How to NOT Be Madonna
Okay, everyone knows that I worship Madge ONLY pre-bullshit "Ray of Light", notwithstanding of course maybe two (?) songs that actaully have some staying power. And NO, for the luvva gawd, Frozen is not one of them. Everything else is crap after the eighties, but I digress.
One of the beautiful things about Madonna, husband aside, is that she literally flows with the times. When music changes, she changes, and that is a not often found quality in today's music because today, everybody's got a 'thing'. There is timeless, and there is having a 'thing'.
To wit: Vivaldi. Timeless. TONS of people still listen to classical music because it transcends a time period. Avril Lavigne: a 'thing'. She's great now because she's a cute teenager who writes songs about what she knows, and apparently she knows about being pressured for sex and sk8r bois. Don't get me wrong, I love Avril, but can you see her writing about what she knows when she's 30? 40? Wearing those ridiculous arm warmers and baggy pants? Her 'thing' is angsty punk-pop, and maybe she'll make it another five, six years, but I don't see any evolving here.
These are just the examples here, kids. Today's music, while good great and otherwise, is all about the now. In time, it will fade and be forgotten, with the exception of only a few, because everyone's got a gimmick. Older tunes from the 70s, 80s, and early 90s will follow us to our graves.
I don't know if it's all a good thing or a bad thing, I'm just blogging.

"Not Fade Away"....
DEAD?!?? Wesley's DEAD??
Fuck me running.
Yeah, it's over. My second favorite show ever has, forgive the pun, bitten the big one. Joss Whedon was angry, David Greenwalt was angry, the cast was angry, the fans were furious, and boyola did it show in the final episode of Angel. Here's a breakdown, before I have one of my own:

Wesley Wyndham-Price: Dead, gutted by demon, avenged by Illyria
Gunn: Greviously wounded, estimated ten minutes to live at ending credits
Lindsey: Dead, recruited by the good guys only to be deceived by Lorne and shot dead
Lorne: MIA, shot Lindsey for Angel and then departed never to be seen again
Illyria: Alive, mourning Wesley and ready to commit more violence at ending credits
Connor: (Yeah, you heard me, CONNOR) Alive, sent running by Angel while Wolfram and Hart collapsed around their ears
Hamilton: Dead, neck shattered by Angel at the last POSSIBLE freaking minute
Harmony: Alive, betrayed them all to Hamilton, taking Angel's references to new job at ending credits
Spike: Alive and kicking at ending credits
ANGEL: Alive and kicking at ending credits
Trust me kids, you DON'T want to know how it ended. Really. You don't. Suffice to say that we have three healthy good guys and one fading one against the 30,000 demons of Wolfram and Hart...
Fade to black.
Here's to five of the best years, Angelus. Thank god you're on DVD.
And for you ASSHOLES who know me too well, yeah, I cried. Sobbed, actually. But then, I cried at Buffy too and that was a MUCH happier ending.

Van Helsing: Hot-cha!
Go see it. I won't go off about this flick, because in my honest opinion Van Helsing is a movie which you either love it or hate it. I loved it, you yourself may hate it. I was slightly disappointed by the ending, which left it WAY open for a sequel but didn't explain much. However, Hugh Jackman is HOT and therefore I forgive the movie's few shortcomings. And, I suppose, Kate Beckinsale is equally high up on the hot-o-meter, but she just got married last weekend to her boyfriend, so sorry ladies.
AND Van Helsing took in 54.6 million on its opening weekend, while Troy took in an industry-upsetting 46.5 million. It looks like Brad Pitt in Troy is more Troy Donahue than Troy the juggernaut. Tee-hee.

And the WB still sucks. Tomorrow night marks the final episode of Angel, and from what I've read there's a lot of bitterness reflected in the last hour. Someone dies, someone decides it's not worth it, and there is nothing like the happier-than-expected ending to Buffy in sight. God help me, the boycott starts at 10 pm tomorrow night. Grab your bootstraps kids, the fight is ON!
Whatever. Just me, who's going to care?

Hatches Battened; Storm Passed
The neighbor didn't come by. I was upset, I was kinda actually hoping to tell her she's stupid. Ironically enough, by her not coming over she proved just how ridiculously much we DON'T need her around to ruin our nights. I hope she stays away.

--The difference between irony and sarcasm is that irony happens naturally; sarcasm must be manufactured for the moment.

Tying the Yellow Ribbon
I have always admired the people in this country brave enough to broadcast their patriotism by plastering their houses and vehicles with the proverbial yellow ribbons. I myself am not that patriotic, I have issues with the military and their culture, and I don't think we should still be in Iraq. However, with one phone call, my views may have changed slightly. Only slightly, but they have changed.
My cousin-by-marriage, Joey, is going to Iraq next week. I don't know what job he has in the army, I don't even know how long he's been in, but next week he's shipping off to the hot spot.
I don't condone the military's presence in Iraq, I don't watch the news, I'm actually really not that interested enough to care. But now, a splinter of my life is worming its way into the heart of all that which I ignore. I don't really know Joey that well, but he has been around in my life since I was very small, and to think that he is going over there chills my blood. Someone I know is over there now. Someone I KNOW. I won't get into the politics.
I will, however, tie one of those cheap plastic ribbons around my stairway railing.
Someone I KNOW is over there.

Batten Down the Hatches, She's A-Comin!
The ex-neighbor from hell is coming over tonight, kiddies! Standby for details!

Oh yeah, and the WB still sucks.

In Defense of Angel
I know, I know, I'm getting worse and worse at updating, but ya know what? Don't care. This ain't a thousand-circulation paper, and GAWD knows that this is more of my musings set to screen that no one cares about.
But I defer. I did want to write a bunch of random bon mots that I've heard and said lately....but no, I'd rather sleep than compile research. I was REALLY tempted to write about the abuse stories from Iraq, being ex-military myself, but then....too spicy for this early in the morning. Maybe later. HOWEVER, since it is Thursday morning, I feel the need to pontificate about a subject very near and dear to my heart...
The cancellation of Angel.
With last night's confusing-till-the-very-end episode out of the way, one of my favorite series is only on more Wednesday away from the final curtain. Next week, our favorite hottie with a soul is calling it a century with only five years under it's belt. I am devastated. What will I do while I wait for the DVD?
Simple. I finish the long-anticipated (for some of not by all) Candra Chronicles. At least there, there is no forseeable ending in sight. However, for those of you keeping track (hi shippers!), a THIRD cycle has begun. But I digress with the bragging.
The WB is making a mistake. It's going to lose a lot of viewers, all rabid fans of Angel and Co., and without a decent show to make up for it I see a forthcoming backlash. That may just be me, of course. However, I will ramain faithful to that which is Angel and continue my boycott of the WB once it's over.
Alas, Angel, we never got to see you totally naked. It's time for David Boreanaz to do an R-rated flick so that my fantasies can be more vivid. But don't tell my husband that.

Word of the Day, and Kill Bill Rocks
Pimperish: adjective; pimped out, supa fly, bling-blinged. Also: Pimpricious. As in: "Oh my god check out my car it is SO pimperish ain't it?"
Moving on.
So I went and saw Kill Bill Volume 2 back on the weekend it came out, and I must say, although it is VERY different from the first Kill Bill, it is still Tarantino. Serious Tarantino. If you're looking for the blood and caca-guts of the first movie, however, you will be disappointed. Just a friendly warning. NEXT!

The Britster Strikes Again
Fucking saints preseve me from watching MTV ever again. From now on, I stick to 'Surviving Nugent' on VH1. Jeesus.
So I have nothing to watch, and I figure 'll just post every few minutes with random thoughts until my computer poops out on me, and the New Britney video comes on. Oh, wah, her life is SO hard that she has to put out such a controversial video to distract the public from her ridiculously outlandish and tasteless behavior. WHAT ever. No, seriously, have you ever seen it? She's bleeding, and then she's drowning or something, and there's this whole thing with a baby....
I don't fucking get it. I just know that I am SICK and TIRED of music videos turning into nothing more than ads for Jacob the Jeweler and 1-800-FUCK-ME-HARD numbers. Really. Whatever happened to music for the sake of music? Videos for pure entertainment instead of shameless self-promotion?
Okay, I'll try that again. I understand that videos are nothing more then shameless self-promotion, that's why they're made. But COME ON NOW...
I miss the MTV of the eighties. Now THAT was entertaining.

Never Again With the Fake Sushi!
You know, that stuff that they sell at the grocery store, all fully cooked crab meat and shit. Well, if you haven't seen it, trust me you're not missing out on much. Anyway, we bought some for a quick dinner, and two days later we ate the leftovers. Now, keep in mind that this stuff is FULLY COOKED, and ALWAYS REFRIGERATED.
Nonetheless, about fifteen minutes after I ingested it, the sushi made a comeback. With a vengeance. Like, serious turbo-yakking. I was promptly shoved into bed by the hub-unit (who got a much-needed night off that night, natch), and forced to swallow pepto bismol and water, thereby negating the soothing (if chalky) pepto bismolly experience.
And my fucking computer has a virus. It may be time to revamp. Yay. Computers are the debbil. The DEBBIL, I tell you.
Hi Sabrina.