Garden State proved itself a brilliant writing and directorial debut by Zach Braff. A dark and obscure tale revealed that Natalie Portman actually can act, despite what I’d seen previously. This is certianly due to solid writing and directing - she has some serious thanks to give. Oddly, she’s not even listed in the credits on IMDB…guess someone is asleep at the keyboard.

The movie left me feeling odd. I wound up a little fidgety several times and the story - while sad - wasn’t quite enough to make me cry. Then again, I’m a heartless old woman. I’d definitely classify it as “dark”…or an art film. Either way. You know me…I loves me some comedy.

Just the same, I recognize the talent in writing and directing and the acting wasn’t nearly as bad as in blockbusters like Charlies Angels.

The solid B+ is brought up to an A with the inclusion of the kick ass soundtrack. Plus, the boy has a blog…and it’s FUNNY. Brings it all to the brink of an A+

Bear guzzles 36 beers, passes out at campground

Thursday, August 19, 2004 Posted: 7:38 AM EDT (1138 GMT)

SEATTLE, Washington (Reuters) — A black bear was found passed out at a campground in Washington state recently after guzzling down three dozen cans of a local beer, a campground worker said on Wednesday.

Ahhh good times. Reminds me of growing up in the sticks on the hillside of sweet, clean Anchor-town.

I was probably 6 or 7 when a moose passed out on our lawn for a little afternoon chill time.

The story, as best I can recall, goes something like this. Our house backed up to another house…an A-frame number nestled in the trees where a university professor and sometimes Renaissance Festival pottery guy lived. Leonard was a nice man, looked every bit an Alaskan with his shoulder length wavy dark hair and Grizzly Adams beard. He was kind and tolerant and plenty reclusive.

Growing up where we were, it wasn’t uncommon for moose to wander through the yard or the neighborhood. We were taught growing up that they were gentle creatures, but they can kick like a horse and kill you in one move…so just stay back. More than one morning I woke up in my half-underground bedroom and opened the curtains to find a giant moose nose on the other side of the glass, the brown mammoth rooting around in the strawberry patch that served as ground cover.

So old Leonard had a garden in his backyard, which butted up to our backyard. He had 5 or 6 foot posts that resembled telephone poles (thinking back on it they were probably only 6 inches in diameter but I was an itty bitty thing so size was distorted) with chicken wire all the way around. In his garden Leonard grew a number of lush leafy items, cabbage, sweet peas, rhubarb and the holy grail that the big goofy moose found — pot.

The long days that spoil us during summer months in Alaska spray their bounty on the crop and result in obscenely large vegetables. In Leonard’s case, it meant brilliantly developed marijuana plants. Plants so handsome and mature and voluptuous that it was nothing at all for the moose to find that specimen attractive, lean over the fence…and consume Leonard’s entire harvest.

Mr. Moosey-Moose got the munchies after that I guess, because he cleared out as much as he could reach from the rest of the garden and proceeded to stumble to our lawn (probably 10 yards) and collapse in a drug induced slumber next to our porch.

That old fella had a hell of a nap as the neighborhood gathered around and watched the moose…do nothing. I’m sure the adults found it all very entertaining (after all, it was the 70’s, man) and while the kids didn’t really “get” what had happened, it was the talk of the summer. It was only in my teen years that my father and I revisited the memory and I finally understood what had happened.

I understood why, when the moose finally woke and righted himself, he tripped over the neon tape our neighbor had wrapped around steaks to mark their freshly seeded lawn. Why, when the moose moved down the street slowly and in a cloud, it was ok that Mikie Ericson’s dog Muffin was chasing and barking and for the first time - probably not in any real danger.

Ah good times. Alaskan sun, wildlife and the spoils of nature collide.

Leah and I watched some of the Olympics last night, with her in NY and me in Atlanta and the cell phone signals zipping into the atmosphere and back to our eardrums and eventually delivered to our sometimes laughter deficient lives.

Men’s gymnastics really is a fascinating thing to watch, don’t you think? I mean, Leah had a great point last night — there’s no practical application for any of those skills in the “real world”. Of course that doesn’t stop me from being amazed at the way they can spin around on those horse-things and vault with wild abandon. In Paul Hamm’s case one of those vault attempts was particularly ugly but hell, I wouldn’t even be brave enough to jump over the thing so who am I to talk?

One thing that stuck with me though is that when the little girls with their suspended growth and endless brainwashing do their routines, you never really see them making an ugly face. I mean, their lips are pursed and they’re clearly concentrating, but they’re not making any really vulgar, stain your mind kind of faces. Not like the ones old Paul makes. Here’s a hint: no woman ever wants to see that. EVER. Know what I’m saying?

The peanut gallery says it’s because women don’t do “strength” routines, but I still say they have plenty of opportunity for the ugly face.

Ok.

Ginormous kink in my neck this morning. Who’s got good drugs?

Lastly, Kyle’s little trivia contest went bad yesterday…through no fault of his own. Give me a song and ask me to guess the artist? Can you say Google? Sadly, it was Steven Segal.

I have nothing to say.

Do you?

Walking up the stairs on my way into the office this morning, there was a woman next to me on the escalator. We’ll call her “Bootielicious”. She was posing for the security guards on her way up to the bridge level, tight jeans and heels, skimpy white shirt with a floral pattern…and jingling her keys.

Ok, you have a car. Congratulations.

I remember doing the same thing at 14 when Jenny and I would steal my brothers car and go joy riding. We’re lucky we didn’t kill anyone…especially considering I didn’t even get my permit until I was 18.

Kev used to stay out all night and sleep all day. When he first realized I was taking the car, he started sleeping with the keys under his pillow. Didn’t help. He, like me, could sleep through damn near anything. With a gentle roll, he was on his side and the keys were mine. I remember the pride I had, the want to announce my independence publicly…and I did so by jingling those stupid keys. It’s something I still observe teenagers doing and it brings me back…but it’s not too often I catch a grown adult doing it.

My fondest memories of Kev and that old beast (a light blue 4 door Pontiac Bonneville Brougham with complementary velour upholstery and a phat 8-track deck) were those that stemmed from him trying to cheer me up.

There was the time we went into the ditch off Bob’s driveway because the boys were sticking quarters in their nostrils trying to make me laugh…the time Kev picked me up from the library at Diamond Center and rear ended a pickup on the black ice — our bumpers interlocking and watching as true Alaskan men tried to detach the vehicles or the many times he’d drive along with attitude blaring Metallica as served up by KWHL — which in itself was damn funny.

The best of all was driving up (or down?) Abbott Road and I was upset about something - who knows what, I was always upset - and Kev was driving with his feet out the window. This was easily accomplished because the boat had been rigged with handicap controls, in the event my double amputee mother was ever inclined to get behind the wheel.

Here he is, feet out the window, Ray Bans on, styling and profiling when Robert Palmer / Power Station come on the radio with “Simply Irresistible”. There’s a point in the song around the chorus where there’s a pause and some drums or a bass for effect give a few beats — I think the lyrics near it resemble “mee meep yeah!” (I could be imagining that). Kevin honks. The bullhorn on that monster was magnificent. Now it wasn’t one honk, but a series…in time with the music and complementing it perfectly.

It was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen, my bad-ass older brother - tough as nails and never mushy - going to such extremes to make me smile. I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed that hard and even with just the memory I can’t help but giggle until my eyes water.

via Wired: Rock the Vote goes IM

In other news, Saturday night Mary Jac talked me off a ledge. I’m happy with the way my hair turned out and thankful she didn’t let me go to the extreme lengths I’d been day dreaming about– fire engine red and short, short, short. Then again, it was probably just the hormones talking in the first place. My bangs are still down to my chin, the mass in the back is gone, my main hair color is a dark red/brown and highlights are kinda pinkish…no longer white.

Two quick after pictures here…before and during pictures to be posted when I can connect to a machine that doesn’t have a grudge against the camera.

Found out this morning my friends car was recovered…a snippit from the email:

“This weekend I found out that my car has been recovered, and has been involved in at least four reported crimes (BAD CAR! BAD CAR!).”

That cracked me up.

Lastly, I started taking my Zyban again…might want to stay a few paces away from the bars of the cage while I adapt to life without again.

After a grueling day of banking (don’t ask), I headed to Turner Field to take in a game with my boss, his girlfriend and his mom. All three of them are wonderful people and the seats in the box made it an even more attractive prospect.

So here I am, driving along, fully aware that I have $6 in my wallet and all parking near the stadium is $10. Not really minding the near stop traffic, blanked out and oblivious, a man taps on my passenger window from the sidewalk. He’s holding a parking pass for the Blue Lot so I inquire “how much” with a hand gesture —- “nothing” he replies, “it’s yours”. Awwwwwwww.

Maybe the universe isn’t out to get me after all.

The conversation was satisfying, the game was brilliant (hello, we won!) and the evening full of tiny surprises. LaRoche hit two homers (pictured below before the game with a young fan), the lights went out in the 5th, and Estrada was walloped in the leg twice by shitty pitches. The other blurry picture is of Congressman Johnny Isakson who was sitting a few rows behind us.