Films

The boy got straight A's this last trimester/quarter in school - actually, in the parlance of our modern world, it should be "the boy got straight one's this last trimester/quarter in school." So Cindy and I took him to see a movie last night (it was free popcorn night as well, and everytime we hit that, I eat enough popcorn to feel ill for at least the next 12 hours). What did we see?

FF4 - ROTSS

I wasn't a big fan of the Fantastic Four as a kid - but I like these movies. They're pretty goofy, and light on story, but that's sort of what I expect from a movie based on a comic book. A good 90 minutes of entertainment is great - I can't help but think of all the utter crap that has been released as adaptations of comics and video games whenever I read a negative review of an entertaining flick like this.

Anyhow. Spoiler - The Fantastic Four do not allow Galactus to consume the planet. And Jessica Alba looks weird in this one - I don't know if it was funky tinted contacts, the odd wig, or the makeup they had on her, possible drug use, or what, but, it was weird to the point of distracting. Like "That person has devil eyes" distracting. Also, they manage to pull out that stupid hover car that I do remember from the comics. And while it's definitely more StarWars-ey than it was in the comics, that has still got to be one of the worst superhero methods of perambulation ever devised. What a hokey, hokey vehicle!

Bryan, go see the movie. I think you'll like it - thumbs up from me.

Second. I wasn't too excited when I first heard that the Transformers was being brought to the big screen - until I saw that preview about a month ago, now I'm way excited. In related, updating-our-childhood news, I just heard Spike Jonze - who usually makes watchable stuff, is adapting "Where The Wild Things Are," and there's already a still from the movie released..And...Tell me this doesn't look way, way awesome:

Blogging Again?

With the warmer weather, and a few interesting things occuring on the internets, my blog-mind™ has been a virtual hive of activity. Here's a few more pictures, we'll see if I bother captioning them, you stupids.

And we line up for a line out. For those not in the know - a line out occurs when a ball goes out of play during a match. The team who didn't kick (or did kick if it's following a penalty) gets to throw the ball in. It has to go down the tunnel, but the throwing team gets a tactical advantage in deciding how far it gets thrown. Lanky guys like me get to jump - and be lifted, sometimes by our testes - into the air and snag that bad boy. This particular match, our line outs were shit. But this last weekend, against some pretty good teams, I ruled - I think I caught all of ours and stole 4-5 of the other teams' throws. Pat on the back.

Here's Lake Tanganyiki...Or what seemed like it. There aren't really any good East-West Interstates in New England. So you look at the map and try to find the shortest distance. Then, 2/3 of the way through your trip, you realize that the road map in the car has no indication of elevation, so what looks like 50 miles is really about 100 because you're climbing all of these crazy ass hills and mountain passes. At least the mountains back here aren't as tall as those out West, or there's a good chance there'd be some Donner Party-like occurences. This, by the way, is in either New Hampshire or Eastern Vermont.

When you road trip with kids, there inevitably comes a moment when one of the little ones either spills a drink all over themself or manages to urinate twice as much volume as they've ingested all week. I think in this case the kid slamed an entire bottle of Gatorade™ and then proceeded to urinate approximately three times as much liquid out of his body as was in the bottle to begin with. Cute picture though...

The littlest one, enjoying some tummy time. Man, has he been a squawker the last few nights. And I sleep more soundly than Cindy does, so if I'm tired and irritable, it's amazing that she can even function.

Hopefully, Cindy's going to throw a few more pictures of the chillin's up on her blog - probably not today, as she's in Plattsburgh, but go check it out in the next day or so.

Oily? Eeewwwwww!

Tell me that this isn't the funniest, evilest, most disgusting proof that A) Truth is always stranger than fiction and B) We are all, collectively, headed towards hell in a handbasket, with smiles on our faces.

Normally, I don't like linking to strange blogs because I feel that it just adds to the inherent scariness, anonymity, and lack of fact-checking that comprises the vast majority of the internets. But the things I've read about this particular drug (oddly, the name is pronounced "ally") is summed up pretty well here. What I find the most funny is these aren't the side effects - it's how the drug works! That's right - we're so desperate to shed the spare tire that we'd take to shitting ourselves rather than eat right and get off of our fat asses. And the FDA is fine with this. USA! USA! USA!

Wha? Who Come's Up With This Stuff?

Here's something to ponder. Over at this site, you can have your blog "rated" movie style (nod to Pete). Here's mine:

NC-17. Really? Is that from all the titty pictures I constantly post? Or all of the gory pictures of Mafia hits I constantly paste into the front page? No. Here's why:

• shit (7x)
• hell (5x)
• ass (4x)
• shitty (2x)
• crappy (1x)

That's 19 "swears." I've got 214 posts (before this one). That's less that one "swear" (sorry, "crappy?" "ass?" I hear worse than that on daytime TV) for every ten times that I slap some of my meandering aimlessness up here. 0.088785047 "swears" per post. Good job, internet quiz guy.

Funny, funny, prudes of the world...

Just Two Things

This - because it represents everything that could be good in the world:



And this, but you've got to read the criteria to really appreciate (esp. #5 and #8).

I've Been So Bad About Posting, So Here's A Bunch Of Dreck For The Scrapbook.

3/5 of the happy family. I'm actually quite surprised that Connor isn't attempting to smother, bite, kick, or otherwise harm the little one. Really, he's not that bad - he'll even give Desmond a kiss on the forehead if he's crying.

Want to know what's amazing? When Desmond - as I'm sure most babies are - was born, he was pretty red. After a few merconiums (I think "merconium" is a great word. Too bad it means "baby's first excrement") - one in particular, which, pardon for being graphic, looked like black licorice flavored ice cream, due to the bile - he suddenly became pink. Said poo happened all over the little plastic bassonet they had him in in the hospital, and boy did it excite the nurse. Really. She was stoked to see bile poo and told us that he would color up after that. She was right! Licorice flavored ice cream!

The pops and the monkey. At least our baby looks like a little hairless ape, and not like J. Edgar Hoover.

Out for a spring drive a while back, I found this place. Bog River Falls. Everyone else in town knew where it was, but it took a cranky kid (Connor) and a warm spring day for me to find it. My dad and I tried to take Ethan fishing here, but were promptly attacked by swarms of three pound mosquitos and had to call it off early.
The day I took Connor for a drive, we saw some foxes (which I had never seen outside of a zoo before) and some grouse that were out on the side of the road strutting and fanning. Very cool. And! Last night, on the way home from work, a young (or maybe just small - is it a different subspecies out here than what they have out west?) cow moose crossed the road in front of me! Yay!

Ethan prepares for opening night of his role in "Newsies?" I really don't know what's going on in this picture - my mom went with him on a field trip to the Natural History Museum(?) in Blue Mountain Lake.

Gowned up ready for surgery, or, fearing the worst in a scary, disease infested world?
I totally could have grabbed some random guy in the hall and had him go and hold my wife's hand in the surgical suite if blood made me squeamish at all. No one would have known. I was pretty well disguised.
The C-section experience was, this time around, much less nerve wracking. I sort of wanted to stand up at several points and see what it was the doctors were doing down beneath the shrowd, but didn't think it would be a good idea since it was my wife they were slicing open!

Memorial day. Ethan held a banner for a full hour, and I didn't see him fidget much at all. Good job, boy.

Our next president, or what happens if you feed the Mogwai after midnight?

No! Don't smell the...ahh, shit, too late, nevermind.

Fun for the whole family (except for the dog, who may eat your face while you sleep, after a demeaning day in the park...)!

What's In A Name?

We named the monkey. Last Thursday. Or was it Friday. Wait for it...

DESMOND ARCHER SELLS

And the next person who asks me if I named him after the Scottish guy from "Lost" will be the proud winner of...Lets just say I may scowl and think evil things at you... Yes, Cindy and I are Lost-ies. No, to the ~8 of you who have asked so far, I would not name one of my children after an intriguing character from a television program.

Everyone's home now, recuperating. I'd say "resting up," but any of you who have small children know that "resting" (well, that, and "nookie" - I will swear on my own grave that Desmond was concieved late one Saturday night when I shot an inviting look at Cindy across the dinner table, and not in the usual way) is the last thing that occurs in a home that has them.

I need a damn nap.

...He Was Born A Pauper To a Pawn...

Yesterday started out pretty normal - I got up and went to work, drank some coffee, watched some cells fall into tubes. I'd sent Cindy to the doctor to check up on the fetus (we're having trouble parambulating right now, just to add some fun to the mix. My car shat the bed on the way out to Burlington Saturday night, so my mom's renting one while she's in town), so I got to leave work early and again witness, via some rather barbaric seeming moments in a surgical suite, the miracle of the birth of a third Baby Boy Sells. Here's the macular descriptors:

I really don't know where that dark fuzz came from. F&$%*!@g mailman.


Ethan's excited (seen here doing his best "Jim" from "The Office" impersonation)...But I don't think Connor's really on board with things. He seems like his boat's just been rocked.

Most importantly...What in the hell do I name this kid? It took us four days to name Connor, and we'd actually discussed that. Since I've been on a mid/late 80's - mid 90's action movie/TV show kick lately, I thought some of these names might be great:

• Matrix (As in "John Matrix" from Commando)
• Reno
• Dutch
• Gunnar
• Blue
• Dar
• DeVo
• Mack
• Billy
• Hunter
• Walker
• Harry
• Turbo
• Nitro
• Rocket
• Magnum
• Sledge Hammer
• Sixkiller
• Charlie
• Imhotep
• Ivan
• Caine
• Kane
• Cane
  
• Kain
• Robot (suggested by Connor)
• I'd be remiss if I didn't mention names like Rugger, Flanker, or Lock (Or simply "Number 8") in a stupid list like this...

Leave your votes and suggestions in the comments section, and we'll make the internet responsible for the name of my child.

Sure, C-3PO Likes Martinis...

Conan visits ILM
Uploaded by dtrip01

He was a cop, and good at his job. But then he committed the ultimate sin, and testified against other cops gone bad. Cops who tried to kill him.

This is going to be sort of a redundant post, as anyone who cares will have already seen these pictures on my Flickr page. I also have nothing funny to say, no interesting bits of the internets to point out, and nothing exciting (yet) to report. Another week and half, tops, though, and I'll have a third kid. Delicious.

Here we have a visibly pregnant Wolverine (That's "Logan," to you true believers) brandishing claws in my kitchen.
(Note: If Wolverine were truly capable of becoming pregnant, the resulting spawn would be so awesomely lethal that it would be impossible to look upon the child without having your mind blown)

Here we have a mini-Wolverine, again with claw-brandishing action in my kitchen.
(Note: That mask, although it looks cool, sucks. The perma-scowl molded into it comes complete with eye-stabby brow furrows)
Also sent was a Spiderman costume for the C-man, but he hates/fears the thing. Just mentioning it is enough to set him to screaming and crying big crocodile tears.

One day, after tons more work that follows the tons of work we're currently working on, this will be a bathroom.
(Note: Home improvement work suuuuuuucks)

I can't feel to bad about this picture, because I'm skinnier than I was in January. All of the sanding of mildly-toxic sheetrock compound also gave me a good idea of what I will look like when I am old and gray.
(Note: Sanding sheet rock compound suuuuuucks)

It's snowing! Wait, no, that's just particles of sanded sheet rock compound floating in the air.
(Note: Breathing this stuff in suuuuuucks. I swear I go for runs sometimes now, and I start to cough after half a mile or so, and white clouds of dust come out of me when I do)

Remember the Captain Howdy Window? We uncovered it, and now we've replaced. Picture of new thermal window sometime in the future...
(Note: Yes I do live next door to a fifty year old trailer)

Easter weekend meant a lot of finding stickers, disappearing, then reappearing with stickers stuck all over the body for Connor.
(Note: Stickers? For Easter? Where's the damn candy?)

It's spring again, which means rugby has started again. We lost to a Montreal team last Saturday, but I was in the paper (upper RH corner, in the scrum cap) looking my apeish best (In the paper, this picture was much bigger than I could get it online).
(Note: I am not nearly as mentally handicapped as this photograph would have you believe. Just ask my 8th grade advanced crayon teacher)

This also means the first bruises of the year. I also have a dandy on my leg that is actually causing some very uncomfortable (ie at times exruciatibng) swelling/blood pooling along my entire lower leg. But it's not as vividly colored, so it wasn't blog worthy.
(Note: Contrary to the appearance of this picture, I was not drunk, stoned, retarded, or otherwise impaired at 8am this morning, when this picture was taken)

Werd.

I've Got A Landlord Like This. He's Much More Violent, Though. He Punches Me In The Nuts When I Won't Cooperate.

Hopefully that embeds okay. I'll write up an actual post (with pictures!) tomorrow when my usual "watching cells fall into tubes" schedule resumes.

Ciao.

Driving While Insane

Maybe I'll make a more worthwhile post at some point this week, maybe I won't, but this was too good not to post. I expect Bryan and James will get the biggest kick out of it. Anyone up for some DQ?

Read My Words. I Am Important. What I Say Matters Most. My Points Are More Valid Than Your Points. I Am More Intelligent Than You.

All apologies for not blogging more regularly - as I said last time, life's just not all that exciting right now. In the next month or so I'll have a new kid, rugby starts up again, and...who knows, maybe the "band" that a coworker and I are starting will have experienced a meteoric rise to fame of unparalleled heights and ensuing plummet back to earth - via drug addiction, inner-band conflict, and a sleazy agent named Morty. Thanks for the kind words and kudos post promotion to the two of you that piped up - yes, it can be stressful to have people depending on my "skills," such as they may be. Most of the time, however, everyday is the same and I'm actually sitting around hoping something will break or get screwed up just to add a little flavor to the proceedings. Still, always nice to get a leg up, have some coworker recognition, etc. Although, the title I asked for was "Galactic Overlord" and not, in fact "Manager, FACS Facilities." Oh well.

Here are the much sought after (by parents and grandparents, anyway - mom, be sure to show grandma all the pictures of her bouncing great grandchildren) pictures, complete with my continuing frustration at Blogger's formatting retardation. Guess I should spellcheck now, so at least half of the crap I right doesn't look like it was puked onto the keyboard by an illiterate six year old.

I am 100%, full-on, dead-on, unequivocally sure that I will pick the wrong pictures of very preggo wife to slap up here, but my ma was curious as to how big the baby belly's gotten, so here you are. Notice elf in the corner - he wants you to.

Here's something creepy - We Flickred these pictures, and I got an e-mail from some guy telling me my wife looked lovely (I already knew that) and that he wanted to be internet buddies or whatever. Out of curiosity (the whole internet buddy thing has never really sat well with me) I clicked on his Flickr profile to see who the hell he was. My reward? Naked pictures of his nasty old wife. It's a good thing I've got squirt bottles full of bleach in the lab, because my eyes definitely needed cleaning and sanitizing, right down to the optic nerve, after that. Now please, don't hunt me down and skin me alive so you can wear my face as a mask while you do your little pooky dance, internet guy.


Something tells me that this picture is less about Ethan being a good, piggy-back-ride giving older brother than it is about Connor being a rambunctious, beat-the-hell-out-of-my-older-sibling little brother.


I am told that this picture looks a lot like me at a young age.


Obligatory fat dad, young son, shot.


For some reason, little Master C likes to lay back in the tub with his face completely surrounded by bubbles...


...Then, when I approach with camera in hand, I'm forced to take a picture of his foot - really, the word foot was said about 20 times before I reluctantly snapped a picture.


Finally, for future gift-giving opportunities (everyone always asks what to get the kid/s) GeoTracks is the word - even just the packs that have pieces of rail or road in them so we can have a less maddening time making a complete closed circuit for the train to travel around on. Also, these things have far fewer small parts than most other toys, which is a major bonus since the living room has become the play/lets-booby-trap-with-toys-so-dad-can-have-a-puncture-wound-in-his-foot room.

Now, go read about one of the best ideas ever, have a nice day, and thank you, come again.

I Got Nothing

Yer damn right it's been a month since I've posted. I'm in the middle of the late February, early March doldrums, which in a bad year can actually last longer than those two months combined, depending on the weather. The days start to get longer, but the weather - no matter what part of the country you live in, really - hasn't gotten to a point where you can get out and do much. Okay, I could do more if I owned cross country skis or snow shoes, or had a penchant for ice fishing - instead I have nothing to do but stay indoors and pout. The long and short of it is that since I haven't been up to much, I haven't had much to blog about.

I have seen a few movies - Why doesn't anyone like "Idiocracy" - it had some solid laughs? Also, "The Illusionest" is good - it's trite, and has a "surprise" ending you'll see from a mile off, but how they get there is kind of a "fun" ride. And if you like horror/comedy movies, then go rent "Slither," you won't be dissapointed.

So here's some answers to your pleasantly inoffensive questions.

• Who would win in a fight between Han Solo and Indiana Jones? (And no, they are not the same person.)

Han Solo. Did you really need to ask? Hello! Frickin' laser beams!

• Why are farts funny? And for that matter, how come seeing a shot to the pills causes laughter instead of a sense of remorse?

Farts in and of themselves are not funny. It is knowing what the witnesses to the fart are sure to endure that is funny. The only time a fart is funny on its own is when it's either used to cap off a statement (best if it's a small squeaker in this case) or, if the person doing it has absolutely no control - like the old creepy guy I tried to buy a chainsaw off of a year or so ago that honest to god broke wind about every three seconds and, unlike the rest of us, there would be no pause in his speaking when he would do so. It was a true TL moment. Seeing someone take a shot to the junk is one of those weird metaphysical things where it's not really funny in the slightest - barring unusual circumstances - but knowing it's not yourself getting racked down there will always elicit a laugh.

• Meat. It's not just a meal, it's a spiritual experience.

Check. What did you want me to say about this, exactly? The only thing that makes meat better is knowing that you somehow contributed to it's awesomeness - either by killing it or preparing it in ways other than just exposing it to heat. Guess that might be why I like cavemen so much.

• The mystical power of the moustache. Case Study: Chuck Norris.

You don't get to comment on the awesomeness of moustaches, you've never worn one. The only excuse is if you can't actually grow one - then you can appreciate the glory form afar. And you have my prayers.

• - the only time he's ever gotten his ass kicked was when he was clean shaven. And he was fighting Bruce Lee, which I mean, c'mon. (Game of Death)

Yeah, but after he grew out more facial hair, he created "Walker: Texas Ranger," so there's that...

• You have been fooled by breakfast cereal lobbyists. Or; Why do most breakfast cereal's need to be combined with juice, toast, eggs, and bacon to be considered a part of a "nutritious breakfast". Can't they stand on their own merit?

Breakfast cereals DON'T need your help. And frankly, they don't even need you. I envision a future where all food - barring meat - comes in cereal food. And the cereal has it's own intelligence, and is self producing. And sometimes eats people. In milk.

• Isn't the fact that Paris Hilton and Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, etc. are all friends akin to having a Starbucks across the street from a Starbucks? I mean isn't one enough?

I'm pretty sure that the NIH has something to do with that - something about keeping all the Herpes, Chlamydia, Syphilis, Crabs, Bedsores, Gingivitis, HPV, Gonorrhea, Diarrhea, Bottle Flu, Nose Bleeds, Goiters, Gout, and rare tropical STD's all contained in one black Lincoln Navigator/Hyde nightclub (Oh God, someone shoot me for knowing the name of that place!) for the good of mankind.

Yet Again, I Forgot To Spellcheck Prior To Flickring!

We're going to pretend that there's some pictures in this post(edit - dumb pictures I had on my desktop have been added)- just go and click one of the pictures before and you can look through my most current flickring to see what Master C has been up to lately. Other than that, and since I'm getting sick of about 99.9% of any and all discussion and commentary I see other bastards using the internets for, I'm just going to answer the questions James asked me to blog about.

1. Who would win in a fight between Superman and Darth Vader.

I'm tempted to say Darth Vader...But I don't really know the extent of Superman's powers in relation to the force. Would Superman, the man of steel, be impervious to getting his shit ruined with a lightsaber? Could his iron throat be Force crushed? I just don't know. Vader could damn sure Force catch anything Clark could pick up and throw at him, and any physical damage Superman could do would just be repaired by the crack team of robot doctors that Vader has at his disposal. I'm going to say "draw" at this point. Maybe future Superman knowledge will allow for a final answer on this one.

-UPDATE!!!-After ~5 minutes of deep thought, I have decided that Vader would definitely win. Kryptonite crystal to make a lightsaber and zwom zwoom zwam...Superman becomes a quadrapelegic.

1. Why midgets instantly make a movie or show better.

Midgets, what you or I might also know as "the third race," have many abilities, some of which are considered borderline magical even by educated people living in the civilized cultures of today. I believe that the first known use of midgets to improve a story dates back to the caveman days, when some hapless hominid happened to scratch a gazelle onto his cave wall with a stick and some charcoal, and then thought to himself "You know what would really kick ass? If that ungulate was being harrassed by a pack of ill tempered dwarfs." The rest, as they say, is history. And by history, I mean something that I just made up, but probably really happened.

1. What the hell are the Wilson brothers thinking?!?

I don't know. They both started out so well - Bottle Rocket, Rushmore, Zoolander, we've all seen them, we all love them. Owen always seemed like that one guy that you totally knew back in college that even though he had a slightly misshapen face was enough of an overconfident smart aleck that he was always a hit with the ladies but not a complete douche to hang out with either. Luke Wilson seemed to have that rare charisma, much like Peter Sellers, of making you want to laugh as soon as he appeared on screen. This good will is almost at an end, and we might have to wait ten years or so for them to take over the top dramatic roles to win it back. We'll see. Unless you were asking me about the people responsible for making Wilson basketballs. Then I have a seperate question "Why the eff do you care?"

1. Jim Carrey, you are the not the next Tom Hanks. Deal with it.

Dude. Tom Hanks is not the next Tom Hanks. Tom Hanks used to be the next Tom Hanks. Then Castaway happened, and that was over and done with. Now, the best he can hope for is a kick ass Bosom Buddies reunion show to win back the hearts of America. Jim Carrey should just go back to using his sphincter as a ventriloquist dummy.

1. The post-modern, cultural exegesis of Jackass.
   

I love the zany antics as much as the next guy, but I can honestly say that the Jackass guys have done their part in ruining America. How vocal and out of control were frat meatheads before Jackass? How vocal and over the top did they become after Jackass? So now the noisy, piggish, disgusting behavior isn't simply confined to frat house basements everywhere, as it should be, I've got to see that shit at 7 o'clock on a Thursday night while I'm gassing up my car. Believe that!

If you get this joke, here's another one for you:

Hiesenberg is cruising down the highway in his car when he gets pulled over by the cops. The fuzz walks up to the car and the first thing he says is "Do you know how fast you were going?" to which Hiesenberg replies "No, but I know exactly where I am."

Now that's geek humor.

Envy or pity? You decide.



Bob Goulet, let that woman finish her pottery!



What can possibly be said about this picture?