Moore

When I heard that there was a documentary going around entitled Michael Moore Hates America, I thought it certainly had to be a joke. When I saw that it had been given two thumbs up by Ebert and Roeper, I thought I was most certainly being taken in. But guess what. It's true. This film does exist, and I watched it a few nights ago. As far as I know, it is still available only to buy from the official website or to rent from Netflix, but it is well worth it.

In it, filmmaker Michael Wilson turns all Moore on Moore, and exposes his way-less-than-ethical filmmaking methods, his dramatic setups in the name of documentary, and his profound dislike of his country. It is funny and touching. It is well-made. It makes Moore look like the repulsive, dirty, lying, hypocritical narcissist that he really is.

The best thing about this film, I think, is that it does not deeply attack Michael Moore's politics, and it is, in fact, a film that is quite tolerant of differing political views. No, this film focuses primarily on Moore's ethics, and therefore becomes a very effective expose of the man's character.

I highly recommend this film, unless you are really clinging to some hope that Moore is a valid documentarian, or to some delusion that he actually speaks for working-class Americans. Michael Moore speaks only for himself, and not very well at that.

Meltdown

Excepting all of those days wherein something truly tragic or meaningful happened, yesterday was the worst day of my life. I suppose it was the worst day of my life in which nothing really bad happened. But, be that as it may, it was pretty fuckin' bad.

In May, I had my car inspected. It did not pass because I needed two new tires. Quoth the repairman, "Just get the tires and bring it back, and we'll put on a sticker. It'll only take five minutes." So, I got my new tires, and went back yesterday for my sticker. Not only had they lost all records of my previous inspection, but they had also mislaid any paperwork which proved that I PAID for this inspection already. Add to that, they were insistent that they did not have time to re-inspect my car. I calmly explained that this was my first real day off in ten weeks, and that I was not likely to have another for three weeks, and then I was leaving for the beach. Conversation ensued. I got him to agree to fit me in, but alas, I did not have my owner's card or my insurance card on hand. He said he definitely could not do anything for me. Long story short, I went to AAA to get a copy of my owner's card. I took it back to the dealer. He said, "I'm sorry, this is for your Ford truck." The AAA lady gave me the wrong card. I went back to AAA to get the right one, and she said she couldn't do it without my insurance, which I had faxed to the dealer, and which was now with them. I went back to the dealer and got that. Came back to AAA (for the third time) and was told that I needed an old owner's card to show. I promptly started to cry. For real. I had no idea where it came from, but I can only guess that it was a combination of sheer, government-induced frustration, 92 degree heat, some hormonal issues, and pure, unadulterated hatred of "the system". I could tell that the poor Auto Club ladies were utterly flummoxed, and had no idea what to do with me. I felt like Diane Keaton in Baby Boom, crying to the vet. I was so embarrassed, but could not manage to shut down the tears. I'm an Aquarian, for heaven's sake. We do NOT cry. I kept apologizing to the Auto Club ladies, and they clearly thought I was insane. But they also felt sorry for me, because they gave me a new owner's card without the last, vital piece of paperwork. I took it back to the dealer, and got my car inspected, feeling, at this point, like I had been run over by a truck. I called my mom and cried to her, telling her I had no idea why I was getting so emotional over something so stupid. She assured me that it was all over now, and I could go home, and forget about this day.

But my "five minute" sticker acquisition turned into five hours. I had no time left for my other chores.

So I went home, got a nice cool glass of iced tea, sat down to check my email, only to find that my desktop had been utterly demolished by a virus which came to me in the form of an email from a friend marked "Beach Pictures." One click, and I had an instant porn machine, no email, and no ability to back up my files. There seemed no hope. I calmly shut down the modem and went and took an ice cold shower. I felt totally cursed. I decided I had to put on my big-girl panties now, and handle it. This really would've been the perfect time for my hot pirate boyfriend to sail in, assure me that he was about to take me away from all this, and hand me a glass of Bordeaux. I looked out the window for him, but all I saw was my irritating neighbor turning her compost heap. Perfect. With an overly dramatic sigh and a huge heap of pathetic self-pity, I began to work on the computer. I spent the better part of the evening re-partitioning my hard drive to isolate my data, and then doing a factory re-install on drive c, losing all of my software in the process. There was no other way. The virus had, before it did anything else, nullified my Norton Antivirus. I was screwed. At 1 am, I went to bed, convinced that I was paying some sort of karmic debt, defeated, and made plans to address the state legislature about government interference in our lives, particularly as relating to vehicular paperwork.

I woke this morning, and decided that I really needed to do something positive before I opened the store. I had to start on a happy note, or the day was doomed. So, I did two of the 16 things guaranteed to make me feel better. I went to Starbuck's and got a HUGE decaf mocha on ice, then I went to Pat Catan's and felt, smelled, ogled, and purchased art supplies. A full set of professional quality watercolors, which I had been wanting very badly. I had a coupon, and got a $50 set for $15. Happy now.

It seems, today, that the curse has been lifted, because good things are happening. I have a large group coming in tomorrow, ensuring that I'll make June's rent. My giant fake palm tree has arrived, giving the place its last little bit of tropical flair, my mocha was good, and the phone has been ringing with people who've seen my ad and have questions. I need to get me a good bag o' juju, to ward against EVER having another day like yesterday. Yesterday sucked.

Pottery

Well, my store website, such as it is, is up. It's still loaded with errors, and it really kinda sucks, but here it is, for your perusal.

Stormy Blue Pottery

I hope that by autumn, I'll be selling some things on there, too.

I must admit...

I really love Spongebob and have a particular affection for Plankton.

I don't mind eating at CiCi's Pizza, and actually enjoy Long John Silver's.

I blow a kiss to my poster of Spike every morning.

I've watched Shrek 2 at least ten times already.

I drank too much last night and attempted to sing Melissa Etheridge at karaoke. Everybody said it was "alot better than they expected." I'm not sure how to take that.

My date book is a Witch's calendar, and I plant only when it says to.

I secretly long for one huge kiss straight out of a cheesy pirate romance novel. Just one. But I'm not sure where to find the pirate.

I'm totally psyched that my "Celtic Birth Tree" is the Rowan.

Wireless networking gets me as excited as Beavis watching Motley Crue videos.

I'm kind of enjoying being a little overworked. Vacation will feel that much better, and more deserved.

I just got my hair cut. Way cut. I haven't decided whether I like it or not. I did it even though one of my fantasies is to have Morgaine hair from Mists of Avalon. Long and curly with the occasional braid. Crap. Now I have to let it grow agan.

I'm going swimming now.

Poem

A few months ago, I posted a poem. I was hoping to get a little feedback on it, but such was not the case. I'm posting it again, this time with the grand admission that it is my poem. Yeah, I wrote it. It is, in fact, the most meaningful thing (to me) that I've ever written. I do not require comment or critique, though it would be welcome. I invite negative commentary as well, as I am not married to it. Here it is, one last time, forever:

12

The work-a-day
Gives way
To melancholy twilight
And pensive night.

Wash of salty air,
Heavy with unseen sea,
Fills the void with you
And useless, reckless dreams.

Libertine moon
Accomplice to
Relentless
Pounding
Surf

Sweeps me
Helpless
Through the door where you live
And where I am not myself.

Map!

In a typically lovely post, Lorna wrote recently that she was innocent and naive about certain things, especially when it comes to real estate. I must confess that there is a certain aspect of my own innocence and naivete that I have yet to lose. I spent a better than average part of childhood in the backseat of a green Pontiac Catalina, with no air conditioning. This is because my parents drove across the country every year to visit friends in Albequerque and Las Vegas. We'd go for a whole month and visit every landmark along the way. To me, this was as good as life could possibly get, and I was endlessly fascinated with things like Mount Rushmore, The Grand Canyon, slot machines, and the World's Largest Ball of Twine. My backseat "toy" of choice was always a map, so that I could follow along as we drove. In my younger years, I had one of those kids' maps, that had fun little pictures in all the states. You know what I'm talking about. Pennsylvania would have a little coal miner and a Liberty Bell. Idaho would have trees and a potato. Texas would have oilwells and cowboys and tumbleweeds. You know.

Because of these maps (thanks to them, more like) I have a mild but persistent case of romanticizing places. Even now, at the age of 36, I am a little dissappointed when I cross the border into Kentucky and the grass is not blue. I get a touch deflated whenever I enter Florida and don't immediately see an orange grove. I am always dissappointed now, when I travel, because as time goes on, places get more and more alike. Every town seems to have a Wal-Mart, a Chili's and a McDonald's. Damnit. When I enter Arizona, I want to see cacti and a derelict Gulf station with a vaguely creepy and very dirty attendant. Not Wal-Mart. When I enter Georgia, I lament the peculiar lack of abundant peaches and magnolias in my immediate view, but I perk up when I see the red mud. When I enter Texas, I want to see cowboys EVERYWHERE. (Of course, I want that all the time, but still, I'm just saying.) I don't want to see the same damn things that are in my own back yard. I guess the bottom line is that I wish for a world that's just a little Disneyfied, in that everything looks exactly like you expect it to. I don't know if I'll ever get over that.

And even now, I own at least 15 atlases, and a conservative estimate of the size of my road map hoard would be 150. I have road maps for places I'll likely never drive. I can tell you how to get anywhere in the country. I even know what roads are best for getting from London to Devon. And what's even weirder is that I keep a change of clothes, toothpaste and shampoo in my car at all times, as well as a cooler. I think that at any moment, I may decide to discover the bayou-living voodoo woman who will meet me at the border with juju as soon as I get to Louisiana. I think I'm a flight risk.

Tag!

Well, I have been largely absent, but I find that getting tagged with a meme tends to make me get off my lazy mouse and start typing. Things have calmed down somewhat at the store, and I have decided to start my own meme. I know, I know. It's quite presumptuous and I'm an upstart, but I've had a few questions I've been wanting to ask, and answer, I suppose. And so, without further ado, here is my own meme.

List each of the following:

TEN Words you love to say:
cockamamie, abstemious, hurricane, demagogue, abject, vulgar, expeditious, blatantly, Chateaueuf du Pape, fuck.

NINE Guiltiest pleasures:
American Idol, Survivor, Big Brother, Alan Alda, wine, Real Genius, Zebra Historical Romances, Alec Baldwin, Cadbury Flake Bars (when I can find 'em)

EIGHT Favorite items to wear (clothes or otherwise):
Lavender perfume, Teva sandals, Birkenstocks, long skirts, sleeveless shirts, granny cotton underwear, anachronistic garb like capes and highwaymen's coats, lipstick.

SEVEN Sexiest celebrities:
The Rock, Bill Murray, Daniel Day Lewis, Gary Oldman, Jason Isaacs, Alton Brown, Emma Thompson

SIX Most irritating celebrities: Barbra Streisand, Michael Moore, Winona Ryder, Dan Rather, Rosie O'Donnell, Sean Penn

FIVE Favorite things about summertime: Walks in the woods, the smell of chlorophyll, trips to the beach, wearing cool clothes, hanging out by the pool at night.

FOUR Books you've read most recently: The Screwtape Letters - C.S. Lewis, The Bear Went Over the Mountain - William Kotzwinkle, Candyfreak - Steve Almond, Little Black Book of Stories - A.S. Byatt (In progress. Thanks, Lorna!)

THREE Words you've been meaning to look up (and their meanings, if you're abitious):
erudite - Learned and teacherly
puerile - Childish (I thought that's what it meant!)
erstwhile - Previously, or in the past

TWO Funniest gifts you've been given:

• At my bridal shower, I was given a real Star Trek uniform. (TNG command red.) The friend who gave it to me said that knowing John, she thought the effects would be far more potent than lingerie on my wedding night. Whether or not I put that to the test, I refuse to divulge.
• Nun-shaped soap-on-a-rope from my friend Kelli. That still cracks me up.

ONE thing you both fear and find wildly intriguing: Wicca, Druidism and all things pagan.

I am tagging Name Hidden, Kelly, and Lorna.

Meme

Vyvyan, I've just received this meme-o.

Well thanks to Kelly and my (finally) successful workplace internet connection, I am rearing my ugly head around here again. This seemed like a fun one to do this morning, so here I go.

Three screen names that you have had:
Mostly, I've had pretty boring ones, using some version of my first name.
krissykfk
krissy3001
SaltyCat

Three things you like about yourself:
My imagination
My eccentricities
The fact that I think pretty much everything is funny

Three things you don't like about yourself:
My ability to procrastinate indefinitely
My often bleak world view
My Hyundai-sized ass

Three parts of your heritage:
50% Slovenian (NO! NOT SLOVAK!)
25% Polish
25% Carpathian Russian
(that adds up to 100% pure Picksburgh hunky)

Three things that scare you:
Adults who can't spell
All insect-type creatures
Disease & Michael Moore (it's a tie)

Three of your everyday essentials:
Iced tea with plentiful ice
Sea Breeze (the astringent, not the wind or the drink)
A touch of profanity

Three things you are wearing right now:
Jeans
White sleeveless shirt
Blue Birkenstocks

Three of your favorite songs:
Sweet Home Alabama - Lynyrd Skynyrd
Hallelujah - Rufus Wainwright
Blue - The Jayhawks

Three new things you want to try in the next 12 months:
Rolling sushi
Ocean kayaking
Pit-fired pottery

Three things I want in a relationship:
OK, I'll put it this way. I need a guy who:
Makes me laugh OFTEN (and vice versa)
Understands that everyone needs some time alone, and that it's nothing personal.
Can teach me something new (and vice versa)

Two truths and a lie:
I fantasize about owning a sailboat
I fantasize about owning a mansion
I fantasize about living in a cave

Three things you can't do without:
Daydreams
Water
Tomatoes

Three places you want to go on vacation:
Hawaii and the rest of Polynesia
3 Months in Europe
Cross-country in a sinfully-large Winnebago

Three things you just can't do:
Play chess
Wink my right eye
Keep my car neat for more than a week

Three kids' names:
Ludwig
Wolfgang
Sergei

Three things you want to do before you die:
Steal Jim Cantore's job (I'll get you, Cantore!)
Ride in an F-16
Own a winery

Three Celeb crushes:
Viggo Mortensen
Bill Murray (this is a new one)
The Rock (Placing paper bag on my head now. I'm only human!)