sense that you and I are real. I'm sure on some level they exist but mostly they are figments of our collective need for entertainment at every turn. How else can you explain why we as a society care a fig for their mating habits or lack of body fat? At any rate, their dedication to entertainment apparently extends to their children as they realize (errantly) that naming their younguns is an opportunity for more publicity that really shouldn't be missed.

Hence Gwyneth and new baby Moses. I'll refrain from invoking Charleton Heston jokes but I doubt future playmates will be so gracious. Little Moses will single-handedly spur an upsurge in video rentals of "The Ten Commandments" just so the schoolyard bullies will have more fodder with which to taunt him. I'm sure that Apple will defend her little brother but then again... c'mon... Apple.

Julia Roberts and twins Phinneaus and Hazel. All I'll say is that unless your kids are born at 80 years of age, they'll probably take awhile to grow into those names.

The infamous Dweezil and Moon Unit Zappa. The unfortunate Heavenly Hiraani Tigerlilly, Peaches, and Fifi Trixibelle, daughters of the late Michael Hutchence. The entire Phoenix clan - River, Rain, Joaquin (briefly re-named Leaf in a fit of adolescent longing to be more like his earthy siblings), Summer and Liberty - whose third generation only gets more baffling with the names Rio Everest, Indigo Orion, and Indiana August.

Thus, not to be left out, I am hereby changing my name to Sunshine-Beauty Feline Temple Goddess. You may call me Sunshine. I'm your sunshine, baby, your only sunshine. I make you happy when skies are grey. *wink*

I'm only totally serious.

April 10, 2006

I would just like to say that Catwoman was not Sharon Stone's fault. I blame the music video director who clearly has ADD, the writers who pretty much put dumb lines in a hat and pulled them out at random to assemble the dialogue, and probably also Halle Berry for not standing up and saying to the brainless men in charge of that fiasco that nobody, not even Catwoman, fights crime in open-toed shoes.

Sharon was given a script with a character description that probably read something like this: Laurel Hedare: Over-age model who runs beauty company. Villain. Tries to take down Catwoman and fails. There's not much that can be done with in-depth characterizations like that. I feel even sorrier for Benjamin Bratt who probably got a script that read: Cop: Hunky boyfriend of Catwoman.

Other movies that the public and critics hated but that aren't Sharon's fault include Gloria, Sphere, The Muse, The Specialist, and Sliver. Okay, maybe Sliver was her fault. Well, hers and William Baldwin's. Those two have to shoulder equal blame for that flop since their in-fighting and lack of chemistry pretty much doomed the flick from the get-go. But the rest are not Sharon's fault. She's good in all of them - very diverse, trying her hand at different genres, reining the peformance in or going over-the-top to experiment with what works, even keeping her clothes on. It just can't be her fault that whoever adapted Sphere for the big screen made the baffling decision to cut out all coherent reasoning and scientific basis for the story in favor of witty interplay between the characters. Nor is it her fault that Sylvester Stallone persists in believing he is an actor. It's not her fault The Specialist was shot in the tried-but-true Baywatch "musical exercising montage" format. Nor is The Muse her fault. She was hysterical! Perfect comedic timing. It's Albert Brooks' fault he whines so much, not Sharon's.

So I'll give you Sliver. Sharon has to take some responsibility for that one. And I'll give you Basic Instinct 2. Though I liked it for the same reasons I like Showgirls (T&A, camp value, and a hot girl with attitude), Sharon DID push for it to be made, thus placing herself in the line of blame for it's terribleness. But nothing else that has failed is her fault.

I mean it.

Just like Showgirls isn't Gina's fault. Okay? Paul Verhoeven is a dirty old man who likes naked girls. But you can't really blame him for having good taste by casting Gina. It's not her fault she's hot.