But It's a Dry Heat

Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

Familiarity Breeds Nitpicking

Some movies just don’t hold up well to repeated viewing.

Last week my husband and I re-watched Iron Man 2 and Star Trek (2009). We’ve seen both at least three times already, and of the two, Star Trek holds up much better. (My only beef with Trek is depiction of Kirk’s birth, specifically the fact that technology has given us warp drives, and yet human childbirth is still a hideous, painful process.)

I had heard some negative buzz about Iron Man 2 before I watched the movie, so my expectations were low. Afterward, I thought, “Well, that wasn’t so bad.” Why didn’t I notice its flaws? Blame Robert Downey Jr.

I’m still amazed that the studio chose him for the role rather than some vapid pretty boy (e.g. Ryan Reynolds in Green Lantern). In retrospect, Downey is the perfect actor for a movie with the premise “billionaire genius playboy stumbles upon a conscience and decides to wage peace, not war.” Imagine if the role had been played by (more…)

Kids Playin’ Cowboy on Fences Get Splinters

There’s been some chatter regarding ereaders (Kindle, Nook, et al) and their supposed advantage to romance readers…  The claim is that ereaders let you enjoy your favorite love story on the bus or train without the asshat across the aisle nearly breaking his neck trying to get a glimpse of the cover model’s boobies.

Honestly? There are worst things than glistening man titties and swelling mammary glands.

Like this cover. At first I thought the cowboy was just your run-of-the-mill pedophile, then I noticed the odd bit of text in the lower left hand corner — “ONLY DADDY.”

Ew…

(If you “get” this post’s title, you’re a science nerd.)

With Apologies to Thelwell

Last week my husband and I watched The Lord of the Rings movies, all three (extended versions), again.  When we got to part where Frodo is stabbed by the Nazgul on Weathertop, my husband wondered, “So if Elrond hadn’t healed him, would he have turned into a Nazgul?”

“Yeah,” I said. “An itty-bitty Nazgul.  On a Shetland pony.”

The idea immediately reminded me of the art of the great cartoonist, Norman Thelwell. Thelwell is famous for his illustrations and cartoons of children, usually little girls, and their ponies. His work captured the nature of the relationship perfectly.  Which is to say, in most of his drawings, the ponies are running amuck, their young riders hanging on for dear life.

Horsey folk already know this. Ponies are evil. Children aren’t given ponies because they, like their riders, are small. No, children learn to ride on ponies because the little mounts have a gift for teaching children that equines are living, breathing creatures with agendas all their own. Ponies delight in inflicting torture on their young riders, bucking, biting and scraping them off on low hanging tree limbs.

If the Witch King of Agmar really wanted to be a bad ass, he would’ve ridden a pissed-off Shetland pony. Against a Lilliputian equine, Eowyn and Merry wouldn’t have stood a chance. (Click cartoon for a larger version.)

A Real Man of Steel

In my spam box today, an email with the subject line: “Forge your love sword this Valentine’s Day.”

As adverts for male enhancement drugs go, this one is at least original, though as always, totally gender inappropriate. That is, unless they literally mean a sword, in which case, that would be cool. Because who doesn’t need a medieval weapon to celebrate the holiday of love?

The imagery, however, should make any man cringe. “Forge,” by definition is either a furnace or oven where metals are heated and wrought, or the process of heating metal and beating it into shape while it is red hot  and almost melty. There’s also “cold” forging, but even that involves the instructions: “Hit it with a hammer.”

Somehow, I think few men are so desperate for the ultimate boner that they’d undertake a process that involved repeated blows to their junk.

Of course, they could be meaning the other use of forge, as in “forgery.” Hmmm.

Happy Holidays!

Oh, noes. The War on Christmas!

Can you have a war if one side doesn’t even show up? I mean, in the War on Christmas, there’s only one army on the field.  That’s because the evil godless masses, myself included, have been too busy setting up Christmas trees, putting up Christmas lights, buying Christmas gifts and planning Christmas parties.

Thus far, the only combatant on the field is Christmas and its looniest soldiers (Bill O’Reilly, et al). They’ve been marching about since October, waving plastic swords like Don Quixotes. The utter absence of an enemy doesn’t faze them in the least.

Never one to pass up a good fight, I thought I’d take a moment to fire a few salvos here from the sidelines, sniper style. “Happy Holidays! Happy Holidays! Happy Holidays!” Plink, plink, plink, plink.

That said, to everyone else, have a very Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and a Prosperous New Year!

Murder Most Foul

Today, on the very day that my Cyber Monday purchase–two gopher traps–shipped, I find my nemesis in the yard, D.E.A.D, dead. Yes, ding-dong, the wicked rodent’s dead.

Friends know that as a rule, my garden is a welcoming place to wildlife. Heck, this year I even called off hostilities against the paper wasps. (It turns out they are great allies in the war against tomato worms, which, as a rule, I also don’t kill. I just pluck ’em off the plants and chuck ’em over the fence.)

But my garden is my life, in darkest times the bright spot that keeps me going. (And my dark spots are abysmal, think Laurentian Trench.) There is no coexistence with an animal, no matter how cute, that is laying waste to my organic Prozac.

As this is war, I first dug trenches and (more…)

Fun with Telemarketers

I work at a church. Don’t laugh. Okay, laugh. But thus far, god hasn’t smote his ruin upon the unfortunate house of worship for hiring me.

Being a place of worship doesn’t exclude it from getting calls from telemarketers and scammers (the line between the two being [Elrond voice on] “thin.” [Elrond voice off]).

It’s a pity I don’t think quickly on my feet, because imagine the fun I might have. For example, take the call I got last week.

Phone rings, I pick up, say “Good morning,” and clearly identify that this is church.  There’s a pause–the telltale sign that this is some kind of telemarketer–and a man shoots a rapid-fire stream of words at me: “Hi, this is Bob Smith. Can I speak with the company owner, the head honcho, the person that makes all the big decisions?”

I pause, taken by the immediate image of an arrogant asshat. He’s twitching with nervous energy and a ten-cup-a-day coffee habit. He’s balding or he’s got a buzz cut. He most certainly is reeking of cologne (it’s a salesman thing). If this were a role playing game, his chief attribute would be +50 Annoying. I hate him instantly.

“They’re not in,” I say in my best robotic monotone, which is code for, “Find something sharp, sit on it and spin until the pointy side erupts from the top of your head.” He asks if there’s a time to reach them, and I mutter something like, “No, they come and go.” Also code for “Find something sharp….” He gives up and rings off.

Now, what I should have said was:
“The ‘head honcho?’ Sure. You can talk to him any time. Just put you hands together and pray.”

Chronicles of Narnia, Voyage of the Dawn Treader

“After that, I need to watch a good movie about ships,” says my husband, popping Pirates of the Caribbean in the DVD player.

That being Chronicles of Narnia, Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  Granted, if one were trying to clean one’s palette with a good nautical movie, one would reach for Master and Commander. But Voyage of the Dawn Treader sets the bar so low, Pirates is a masterpiece of seafaring authenticity.

Confession. I’m not a fan of the Narnia series. I know—gasp!–fantasy writer heresy.  It would seem that every fantasy writer lists the Narnia stories as the beloved childhood tales that shaped them into the writer they are today. If by “shaped,” you mean “don’t write boring-ass allegories,” then yeah, I too was shaped.

The only book I’ve read in the series is (more…)

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

We don’t need no steenkin’ repairmen. We’re Kirbys. Together, me ‘n my man have built a barn and an art studio, remodeled the kitchen, and converted a garage to a dining room.  Like a toddler who’s tied her shoes for the first time, we did it “all by ourselves.”

Unfortunately, in the absence of repairmen, our work force is reduced to one man and one small scrawny woman, meaning there isn’t much “heavy” in “lifting.”

The Discovery of Gravity
In the desert southwest, “air conditioning” is another way of saying “swamp cooler.”  Recently, there’s been a trend toward real air conditioning, but the majority of homes are still cooled by swamp coolers. Despite a simple design, the damn things never work right. At any given time, you can expect to see a neighbor on his roof, head buried in the cooler, curses echoing off the metal sides. Often, you’re that neighbor.

A few years back, our swamp cooler (more…)

How to Get Killed at a Crafts Show

Or three things you should never say at a crafts show. (Under penalty of death. You have been warned.)

Disclaimer: By and large, the people who frequent craft fairs are terrific. Friendly. Polite. Just plain nice. But at every picnic, there must be some flies. Here are three recurring humans pests at Art in the Park. (Corrales, NM, every third Sunday of the month, May to September. Promote, promote, promote.)

1. The Cheapskate.

I’m an artist and a writer. Ever-diminishing cash flow is a fact of life. I understand that not everyone can afford original art and handmade crafts created by first-world artisans.

Nonetheless, there’s a special level of hell for people who say, “I can buy something just like this for half the price at Wal-Mart.” Special level, where you’ll be forced to watch endless reruns of Jersey Shore while bamboo slivers are shoved under your fingernails.

No, you can’t (more…)