Yo Ho Ho...

...and a bottle of rum, or something.

So I saw Pirates last night. Three hours of rolicking adventure on the high sea, sword fighting and licking of strange objects. Three hours.

It starts with a hanging. A half dosen pirates and associates at a time, while the fellow presiding over the affair reads rights that have been repealed. Thanks, Disney, for that lame sort political commentary, but it didn't jive with the rest of the film. And I realize that they are trying to set up the pirates as the protagonists. I do. But really, I don't care how many singing children they hang, I can't bring myself to feel sorry for pirates as a whole. All geeky refrences aside, a pirate is a person who steals money and goods from honest hardworking people. The government it working to stop them? Good! Stoping criminals is their friggin' job.

That being said I continued to sympathise with Swan and Turner as that main protagonists. The movie continued along the themes of betrayel, vengance and becoming that which you revile. Everyone has double-crossed everyone else by this point, and interaction is laced with mistrust. If only pirates were better at communication.

The film continues the tradition of gritty, filthy and vibrant tapestry of setting that we have come to expect of the franchise. It also follows in the earlier movie's footsteps of taking the previous film's antagonist and making him a sort of sympathetic character. That's right, Captain Cthulhu not only has a love intrest, but he has moved from big bad monster to a sort of oceanic Charon. Or maybe Naglfar. His beau is the spot-faced Tia Dalma also known as the (arguably powerful) goddess Calypso. She gets released from her human form and responds by growing to epic heights before creating a giant swirly to punish everyone involved.

Here's how I figure they got in a fight in the first place: D.J. is pissed because he knows Calypso cheated on him with Jack. He knows this because she gave him crabs which she in turn got from Sparrow. Think about it, really. Crabs were the main motif of the movie. That's why everyone's in such a bad mood: they're itchy.

All in all, I ejoyed the movie. All three hours of it.

Three friggin' hours.

Plague Ridden Vermin

There's a rat on my balcony.

He's small and brown and keeps running back and forth. He used to come for the birdseed that fell from the feeders, but they're not stocked, there's no seed. He's just hanging out.

I might be more amused if it were a squirrel. Something about a bushy tail makes the whole thing more adorable. Nekkid tail, not so much.

Before anyone gets the wrong idea about my apartment complex, let me assuage your fears: my apartments are clean and lovely, near the foot of Fountaingrove hill area. It's a lovely, small complex with trees and a community vegitable garden and a creek that runs at the edge of the large yard. Most of the folks here have bird feeders and that's what the rats come for, scampering up the lush, green trees. Stupid rats.

I've got a sore throat.
Maybe it's the Plague.
Urk.

Blast from the Past

Nothing makes you feel better than seeing former classmates that have all gone to hell.

Yeah, I'm mean. And a little bit hypocritical; I'm sure there are plenty of folks from the Ranch that are better off than I. Nevertheless, at least I can dress myself and hold a job, which is more than I can say for the two girls who walked into my workplace yesterday. They looked like every other overweight hoochie that haunts Rohnert Park. Too-tight clothes, too-short skirt, black hoodie, plucked eyebrows and lipstick that did not stay within the confines of her lips. I treated them respectfully, like any customer, and after a little bit one piped up "Didn't I go to school with you? You know, at Rancho?"

Yes, I replied, I attended that school for a year and a half, or so.

"Yeah, like, you were in Choir."

Yes, I was in choir. She even remembered my name.

I never had a good memory for faces out of context, but I had absolutely no memory of her. At all. I faked it, of course. That's what you do in situations like these.

Oh yeah! Right! At Rancho, yeah. Uh-huh.

It's weird. I guess I was memorable for some reason or another. Maybe 'cause I was the class nerd, or something. I've had people that I haven't seen since kindergarten (I swear it's true) walk up to me and know me by name. ("Remember me? From Mrs. Dale's class?")

But the point is this: I like being more successful than those kids who picked on me back in the day. So there.

Quoth the Richard

And here's a use for the blog: quotes from Rick:

"You don't buy a lapdance for someone you don't love."

Lapdance: $50. Room: $20. Discreet going away present for a friend: $200. My roomate's tales of Slightly Unplesant Debauchery In The City: priceless.

Blogging Silliness

I don't know why I made this blog.

I don't write that well. No one will ever read it.

I don't really read anyone's blog. Unless you're involved in a TV show I like to watch (Joe Mallozzi, David Hewlett, Will Wheaton...), I probably don't care. I used to read my friend's blogs on myspace, but the drama was remarkably soapy, and I guess I lost interest. I might check up on them now and then, but for the most part I'm pretty uninterested in the whole shebang. I will probably change my opinion. Most likely sooner rather than later if I keep up this blogging thing.

If nothing else, it's a good place to rant and rave and link to things that seem interesting. I oughn't be so pessimistic. This may be cool.

Well, that's it for the introductory blurb that no one will likely ever read.

Later.
Maybe.