Via CBn, the survey (right side of page) is running 83% against Eva Green as Vesper Lynd.
I am the world’s biggest Pollyanna, but the publicity for this movie has been disasterous from day one, and it ain’t getting better.
Via CBn, the survey (right side of page) is running 83% against Eva Green as Vesper Lynd.
I am the world’s biggest Pollyanna, but the publicity for this movie has been disasterous from day one, and it ain’t getting better.
The heading may be enough for some of you.
I’ve been watching this show, Olympic Ice, on USA. It’s a lot of information, fluff, and analysis of figure skating. (It’s nice to get the fluff off the main NBC broadcast and make it voluntary instead!) They have a questions from viewers section.
The other night a question was submitted by “Richard from Fort Lee, NJ.” I thought I was gonna die.
I’ve fully updated the events page. I’ve got 2 gigs in June, 1 in July, 1 in October. I’ll update again when I have May firmed up.
In the abortion debate, sooner or later someone will bring up the “when life begins” canard. Now, on one level it’s bullshit, because the whole idea that “pro-life” is “preserving the life of the unborn” is not pro-life. It’s not. If it was pro-life then the lives of adult women would be important. If it was pro-life then unmarried women who had babies would be celebrated rather than shamed. But I’ve posted about that before. Here, I am posting about something different.
When does life begin? We cannot talk about it without dancing on the edge of the soul or spirit, and that’s pretty religious, even for non-religious people. I do think this whole “pro-life” (insert eye-roll here) discussion comes perilously close to establishment, because it takes some religions’ views over others’. But moreover, we’re working from a rigidly monotheistic paradigm.
My mother is sewing Arthur a new blanket. They picked out a fab faux fur fabric (5x fast) and a lining.
They came back from the fabric store and took their purchases out of the bags to show me. Mingo immediately got inside the big bag the faux fur had occupied. Which inspired Arthur to pick the occupied bag up. The bottom of the bag ripped open, and indeed, he let the cat out of the bag.
Now it was time to leave. Mom had to take the faux fur and lining home with her. I said:
“Get your grandma a new bag. You ripped the other one with the cat.”
We’ve knocked the book off the nighttable. The tissues are next.

We warned you.

You know I love James Bond. You know I was furious at the casting of Daniel Craig. But on the subject of this boycott, may I say, most emphatically, GIVE ME A BREAK.
Here are some hard numbers, folks. Die Another Day grossed about 424 million dollars.
The biggest Bond fansite has fewer than 10,000 registered members. Let’s round up. If every single one of ten thousand fans committed to boycotting Casino Royale, and stuck to it (because do you really think no one will go and watch it anyway, just out of curiousity, or to satisfy a Jones?), then that’s a potential loss to Sony/Eon of…
$100,000. Max.
That’s two hundredths of a percent of what DAD earned. Point. Oh. Two. Percent. If the boycott is unbelievably successful.
So shut up, buy your movie ticket, and see what happens. Maybe you’ll be right and you can tell everyone how you knew all along Craig would suck. Maybe you’ll be wrong and it’ll be a good movie. Or a great one. Or just stay home and let other people enjoy the greatest secret agent of all time without making a whole lot of fuss just because you’re a nerd with an Internet connection.
This morning, Fanty thought it would be a good idea to wake me up by standing on my face.
I disagreed.
Someone told me yesterday that women use 15–20 “products” each day, whereas men use 3–5. So today I’m counting:
Total: 15
Let’s see. I don’t usually wear makeup, but I have a thing tonight. Likewise, I almost never use hairspray, but there was a crisis. I wash my hair every other day, so no shampoo or conditioner today. The makeup remover is anticipated for tonight.
I’m not counting devices: Tweezer, cotton swab, toothbrush.
Maybe I should feel bad about all that stuff, a pawn of the capitalist machine. Or oppressed for being the gender with “pretty” on the expectation list. But I love my products, and I love the “me time” spent with them. I don’t get down with much girly stuff; fussing with under-eye lotions is as girly as I get, and I get quite the little thrill from it.
So, what’s your count?
Update: My actual total was 20! I left out