The Pelican Is For Marksmanship And The Gorilla Is For Sandracing

WWWWD?

I admit it. I've had a long-standing crush on Wil Wheaton. And sometimes I read his blog. But it's rare. I am far more interested in how I can become friends with Lindsay Lohan and talk her off the ledge she's put herself on. (I really am concerned for the girl and completely agree with this and feel that far better than Kate Moss, I am oracle at who's feet she should be sitting. We're redheads! We're like kin! The only coke I've had is from a can!)

I digress.

Wil Wheaton and I have a long, storied, incredibly distant history. I was the lone girl swooning over him during "Stand By Me" (Phoenix was too broody and troubled). I was the only soul mooning over him during the "Next Generation" days (and the only girl who watched the show that I knew). I was the solitary Cor Jesu freshman who had his picture in her locker (take that, Johnny Depp!). I was the renegade who made her mother take her to see him at a personal appearance at Crestwood Mall (despite the fact that said mother was on a heart monitor for the near heart attack I had given her swimming out to dolphins in North Carolina [again, digression]).

Let's just be clear and state for the record that I thought he was cute and really wanted him to be my boyfriend. I imagine that back then that meant we'd make friendship bracelets for each other, listen to Oingo Boingo tapes, ride our bikes up to the Walgreens and get Cadbury Fruit and Nut bars and nail polish pens, and watch "Remote Control" on MTV.

Since then I've grown a bit emotionally. I have a real boyfriend and needent tear fake ones out of Bop magazine. But there's still that little tug when there's a Wheaton mention. My friend Marty, a poker player, ran into him at a tournament and texted me about it and it was like I was 14 again. So, no more collaging his head in with copy from Seventeen or Surfer magazine, but I still firmly believe he would have made a great high school boyfriend.

Rosie.

Work has people. These people need places to type and look at stuff on screens. With the influx of new people, we needed new areas and equipment for them to perform these actions. Result? I got a MacBook. (New people get the old computers. That's how the Propagandans roll.)

While I am still not a MacGirl, being about as technologically inclined as the Mentawai of Indonesia, I am inclined to play around when time permits. I've discovered iMovie, PhotoBooth, and the zany joys therein (see below).



I'm also mad for the keyboard of this white hot gem. It's clicky without being noisy, it won't accumulate the dust and jetsam of daily use, and so far none of the keys have flipped up like the "O" key did on Barbie's Dream House Computer. It was always at the most inopportune time that the "O" refused to be returned to it's typeable state. So, farewell to that stupidness.

The screen on this little thing is shiny. And powerfully bright. And I got a new wireless mouse because I have some sort of "bluetooth" something or other which is exciting in that I can now play "Modern Girl" and roam about the world with a laptop and do things from any room anywhere I can get a signal. I haven't exactly figured out how to make that magic occur, but learning curve is still in effect.

And the dear's name is Rosie. After dealing with Barbie's Dream House Computer - a slow as molasses iBook that rarely worked well and was pocket-sized - this new MacBook was like hanging out at the Jetson's house. Thus, Rosie, meet the blog. Blog, this is Rosie.

OAA Watches So You Don't Have To - Squid/Whale & Flowers, Broken

"The Squid & The Whale"
Real Lesson Learned: things aren't so scary once you look 'em in the face and accept 'em as they are.
Summary: Parents are self-absorbed assholes, kids are loopy and creepy, cats just want to stay in one place, and artsy-fartsy movies always have to go *there* don't they so be careful when checking out library books. You don't want to be a tennis pro. You don't want to pretend a Pink Floyd song is your own. Oh, and somehow, greasy-haired Baldwins keep getting cast as romantic leads.

"Broken Flowers"
Real Lesson Learned: the past is the past and you can't change it.
Summary: Bill Murray is depressed. Not as depressed as "Lost in Translation" Bill Murray and not as desperate as "Rushmore" Bill Murray, but he's certainly lost his "What About Bob?" spark. He hopes to get it back by trying to make good with the past. He ends up in an intersection with a swooshy camera after learning the Real Lesson. Along the way there's Winston (not the Ghostbuster), Taruses (not the astrological sign), and lots of tracksuits (not the "Tenenbaums" kind). Oh, and the girl from "Invasion" is stark-raving-naked.

Favorite Muppet Song As Sung By Robin

Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top,
So this is the stair where I always stop.

Halfway up the stairs isn't up and isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head -
It isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead.

Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top,
So this is the stair where I always stop.

Where Is The Love, Indeed, Black Eyed Peas?

If you have a song reducing a woman to solely her "humps" and "lumps", I don't think you can, with a straight face, pen a song asking "where is the love" and bein' all righteous.

Just sayin'.