I got The Raveonettes' Chain Gang of Love for Christmas. The lyrics sheets definitively prove that they are not singing "I'm like tomato sauce/I don't know what to do" in "That Great Love Sound" as I thought but rather "I'm love tornado struck". Yeah. Like that makes more sense.

Since Jen now has a blog, she will be looking for cool sites and links. So I recommend that she find out What Classic Movie she is. Look, I'm a Billy Wilder film! Yay!!

What Classic Movie Are You?

Tonight I realized I was one gift short so I'm sitting up late making an impromptu mix CD of early rock 'n' roll and country tunes for my aunt. I'm sorting through some tunes and must once again take the time to declare "Always On My Mind" as one of the greatest songs ever written. Which reminds me that the Pet Shop Boys's cover of the song beat out The Pogues's "Fairytale of New York" (or, as my mom calls it "The Drunk Song") for Christmas No. 1 in the UK that year. Fact!!

Robert Altman's M*A*S*H was on TV last night so I watched a bit of it in between watching Arrested Development. I saw the film years ago and didn't like it much. But I was a fan of the TV show at the time and was about 12 so that wasn't surprising. I couldn't remember much about the film other than I didn't find it funny and I was offended by the content. But tastes change (especially after a decade or so) so I thought I'd give it another try. The commercials every 10 minutes eventually discouraged me completely but so did the film's content. Certainly I understood it a lot better but if anything I was probably more offended this time around. Pimping your girlfriend out so your buddy can regain his "manhood"? Nope, sorry. Still not funny.

I finished the last of my Christmas shopping this afternoon. It seems I honk the horn and give more dirty looks at Christmas time than any other time of the year. Not a good thing. This whole holiday season turns us into greedy freakazoids. I wanted to opt out of Christmas altogether this year but things didn't turn out that way. Next year I should just go to some place warm and forget about everything. This year I am the catsitter extraordinaire. It's tiring.

You're an Indie Pop Kid. You like songs about
relationships and the prettiness of nature.
You're sentimental, but not certainly not emo.
Oh, and if you aren't an English Major, you
should be.

You Know Yer Indie. Let's Sub-Categorize.
brought to you by Quizilla

Surely this result shows how much my musical taste has progressed. Were I to take this quiz several years ago I would've been a Britpopper.

From the Globe review of Return of the King: "Set on its two giant legs of the towers, the 'eye of Sauron' looks unmistakably like a big, angry vagina in the sky." I am so glad that I'm not the only one who thought that.

No matter how many times it happens, no matter how much I'm prepared for it, it still hurts get a back a first draft from an editor. It turns out all the things you thought were self-explanatory really aren't. That joke you stuck in? No, they didn't get it. That technical fact you glossed over in the hopes that no one would notice? Yeah, they did. Heavy sigh. At this point in my life I know it's not personal but somehow it still is. Even when you know they're totally right. Oh, well. At least it's not in red ink any more.

I am participating in a mock trial tomorrow for a friend of a friend. I just received my instructions yesterday and I'm concerned that I'll forget some crucial information and throw the whole thing into a mistrial. Or lose the case. When I agreed to participate I didn't think I'd be one of the main witnesses. I am also concerned that I don't have anything appropriate to wear for court. "Not jeans" I was told, but I kinda figured that. Are dress pants good enough? All my skirts are summer skirts. Fashion is not my strong suit. I suppose it fits my "character" for the trial though. For I am but a humble housing contractor and know little of the fashion runways of Paris and Milan!

Whilst watching Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors last night Sarah and I decided that Woody must be an awful kisser. Thus, a conversation:
K: Who'd be a worse kisser -- Woody Allen or Jerry Orbach?
S: Woody! Jerry Orbach would be awesome!