Movie review: Teeth

"Teeth"

Remember the movie poster for "Lolita"? The one with the picture of Sue Lyon sucking on a lollipop with the heart glasses and above her in bright red, "How did they make a movie of "Lolita"?

You can ask the same question about "Teeth?" How did they make a movie about a girl with a vagina full of shark teeth?

The answer: Full-on, witout holding anything back. You're wondering, "Wait? They show it?" No. But they do show the damage it can cause, which is essentially a bevy of severed fingers and penises. In graphic detail. Lots of screaming and lots of blood and pretty much nothing left to the imagination.

Warning to the boys: This will make you squirm.

Boil it down and "Teeth," is essentially the story of a girl coming to realize the full power of her womanhood. It's hard for a man to take advantage of you when you can seduce him (easily) and then bite off his dick.

And that's it. Yes, there's some sub plot about the religious purity, a hint at the mythology of Vagina Dentata (it's real, I guess, look it up) and vauge connections to toxic pollutants and gene mutations, but mostly it's about a the power of womanhood. Or womanness. Of course, this is through the eyes (sometimes peeking through fingers) of a man, which is probably tainting things.

Leaving all that aside and I really like this movie for what it was: Funny, itelligent and gory as all hell.

Am I attracted to dumb?

OK, go here and watch the three videos. Laugh. It's fine. Then explain to me why Dr. Cuddy is totally hot(T) in them. Extra T.

I am the machine. The sum of my routines.

I overselpt this morning. OK, the alarm went off as normal, only when I reached over to slap the snooze button, I must have hit the mute button instead (does my alarm even have a mute bottom?) because one minute I happily slumbering, in a pretty great dream I might add, and the next my eyes pop (like literaly pop) open I'm starring at a clock that says 7:49. I can see it even witout my glasses. Magic vision. And it's the worst feeling ever, right? That "OH CRAP!" sensation, quickly followed by "What the hell happened?" What was supposed to be a nice morning of coffee drinking, cereal eating and book reading (and showering), a routine I have, turned into a mad rush to get clothes on and out the door, so I can be at work by 8. Mission accomplished (this is why I live downtown). Only, now I feel like shit. I have a head ache and for some reason my stomach is making these awful rolling noises (and movements). Plus, I am tired, if that makes any sense? How can I be more tired, when I slept in? Well I am. Also: My mind is fried. Not working correctly at all. Generally SNAFUed, I say.

Rich people stuff.

Is it cool, a day after Christmas, to post about all the stuff you got for Christmas? I'm gonna do it anyway.

Mostly, I got some socks and undershirts, an pretty awesome green sweater, various gift cards and the like. But I also came away with some cool, rich-people stuff.

The highlights:

* A Swiss Army knife. I'm not sure the exact model, but it has a large blade, a small blade, a can opener, bottle opener, a phillip's head screwdriver and a leather punch/sewing deal.

Oddly enough, I've never had a Swiss Army knife before. And I have a few knives, yes. Maybe this isn't rich people stuff, but it's totally nice because cutting loose strings my co-workers' sleeves was getting scary with this.

* A Nixon Private. If you know me, you know I like watches. This one is huge and all black and super SEXY! Congratulations me.

* A fancy-ass Chrome riding jacket. Aside from being made for bike riders (and I ride, some), this jacket just looks cool.

I know Christmas is not about getting stuff (or even giving stuff, really), but I do(seriously and truly) appreciate everything I got. No joke.

So, thanks and love to you.

Of broken toes

I broke my toe.

First: No, I didn't stub it on the couch. I kicked a guy's foot. OK, it wasn't an actual kick, it was more like his foot and my foot crunching up against each other accidentally. Actually, it was more my toes (toe, singular, rather, the fourth one on the left foot, that little piggy, there), crunching up against his foot. Or something like that, I wasn't really watching. Not the point.

Point is: It hurts. It hurts more now than it did when it happened. Which is why I walked around on it for a full week before deciding to see the doctor. It didn't turn black and blue, really, which I was waiting for. And there was no crazy swelling (at least not at first). So, as a man (male of the species) I figured it was fine. Maybe I jammed it hard, which though painful, isn't a medical condition worthy of a doctor's visit. Then, round 'bout yesterday morning, when I woke up at 5 a.m. with a dull sort of foot ache, I decided I should probably at least get it checked out. What if it was dislocated? A $20 copay is worth some piece of mind, right?

So, this morning: I go to the doctor, to the X-Ray tech, then back to the doctor who says "yep, there you are," then shows me on the X-ray a nice little zig-zag crack across the fourth toe, left foot. Actually, thinking about it now makes me a bit queasy. It hurts.

And what does he do?: What everyone knows they do with broken toes. He tapes it up. He straps it to the next functioning toe and sends me on my merry way, which is apprapo, I guess, this being Christmas eve and all. There was no setting it back in place. No tiny toe cast. No pain meds. Just some clear tape and a "take it easy on that foot for awhile."

This is the first bone I've broken since the seventh grade and truthfully, I feel a bit gypped.

For the first time in my life

So, there is this video of a performance I did on Friday night as part of the Beehive's Four Year Anniversary. It went terribly awry. I haven't watched the video, so I'm not sure how it looks from an outside perspective, but it felt pretty f'in crappy. I don't play electic guitar as a rule, so when the guitar wasn't making any noise, I should have taken it for a sign. When the it finally kicked on and was terribly out of tune, I should have run for the hills. But, like a true performer, I trudged through it, only to be heckled by rabid Patrick Contreras fans. Ouch! Not that I blame them. And in truth, there is something to be learned from an event like this. It's called humility. It's good to get knocked down a peg or two every now and again, to realize you are not as funny or talented, or prepared, as you thought you were. What's the old saying ... what doesn't kill you? I'm stronger now. So, there.

My winter cough

It's funny how short my memory can be. Like, I forgot that just last year I had a hacking cough that wouldn't go away and spent the better part of January eating Fisherman's Friends like candy. Or, that the same cough has been with me since highschool. It's how my friends knew I was in the room.

"AhHack!"

"Hey Josh."

When I started coughing last week, it was like it was happening for the first time ever.