Tuesday, September 28, 2010

anybody like teen geeks n' zombies?

I wasn't going to do it. But now I'm gonna.

Anybody wanna beta read for my next book, a YA zombiepocalypse called Attack of the Batsh*t Bimbos? It's about 53k words, or 160 double-spaced pages, which is a good bit shorter than most 'adult' books.

I liken it to unpreggo Juno meets Shaun of the Dead. The most basic premise is that everyone using tanning cream and drinking fake sugar turns into a zombie and then bites all the people nearby, leaving sixteen year old Pauline French as one of the few cute girls left to navigate a world ruled by zombie-fighting geeks.

Requirements:

1. You are a nice person that I can trust not to spread it around or plagiarize it or smash my feelings with a whiffle bat. But not nice enough that you'll tell me it's awesome if it actually sucks. So please be brutally honest with just a shot of nice.

2. You read pretty quickly.

3. You can offer insights, whether small time (grammar, spelling, extra spaces) or big time (plot, character development, pacing).

4. You're familiar with the YA genre. It's written for kids 12 to 18 or so (and, um, women like me) and is therefore fast and wacky and cussy. If you just finished Eat, Pray, Love or Freedom or anything by Salman Rushdie and are hungry for something even more pedantic, it's probably not going to float your boat.

5. You must bring me more red velvet sandwich cookies from Target. Okay, not really. But I wouldn't complain.


If you're in like zombie Flynn, email me at delilahpaints [at] yahoo [dot] com.

Monday, September 27, 2010

yarr and garr

Remember when I said that things would slow down once preschool started?

Turns out that was a lie.

Things are moving 100 times faster. It's like being on that thing at the carnival where it spins around and then the floor drops out and your stomach hits the roof of your mouth and you're afraid that if you scream, your teeth and gallbladder will fly out and smack someone.

But I get SIX WHOLE HOURS to myself each week, so that's nice. I spend a lot of it running errands and cleaning and waiting in line at the post office, but I also spend some of it eating beignets and drinking chicory coffee on the porch with dear friends, so I'm not going to complain.

Anyway, two things happened last week when I was ignoring you.

1. Uncle Robert came to visit.


Uncle Robert is very cool. He dresses up like a pirate and drives a carriage in downtown Savannah. He also raises parrots and likes oddities and antiquities as much as I do. He brought us sporks and funny hats.


See why we like him so much? He also brought the biscuit two tail feathers from his macaws, which she promptly stuck in her underpants and proceeded to call herself a peacock.

We even let La Biscuit take the camera for a moment.


2. t.rex finally got a guitar, a.k.a. GARR, a.k.a. MY GARR MY MICK MINE MINE MINE.


Yes, friends, he's entered the annoying stage. The one where they're cute and amazing until they have screeching fits at the drop of a hat, usually in public. The one where they take off their diapers and pee on things for fun. The one where they think everything is MINE.

But lordy, that boy loves music, which he calls MICK. He carries that guitar with him everywhere and sings along. It makes me so happy, to think that one of my kids could be a starving artist musician one day.


He makes that face a lot.

And in case you're getting all handsy, things that t.rex declared were MINE this week include every stuffed animal in the house, the piano, his guitar, my guitar, my new brown shoes, the free cake samples at SuperTarget, the electric plant, and the rain.

Yes, THE RAIN. MINE. MINE RAIN.

Le sigh.

At least he's cute.

Oh, and I also got a new computer and abused my parents' dog.


Abusing Lovey mainly involves blowing air in her bulging red eyes and telling her that no one loves her, she'll never compare to my childhood dog Aunt Bea, and that my parents only keep her around to fatten her up and eat her. I think it keeps her on her toes. And it's a better relationship than most people have with their sisters.

I also read four books by Cassandra Clare, and I totally recommend them. City of Bones, City of Glass, City of Ashes, and Clockwork Angel. Like falling into Wonderland.

Now what do I read?

Thursday, September 23, 2010

the celebrity stalks at midnight

me: Hot diggity dang, that is one mighty fine full moon! Dr. Krog must see this! Dr. Krog, get out here!

dr. krog: (silence from the upstairs bedroom)

me: Huh. Well. I'm going out the front door and on the porch. Dude, come look at this! It's as bright as day out here!

dr. krog: (silence)

me: (stage whisper to open window) I'm causing malfeasance! I'm a trespasser! I'm walking around in your yard! Maybe I'm the gas man; maybe not. I'm not wearing a polo with a logo. Hmm. These windows look breakable. Perhaps I will steal some of your rosemary.

dr. krog: (silence)

me: I'm a sneaky outdoor animal. I'm crunching in the leaves. CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH. My, this tree limb seems tasty. (dances in leaves and shakes tree branch)

dr. krog: (silence)

me: KAKAW! KAKAW! AH-OOOGA! MEOW! RRRGROWL! HISS! CATFIGHT! HUH-WAAAAAH, WHICH IS THE SOUND OF A WILD PEACOCK!

dr. krog: (opens front door in his underpants) Dude, what the hell are you doing?

me: I just thought you'd like to see the moon.

dr. krog: I do like to see the moon. Thank you.

me: KAKAW!

*

And if you get the reference in the title, kudos to you. I loved that book. I like to think about it as Twilight for the lupine set.

As for the celebrity bit, I was mentioned by Cool Mom Picks editor Liz Gumbinner on ABC News, and I'm probably a lot more excited than I should be. I was also in this video while visiting the Mrs. Meyer's headquarters on behalf of CMP.

I am very fancy.

Like mustard.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

my little heathen

(note: We are not particularly religious people. Our kids go to an Episcopalian preschool that we love, but we like to say that Jesus was a very nice man who just wanted everyone to get along and be good. Biscuit has chapel every week, and she brings home some interesting tales.)

biscuit: We had chapel today, you know.

me: Did you sing any songs?

biscuit: Yeah, but I don't want to sing it or say it.

me: Did you talk about any stories?

biscuit: Yeah, there was a story about a little bitty guy.

me: Was it David and Goliath?

biscuit: No, it was a real human person, but he was itty-bitty-teeny-tiny, so so small.

me: What'd he do?

biscuit: Uh, he, like, sat in a tree to see Jesus.

me: And what else.

biscuit: And Jesus was standing under the tree talking about stuff, and he had a cane. LIKE YODA, MOMMY.

me: I think you mean a staff. A walking stick.

biscuit: Yeah, Jesus looks like a daddy, but he must be a old guy, to have a cane like that.

me: Jesus only lived to be 33, I think. But he walked a lot. Maybe the cane helped him walk.

biscuit: Or maybe he did too much jiujitsu and had to have a surgery, like daddy.

me: They didn't have jiujitsu back then. But what happened after the little dude sat in a tree to hear Jesus talk?

biscuit: He invited Jesus over for dinner!

me: What do you think they ate for dinner?

biscuit: Uh, probably some pizza.

me: Do you think Jesus likes pizza?

biscuit: Yeah, and probably some milk. Wait, what if the PIZZA was SHAPED LIKE JESUS??? That would be really cool, huh?

me: Yeah, it would be a lot of fun to eat some Jesus pizza.

biscuit: AND THEN HE COULD EAT HISSELF!!! HA HA HA! I AM SO FUNNY!

*

Wait until she grows up and learns about transubstantiation.

It's going to blow her little mind.

Monday, September 20, 2010

when Jimbos attack

So I just finished my second revision of the next book, a YA zombie farce. I know it's pretty common for a writer to love each successive book even more than its predecessors, but I would seriously make out with this book if I could.

It's called ATTACK OF THE BATSH*T BIMBOS.

Anyway, I realized that there were some flubs in the naming conventions, and that characters called Tom and John who were both boring middle-aged guys needed some more differentiation. I'd even mixed them up several times myself.

Therefore, I renamed the nasty one, Tom, after this fat ginger kid who tormented me in middle school. Jimbo, you used to kick soccer balls at my head and laugh. Now I've named a lame villain after you. Congratulations!

So I did a Find & Replace in my shiny new (sample of) Word. But I didn't know about all the fancy bells and whistles. I just said "Find Tom or John, Replace with Jimbo". But there's a reason for that little "exact case?" checkbox, as super cool literary agent Jennifer Laughran explained last night on her own blog.

So guess what, Miss Smarty-pants Writer?

Tom isn't just a name. It's a pretty common collection of letters.

tomorrow became Jimboorrow

stomach became sJimboach

bottom became botJimbo

automatic became auJimboatic

And in my book, people aim a lot of auJimboatics at zombies.

And in one truly spectacular flub, my character informed her would-be rapist that, "I wouldn't do you even if you looked like the hot young version of Jimbony Depp."

I spent the morning correcting the 100+ mentions of Jimbo that the book didn't need.

And now I'm going to go celebrate like a real American.

I'm going to go slide my botJimbo into a booth and fill my sJimboach with chicken and lemonade.

Friday, September 17, 2010

hello, new computorial boyfriend

Today two separate people declared my old laptop D-E-D.

And Jenny even gave my kid a fireman's hat as she passed on the dire news, which is why Jenny is the coolest librarian EVAR.

And sure, I mourned.

For, like, two hours.

And then I got all antsy-in-the-pantsy.

See, for me, my laptop has pretty much become my office.

It's where I keep all the versions and iterations of my books. It's where my photos live. It's where I research and compile my reviews for Cool Mom Picks. It's my playground for making nerdy retro movie reviews for www.nerdbastards.com. It's how I find out where my mom friends are and what my old friends are up to and who I need to buy a birthday present for. It's how I keep up with my literary agent and my author friends and which Jewish holiday it is, because they're all in New York.

Not having a laptop, for me, is a lot like not having a house. Sure, you can stay at your friend's house or crash with your folks. But the whole time, you know they're waiting for you to leave so they can clean up and see if you broken anything and hid it under the mattress. You can never take off your pants, make a big cup of tea, and relax.

So although I'm super duper grateful to Dr. Krog for letting me borrow his computer for a few days, I'm super duper pooper scooper grateful to Dr. Krog for helping me out emotionally and fiscally as I purchased the new box, who* has been christened H.E.L.P.eR. after the robot on the Venture Bros.

And if you're the sort of person who's reading my blog so they can come ransack my house, let me tell you right off the bat that I'm a cheap bastard, and this is a no-name brand of barely functional, out-of-date machinery. It's not worth fighting past the pit bulls and stake-lined pits of rabid ostriches.

*Yes, I anthropomorphize. You can't be surprised.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

WOE is my LAP

My laptop DIED.

My day sucked.

Also, I was turned into a newt.

I'm just saying that if anybody is looking for a blogger with a heart of gold to review and/or flaunt a laptop of any sort, PLEASE HIT ME UP. I can TOTALLY BE BOUGHT, because I have a book to finish and random helicopters and parasites and zombie facts to Google.

Or perhaps I have a blog reader who just so happens to be a hermit millionaire. Hermit millionaire, YOUR TIME HAS COME!

And now I'm going to go cry myself to sleep on my Nook.

Blogging and happiness will be sporadic until New Laptop Boyfriend arrives on some sort of gilded cloud surrounded by angel trumpets and a contract that requires a signature in blood.

Or maybe in a box from w00t.


*


On an unrelated note, does anyone know why a laptop would refuse to start up? No crashing, no blue screen, no viruses. I put it on sleep last night, and this morning, it wouldn't turn on. You press the button, and it lights up for 2 seconds, then beeps and goes off. I tried removing the battery, inserting a new mega-battery, and doing a magical medicine man dance.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

if my head were a loaf of veal

I'm over halfway done on the next book, a humorous YA zombie/apocalypse book.

And what does that mean?

I'm writing. All the time.

Not blogging. Not taking beautiful photos. Not cooking. Not cleaning.

Not doing anything useful at all, really.

In fact, here's what I've accomplished in the last week:

* Purchased some truly heinous liquor from a liquor store, thanks to the help of a ribald group of bikers. Smelled like paint thinner, but went down pretty well with Rock Star Energy Beverage.

* Pursuant to that, got drunker than I've been in four years or so. Seem to think I told many deeply personal secrets and laughed too loudly. But we've already been invited back, so we couldn't have been that bad. Or maybe they want more secrets. ::shiftyeyes::

* Read Kiersten White's YA book Paranormalcy on my Nook.

* Got the Animaniacs theme song stuck in my head.

* Ate 5 beignets in one sitting.

* And they were really big beignets, too.

* And then I licked my pinky and snarfed up the powdered sugar and had a flashback to a very funny date back in high school where we couldn't find the receipt or the waitress and thought we'd fallen into some strange wormhole. But it was under my foot the whole time.

* Finally congealed my personal writing philosophy into one badly mangled quote from Better Off Dead.

* Watched most of House season 7 with Dr. Krog.

* Smugly decided that my spouse would look vaguely like Hugh Laurie when he grows up.

* Went to a snake party and helped my children hold a Burmese python named Peaches.

* Spent the next two days explaining why the snake wasn't named after the baby mammoth in Ice Age 3.

* And why the snake didn't *taste* like peaches or *eat* peaches.

* Enjoyed the first week of preschool, including six entire hours to myself, which I spent working.

* By which I mean getting a hair cut, shopping at the mall, writing about zombies, eating beignets, pissing off antsy crones, and reading Cassandra Clare's Clockwork Angel on my Nook.

* Saw a wild turkey standing on someone's front porch for no apparent reason.

* Twice.

* Got nearly 7 hours of sleep per night, except that night when I was drunk, when I only got 2 and dreamed I was in Groundhog Day.

* Received a really gorgeous bracelet from Etsy that I've been eyeing for months. See?


The packaging was so cool, too. It was from Amsterdam and had all sorts of ephemera and maps and tags and cigar stickers. Like a bag of weird, unreadable Christmas.

* Didn't think of a single clever thing to blog about.

...and that's about it.

Anybody done anything interesting lately?

*

p.s. The title is a quote from an old Kids in the Hall episode. Does anybody else remember the second half of that sentence? It will totally make my day.

Friday, September 10, 2010

the brave little frakkin' toaster

THE BRAVE LITTLE FRAKKIN' TOASTER

A Play in One Act

SCENE: Idyllic neighborhood playground. Evening. Two intelligent and gorgeous moms, E and D sit at a picnic table discussing really fancy, erudite things like philosophy and molecular physics as they watch their children gambol.

Please note that the children are gamboling, not gambling. It's not that sort of story.

D: Hey, kids! Wanna see a really cool spider?

Spider:
Yay! I'm cute and harmless!

(The adorable tykes scramble over to view the beauteous wonders of nature.)

D: Look how teeny tiny and cute he is!

Kids: Golly gee willikers, what a cute spider!

D: As you know, spiders are actually arachnids, and-- (gestures towards teeny little mandibles)


Spider: KILL YOU, HUMAN SCUM!!!!


And I swear on the graves of a thousand mutant arachnid warriors, the spider JUMPED DIRECTLY ONTO MY FINGER.

Seriously, it was like TWO FEET (three inches) away, and IT JUMPED ON ME.

Here's what DID NOT happen then:

* I did not scream like a girl

* I did not jump around like a little screaming girl

* I did not curse in front of four small children

No, no. I was calm and reasonable. Like Queen Gorgo of Sparta in 300.

Totally cool.

E: Why are you pacing? I saw it jump off you. Sit down.

D: Oh, no. It's tricksy. That's what it *wants* me to do.

E: It's on the ground.

D: IT IS NOT. IT IS TRICKSY, AND IT IS WAITING TO AMBUSH ME AND CRAWL INTO MY BRA.

Spider: (bides time, snickers, rubs pincers menacingly)

D: AND THERE IT IS ON THE SIDE OF THE PICNIC TABLE! THAT BASTARD SPIDER THOUGHT IT COULD TRICK ME, BUT IT COULDN'T. I SEE YOU, SPIDER! RIGHT THERE! I SEE YOU WAITING! BUT I'M SMARTER THAN YOU, BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS BIGGER THAN A POPPYSEED! SUCK IT, TINY MORON SPIDER JERK!

E: Yeah, we have to go now.

And then we went home, and I bathed in bleach.

THE END.

(Note: There may be some poetic license at work here. E, just pretend it happened that way, because it's funnier.)


*

Oh, and the frakkin' toaster bit?

It's because since I got my new hairdo, I feel like a different Cylon version of myself, kinda like how there was Caprica, and then there was Six.

But if I ever find the Caprica version of myself, believe me, I'll post pics.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

kids are fierce.

1. Fiercely awesome.


2. Fierce, as in cruel as the sharpened claws of a lynx.

biscuit: HA HA HA HA! WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOURSELF?~!

me: Um. I got a haircut.

biscuit: YOU LOOK HIGH-LARIOUS!

me: Thanks. You're sweet.

biscuit: Oh, mommy. When your friends see what you did, they are going to tell you that you look BAD.

me: Awesome.

biscuit: HA HA HA HA HA! Oh, mommy. You are so, so funny.


Please tell me it's not that bad.

I just wanted to look like a rock star instead of a mom.

IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?

Added 5:32. Let's try again with help of a round brush and some better eye goop. And something no one has ever seen before: me wearing lipstick.



I'm breakin' all the rules today, friends.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

he says, she says



biscuit: Is Megatron a mammal?

dr. krog: Well, what are the characteristics of a mammal?

biscuit: They present milk (“’produce’ not present,” says Dr. Krog), but he’s male, so I don’t know…mammals have hair and he doesn’t really have much hair. He’s kind of all silvery. Is he warm blooded?

dr. krog: Well, he runs on electricity, that’s what channels inside him. He’s a machine.

biscuit: (very grandly): The question is ‘is electricity warm or not?’

dr. krog: He’s not a mammal, dude. He doesn’t even have blood, just electricity. Transformers do, accordingly to the story, have a soul, so he’s a living machine and sentient. But not a reptile or mammal. Not an animal at all.

biscuit: (playfully): Okay, daddy, I get ya.

(five minutes go by as they watch season 3 of Transformers from the 1980's)

biscuit: Daddy? I don’t think Star Scream is a mammal either. But he’s still cinnamon.

dr. krog: Sentient? He thinks for himself?

biscuit: Yeah, sentient. That’s what I meant, of course.

dr. krog: Yep, I guess you’re right.

biscuit: Of course I am. I’m very smart.

dr. krog: And humble.


* * *

Last night over dinner, the biscuit acted like a crazed nincompoop. She spilled her milk, refused to eat her dinner, took off all her clothes, and pretended she was a cat.

dr. krog: Biscuit, have you been this unruly all day long for your poor mother?

biscuit: No. Just at dinner.

dr. krog: Why are you acting this way?

biscuit: I don't know. Sometimes at dinner, I just can't help myself. I just get all buttered up.

(The Biscuit watches Dr. Krog and I dissolve into cackles of mirth. We can't help it, though. When she says stuff like that, we just get all buttered up.)

* * *

Forgive my scattered posting. I'm past the halfway point in WIP5, still enjoying the honeymoon period. At this point, writing is like a drug, and I can barely make myself put down the laptop and go to sleep. Don't even ask about the dishes.

You just don't want to know.

It's like Mount Everest in there, but with spoons.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

unruly recipe: breaking the girl brownies

That previous post? You must try these brownies.

I started with a recipe from www.allrecipes.com. I searched for "Best Brownies", and this is what showed up. It's super easy, quick, and contains staples you probably already have in your pantry.

But it's me, so I messed something up.

As often happens in art and life, the mistake made the brownies 10 times better.

Here's the recipe, with my subtle change that made all the difference

Ingredients

  • 1/2 cup butter
  • 1 cup white sugar
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
  • 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt (CHANGE: USE COARSE SEA SALT!!!)
  • 1/4 teaspoon baking powder
  • 3 tablespoons butter, softened
  • 3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
  • 1 tablespoon honey
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1 cup confectioners' sugar

Directions

  1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease and flour an 8 inch square pan.
  2. In a large saucepan, melt 1/2 cup butter. Remove from heat, and stir in sugar, eggs, and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Beat in 1/3 cup cocoa, 1/2 cup flour, salt, and baking powder. Spread batter into prepared pan.
  3. Bake in preheated oven for 25 to 30 minutes. Do not overcook.
  4. To Make Frosting: Combine 3 tablespoons butter, 3 tablespoons cocoa, 1 tablespoon honey, 1 teaspoon vanilla, and 1 cup confectioners' sugar. Frost brownies while they are still warm.

I call them Breaking the Girl Brownies because using the coarse sea salt adds this delectable, exotic, salty crunch to every bite. Like sea salt caramels, or that lovely sea salt dark chocolate by Lindt that Target just can't keep in stock.

It reminds me of the Red Hot Chili Peppers song Breaking the Girl off Blood*Sugar*Sex*Magic, when Flea's banging on kitchen pots and garbage cans made an already beautiful song even better.

I have never enjoyed brownies so much, and even Dr. Krog was pretty smitten, despite his ravaged post-surgery mouth.

MAKE THEM. MAKE THEM NOW.


Yeah, so I like to put on a green clay mud mask and pretend to be a zombie eating nine-hour-old brain-filled brownie batter when I'm half skunked on white wine and coming down off a Rock Band high. You wanna fight about it?

eat your heart out, lloyd dobbler. and ur brains, too.


Baking brownies from scratch.

Listening to British ska.

Writing a zombie book.

Wearing my librarian glasses.

And my Total Recall retro review is up on www.nerdbastards.com.

KNEEL BEFORE ME, ZOD, FOR I AM THE APOTHEOSIS OF GEEK GIRL COOL!

Friday, September 3, 2010

perfect strangers 2010

me: Biscuit, what if you found a squid in your bed?

biscuit: What?!?

me: What if when we got home, there was a big, floppy giant squid in your bed. What would you do?

biscuit: I wouldn't want a squid in my bed.

me: Me neither.

biscuit: I would make him his own little bed, so he could sleep there instead.

me: You're a thoughtful girl. So you're telling me that you would let a squid sleep in your room with you every night?

biscuit: Sure.

me: Even if his tentacles draped off the bed?

biscuit: I would tell him to put his thingies back in his own little bed.

me: Wow. I can't believe you would just let this random, strange squid come sleep in your room. Would you charge him rent?

biscuit: Probably not.

me: What would you name him?

biscuit: I don't know what to name a squid!

me: How about Herman? Herman the Giant Squid.

biscuit: No, she's a girl.

me: Harriet the Squid.

biscuit: No, mommy! Harry is a boy's name! Like Harry Potter is a boy wizard.

me: Harry is a boy's name. But Harriet is a girl's name.

biscuit: That's not a very good name. I would call her Shella.

me: But squids don't have shells.

biscuit: This one does.

me: Fair enough. What would you and your squid roommate do?

biscuit: Probably play Transformers. She could be Arcee, but I'm the blue one.

me: Well, then. I, for one, welcome our new squid exchange student/overlord. But tell her to keep her thingies in her own bed.

biscuit: Okay. She will.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

unruly review: total recall

Notice: If you're one of my mom-friends, beware. I'm doing biweekly retro nerd movie reviews for www.nerdbastards.com, so this one is going to be a little raunchy, mean, and... well... really nerdy. Because I, myself, am really nerdy.


You know it. You love it. And if you don't, you're a jerk.

It's Total Recall, and it's one of the best movies ever made. Based on a short story by Philip K. Dick titled We Can Remember It For You Wholesale, this movie is so good that we own three different copies of it. One came with my dowry, one came from my husband's family vault, and one we bought recently on DVD and set up in a small shrine. But enough about me.

You want to hear the short version of Total Recall.

It starts out with a dream.


Doug Quaid-- who is not related to Randy or Dennis-- is a regular working stiff who lives in a hollowed out, futuristic office building with his super hot wife, Sharon Stone.


And Total Recall was one of the first movies to have severe amounts of product placement, so she pretty much spends the entire movie with a Nike swoosh on her forehead.

But she's not good enough for Doug. See, he has these recurring dreams that he's on Mars with a hot brunette.


But mean ol' Sharon Stone won't let Doug go to Mars because she's a nagging fishwife.

Quaid's on his way to his job jackhammering large bits of rock when he sees an advertisement for Rekall, a company that saves you money by implanting memories of vacations. You don't have to travel, get motion sick, tip waiters, get sunburned, or make annoying small talk in line at the buffet. It sounds like a pretty good deal. But then--


Shh. Not now, Kuato. I haven't gotten to you yet.

Ahem.

Anyway, Mars is very dangerous because Halliburton... I mean, this guy named Cohaagen... is mining all the terbinium that Earth needs for some unspecified war. And there are mutants all over Mars because Cohaagen built shoddy domes, and now the mutants are rioting because they don't like being all mutated and stuff. So Quaid decides to go to Rekall and take a fake vacation.

Or a "favation", in 2010 terms. It's like a "staycation", but not as lame, because at least you get a t-shirt with Rekall.

But something goes wrong.


ZOMGWTFBBQ, Quaid has a schizoid embolism and goes teh craxy!!11!1!!

They were supposed to implant him with a martian vacation as a secret agent, but it turns out that--


Seriously, Kuato. GO AWAY. You're scaring people, and I've got a lot more story to tell.

So it turns out that Quaid REALLY IS A SEKRET AJENT! OH NOES!

So he runs away and has to put on Professor Quirrell's turban and pull a tracker out of his brain.


And then he has to go to Mars because he has this super-futuristic LAPTOP COMPUTER in which he tells himself to do that. So, like, he does.

And he has a nifty costume to get through Martian customs.


The customs guy asks the lady how long she's staying, and she says "Two weeks". And then he asks her if she's carrying any vegetables (because I'm sure that's going to ruin the special ecosystem of Mars, the rock planet), but the costume messes up. All it can say is "Two weeks". Then it falls apart, Quaid runs, and the lady's head is A BOMB.

But because of Total Recall, around our house, "Two weeks" is a magic word, much like on PeeWee's Playhouse. Anytime someone says "Two weeks", we flip out.

Anyway, Quaid gets to Mars, goes to the Mars Hilton, which is by the Mars Jack In the Box, and ends up at Venusville, where the whores and freaks hang out, because whores and freaks just go together like New Coke and Pop Rocks. And then he meets the person that everyone remembers from Total Recall.


Yes, friends. It's the triple-breasted whore.

But this screenshot also demonstrates one of the coolest things about Total Recall: it is seriously good at predicting the future. Huge flat-screen televisions. Sharon Stone learning tennis from a hologram that's freakily reminiscent of Wii. Product placement everywhere. Crazy airport X-ray security. Even the aluminum water bottles in that scene above that are currently the *only* safe way to drink water without getting the cancer.

But I digress.

What else happens? Quaid is really a bad guy who had his memory wiped to learn ancient alien secrets from Kuato, the mysterious leader of the mutant revolt.

I said Kuato.

Kuato? All that interrupting, and you can't even show up on cue?

Come on, man. Drop the beer and tell Quaid what he's supposed to do.


No. That's wrong. He's supposed to start the reactor. Quaid is supposed to start the secret alien reactor that will melt the glacier in the center of Mars and bring oxygen to the world so that the mutants and whores won't have to live under cheap domes and have runny foreheads.

It's pretty deep.

Oh, and he shoots his wife in the head, too.


But it's okay, because she wasn't really his wife. She was really the girlfriend of Cohaagen's #1 goon, Michael Ironside, the most under-appreciated actor in Hollywood.

And they try to reprogram Quaid's brain again, but he uses his amazingly enormous muscles to break out of the machine, which looks suspiciously like something from a futuristic gynecologist's office.


So he gets out, he gets the girl, and he starts the reactor. The alien ex machina does something that looks like lightsabers humping, and then the smoke monster from Lost busts a lot of sugar glass, and then the weird midget whore doesn't die and Quaid and Athletic Brunette Hooker #41A don't asphyxiate and everyone is happy on Mars.



Oops. Got my favorite nerd movies confused there. Usul does not approve!

But to be serious, you probably already love Total Recall. If not, go watch it. Revel in Ah-nold trying to act. In Sharon Stone making out with Michael Ironside. In the weirdest bunch of freaks ever to grace a movie set. In a startlingly accurate vision of the future, minus holiday space travel, of course.

I give Total Recall three mutant thumbs up.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

here's the thing

Today included:

* surprise Krog surgery
* mothering a 4 year old and a not-quite-2ish-enough-to-make-sense-year-old
* getting yelled at a lot, including the word MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY
* mindlessly buying mineral eyeshadow on Etsy to remain sane
* writing the second chapter of the next book, which I swore I wouldn't start yet
* my first viewing of that hellish "Numa Numa" guy video from Youtube
* getting the Numa Numa song stuck in my head all day, along with helpful visions of the South Park kids going to Canada, because my brain just can't let go of stuff
* watching Total Recall with a drugged guy and a notepad
* NUMA HEE, NUMA HA, NUMA HA HA
* something else
* see the point?
* I now HAZ TEH DUMB.

I did realize something, though.

I'm a hurdler. Always staring at the next hurdle, thinking, "After that, I can relax".

Today, I realized that the whole hurdley thing is completely stupid. While I enjoy relaxing, as in, "Oh, we're at the beach" or "I just cleaned the bathroom and have something new on the Nook", I'm just not the sort of person who is going to loll around and rest on my laurels.

Have you ever thought about resting on laurels? It would hurt! They're all pointy!

But when I'm between projects, I'm dull, lazy, and have a tendency to be moody and depressed. My natural state is to be working toward something. When I was pregnant, I was constantly creating something, every second of every day, so I felt free to laze and read and do nothing. Same thing when I was nursing. I was making stuff.

But now I'm past that. And if I'm not making something, I'm not happy.

I'm not me.

So I'm on chapter 3 of WIP5 and loving it already. Doing something completely new, of course. Let's just say that it starts with a chick fight in a Waffle House and goes downhill from there.

Anyway, the point is... um... the point... I had a point... Unisom kicking in...

A hungry animal lives longer.

And I don't mean a hungry animal like Dr. Krog, who ate FIVE HAMBURGERS today since having his wisdom teeth out.

I mean that I'm better when I'm racing towards the next hurdle, but I finally realized that it isn't about the next hurdle.

It's about racing.

*

p.s. Retro movie review tomorrow!