I wonder if that Tenacious D lyric is gonna make my blurty show up on some FBI sheet. Scary thoughts for a scary day in a scary world. I can't really think of any more ways to gratuitously utilize the word scary in the previous sentence, so I guess I will move on. We rented School of Rock yesterday, as shocking as it was that I hadn't seen it until now. Seeing as how I worship Jack Black like a golden calf of some sort, I don't know why I never bothered to enjoy it in the theater, but whatev, I didn't. It is a fantastic film though, and I completely understand why it was so popular. For the most part it maintains Jack Black's incredible enthusiasm while subtracting the things that occasionally alienate people from the D. I personally don't understand why the swearing and dick jokes are bothersome, but what do I know. The point is that Katie enjoyed the show almost as much as I did and if we were watching the Tenacious D DVD she would have simply alternated between bored, shocked, and offended. While I don't want Jables to get rid of the blue schtick, I certainly will continue to enjoy the clean moments he needs to pay the bills.
We spent the rest of yesterday reading, shopping, and eating. In terms of the reading I progressed another 40ish pages in JR, which remains the worst fucking book I have ever read. Not only is there nothing to distinguish one section from another or one character from another or to indicate what the fuck is going on, it also has yet to articulate an interesting story. There is an obvious developing plot line, but its fucking boring, a completely traditional story told in what is so far a format which entirely proves true the criticisms of experimental fiction as "literary masturbation." Normally I laugh at that phrase, both for the deconstructionist critique by which masturbation remains productive activity and supplemental to the sexual relation and because its usually advanced in such a non-sensical fashion as to be nothing more than laughable, but its gained alot of credibility as I continue to push through this nonsense. Kathy Acker, a woman whose Empire of the Senseless, I read earlier in the semester, writes in a fashion which is occassionally entirely incomprehensible, but the blatantly obvious interaction between the intricacies of the form and the development of the narrative (if such a thing can be distinctly identified here) made sense, the two played off each other. The point is that they better get it together pretty soon here.
After the reading we headed to the mall for a little bit of Katie's favorite activity. We were going to go over to the SPCA animal shelter to look at kitties before that, but not only were they closign early, but I was quite certain (Katie was doubting this for a reason unbenounced to me) that if we entered a kitten-having facility with enough money to purchase a kitten that there was a significant risk we would leave with a kitten. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the kitty as much as anyone, but we should really be saving the money, waiting until we will be in town for sure, and until we can get the perfect cat, which is, notably, a persian cat named Hippopotameow. So we skipped the animales and arrived at the Walden Galleria. I could give you the highlights of the shopping extravaganza itself, but its pretty much all the same to me. I know we were in like a billion different stores, but most of them sold women's clothes, and most of those clothes were neon pink. I do my best to just shut up and let Katie enjoy the Limited, Gap, Lerner New York, etc. since she is always considerate in allowing me to watch football, hockey, basketball, etc. but the fact of the matter is that I fucking hate those stores. I am not an indie, punk, goth, hipster, or otherwise, but even my largely conformist self feels icky when I walk into Express. On the bright side, the mall had two really sweet groups with table set up. One was a greyhound rescue program with a bunch of really cute greyhounds, the other was a raptor rescue center which we had seen there before. This time they had two different owls as opposed to an owl and a hawk, and one of the owls was the smallest fucking thing I have ever seen. Literally, the owl was like the size of a robin. I mean, about that height at least, a little thicker. We stood there and looked at it for a couple minutes and it was really hella cute. It was also the most active owl I have ever seen, flapping its wings and turning its head around all the time. I also learned that owls turn their heads like that because their eyes are stationary, which is fucking really really weird. Katie bought a couple shirts which were very noise and very on sale, so we both got something positive.
Eating we did upon the return home. Since neither of us could decide what we wanted we ended up at Topps determining our dinner as we went. We found a high quality loaf of bread, some tomatoes, some garlicy-chicken pasta, and parmesan cheese sauce. Upon our return home we assembled those ingredients into a pasta with white sauce and bruschetta meal. I didn't make the uberschetta because Katie is not always in favor of the ginormous amount of garlic and peppers which are involved, but it was still tasty. We were going to buy some sort of Katified ice cream (Haagen Daaz or Edy's Dreamery, vs the Ben and Jerry's which I will virtually always go with) but instead opted cheesecake style and ended up with the first situation in either of our memory where we had baked goods in the house not made by Katie while I was at work.
So not a bad Saturday if I do say so my elf. And I do, because I like elves. Elves is good people in my world. Elvis is also good people in my world, but not nearly as small or proficient in toy design.
As so many Sundays are, today is a big sporting day. You've got the second half of the elite eight and you've got the college hockey version of the elite eight. The former is okay so far, potential to be awesome if Xavier keeps this up. The latter sucked a fat nut when Ski-u-mah fell to the Bulldogs of UMD (which, according to everyone I know who went to school there, stands for Use Marijuana Daily). It was a totally weak performance by the first-year goaltender, but the Gophs offense was a little slow too. It will be a sad day for Puffy, even more so than it was for me.
I could blabber on and on like I usually do, but you people deserve a break. Anyone loyal or bored enough to bother reading this many paragrpahs about no topics more socially relevant or interesting than ice cream topping, well, this bud's for you.
Peace,
MB-K
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