Twisted Spinster

Okay, today was the first day of my Walmart job. It was “orientation day,” which is the usual company stuff (fill out paperwork, watch dvds, talk about company policy, etc.). And while I was on a break I got a call from someone I had sent a resume into, about a full time job — and tomorrow morning I’m going in for the interview. So things are looking better.

I went ahead and applied for a one-bedroom apartment in a complex not too far from the one I’m in now. It’s one I’d dismissed as being too expensive, but they were running specials. Alas I missed the specials on their cute studios — now they are more expensive than the one-bedrooms. This complex looks a little better maintained and together than my current abode, though to my surprise the layout of the new apartment is almost the same as my current one. (The layout was one thing about this place that had initially appealed to me — balcony/patios with two entrances, large windows, a breakfast bar…) But it’s still rather expensive, and if I don’t get accepted because of my shaky credit and wobbly job history I’ll just have to deal. Oddly enough, today I got another call, this from the manager of an apartment complex that has small studios at even cheaper rates, but I had pulled my credit and shown it to her and she wasn’t sure it would be accepted, so I dismissed it from my mind. However, I will call her tomorrow and suss her out. It might be worth it to try for these studios, though if I get it I’ll have to change electric companies. (The one-bedroom is in the same coverage area as the utility company I currently use; the other one is down in Orlando and I’d have to go with OUC. Meh.)

I was supposed to go for an all-day training shift at Walmart tomorrow, but I explained to them about the full-time job interview so they told me I could come in at 1pm. I had taken care to inform them that I was only planning to work nights and weekends at Walmart part time, though I do want to keep working there for as long as possible (getting a part-time supplemental job is something I’ve really needed to do for a long time), but I wanted a regular full-time day job. This one is at one of the small local airports (not the main Orlando International, but one of the ones that services small planes), in customer service — a coworker got me in via her husband who is a pilot for this company.

So things are looking better. And since they are looking better I was finally able to make a small contribution to Kathy Shaidle’s defense fund: I bought her e-book, Acoustic Ladyland. I’ll post a full review as soon as I’m done reading it. So far it’s alternately hilarious and poignant.

I may not be strong, but I have no scruples:

14

(Via.)

I never watch American Idol or any of those other talent shows (full disclosure: the last talent show of any sort I ever watched was The Gong Show), but I do read Rachel Lucas. It’s worth reading a post about a tv show I never watch just for this:

It was during this part of the program when I noticed Paula’s boobs. Not in the good way, but in the way that makes one clutch one’s own boobs protectively and to whisper down at them, I will never do that to you, boobs.

It almost makes me want to watch the show just to see what she’s talking about. Almost.

I’ve finally seen the final (well, “Episode 3”) Star Wars film Revenge of the Sith. This is definitely the best out of the three prequels. This is not to say that many of the flight and battle scenes weren’t basically ridiculous — it’s only a movie, people! And the acting of many of the principals was still stiff — especially Hayden Christiansen’s Anakin (he did better when he finally transformed into Darth Vader), Natalie Portman’s Padme (I guess that tiny voice is all she has? but she still looks great, and attained some emotional impact towards the end), and Ewan McGregor still seemed uncomfortable with all the blue screens he had to pretend contained space ships and landscapes and such. But on the whole the pacing and storyline were much tighter, and the fight scene above the lava beds and the final crosscutting deathbed birth/death-in-life cyborg rebirth scenes were especially noteworthy. On the whole, not a bad way to waste a Sunday evening.

Well okay, counting yesterday’s viewing of Star Wars: Episode One the Phantom Menace and Your Little Dog Too (really, these titles are too long) — they showed that again today, and after it they showed “Episode 2” — Attack of the Clones, I guess you could count this as a “double feature.” If I watch tomorrow’s showing on Spike of the third segment, Darth Sith’s Sithy Darths, or whatever it is, it will be a triple feature. Details, details!

Anyway — technically, the actual attack of the clones didn’t come until near the end of the movie, so the title is somewhat misleading. The special effects were much better in this film — the landscapes were especially good-looking, though they didn’t all escape that standard matte effect. But they were beautiful mattes, anyway. The action scenes were better paced as well, though many of the effects in those were not entirely convincing. (For example, all those large air-to-space-ships skimming so close to the ground in the desert planet scenes should have kicked up way more sand and dust than they are shown doing.)

The film falters, as does the first one, whenever the characters open their mouths. It’s not entirely their fault — the script sucks whenever the action pauses for quieter talky scenes, of which there are two kinds: discussions of a sort of sub-grade-school concept of “democracy,” and the love scenes between Anakin and the former “queen” Padme. Concerning the latter, leaving aside the fact that Padme’s character, though being at least apparently about twenty years older than Anakin, has somehow not aged one bit, they would have been better leaving all of their scenes together wordless. The dialogue isn’t necessarily bad, it’s just that it would take better actors than Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman were then to bring off. Also, while Miss Portman is a lovely young person, Mr. Christensen, at least back in 2002, was not a particularly prepossessing fellow. (He looks better in the scenes from tomorrow night’s showing of the third installment where Anakin goes all Darkside.) Ewan McGregor wasn’t as stiff this time — having lots of action scenes help in movies with dialogue problems — but if I heard him (and everyone else – – Dooku, Mace Windu, frickin’ Yoda) address one more character as “my young” whatever I thought I was going to scream. (You know — “my young friend,” “my young apprentice,” “my young padawan” — gaaargghhh!)

As for the “politics” in the movie — let me just point out a Bad Fact of Science Fiction right now so future writers of novels and film scripts in that genre can be informed: when it comes to the subgenre of Space Opera, which the Star Wars films certainly are, certain “real life” concepts cannot be fitted comfortably into its larger-than-life, archetypal world. This means you can’t have the action stop dead for people to sit around talking about “democracy.” The script is schizoid about this anyway — apparently the “queen” that Padme used to be was simply an elected title, sort of like a president, and once one’s term is over one can become a “senator.” Oh well — eventually the film drops most of its political stuff for good old action, and after that we know that eventually an Evil Empire crops up and the “Republic” is put back in its proper Space Opera place as an ideal to be fought for and attained, not discussed.

Anyway, Episode 2 was quite a bit better than Episode 1, despite the stiff dialogue. I believe that 3 was supposed to be quite good. If I remember I’ll watch it tomorrow.

Update: one more thing I forgot — kudos to Lucasfilms for daring to have one of the villains, Jango Fett, played by a minority actor (Temuera Morrison, who I believe is a Maori from New Zealand). This breaks the tradition of the past several years of making sure all Real Villains who aren’t rubber monster suits (or CGI effects) in scifi movies are white. (For example, remember Lando Calrissian, played by Billy Dee Williams? He turned out to be Not Really A Villain. Because it’s not allowed. All Real Villains are whites, though like Darth Vader they can be voiced by a black actor.) Anyway, I believe that Lucas came under criticism for this from the usual suspects, but there is no reason that minority actors should be deprived of good villain parts just because of the sort of racism that demands non-white ethnic groups be placed up on a pillar.

Rent is paid! Rent is paid! Rent is paid! I took the money order to the apartment manager today.
Gasp.

Okay, now to find a real job. No call from Walmart yet telling me when I can start. The problem with this city isn’t just the fact that after you appear on the doorsteps of people who have put ads in Careerbuilder asking for applicants they stare at you when you say “I’m here about the job” as if you were a two-headed green Martian (when everyone knows Martians aren’t green), it’s the fact that when you do finally go through all the paperwork and pee-in-a-cup hurdles they take forever to actually give you a date when you are to start working. What up, O-town? At this point I’m just doing it so I can show apartment leasing offices that I’m employed, because I’ve got to be out of here by May 3rd. One step forward, two steps back?

Anyway — all complaining aside, thank you everyone.

Okay, the thunder stopped again so I’m still connected. The movie ended rather badly for all concerned — if not for their actual physical bodies I thought everyone’s character was rather well trashed and that includes what I assumed to be the more-or-less hero — he gets the girl and his kid, but only if he pays her husband to go away? I don’t know, I was underthrilled, perhaps mostly due to the fact that I wasn’t impressed with the protagonist. Perhaps it was because he was blond. I’ve never been into blonds, Peter Davison’s version of the Doctor being a rare exception. (And: you know, period filmmaker people, I know what you’re up to when you give Hitler hair to a character we are supposed to be against.)

Oh yeah — and Fenella Woolgar (however you spell her name, can’t be bothered to look it up, too dull-making, good Lord I talk like the characters now) has a really huge fucking chin. I mean it’s gigantic. Scary.

(Psst: one thing — this movie was directed by one of Blighty’s professional gays, Stephen Fry, so half the time all the male characters are looking at each other like they want to jump each others’ bones or something. For example, I thought David Tennant’s character — the “rich cad” who stole the “hero’s” girl — was actually making the moves on the “hero” with that coin trick scene. I recall that I saw Stephen Fry play Oscar Wilde and in that film a minor gay character is shown trying to pick up a dude with a somewhat different coin trick, so that’s probably why the scene gave off that sort of atmosphere. There’s actually only one Real Gay character in Bright Young Things, and he’s in none of these scenes.)

Oh hell, I suppose we could just revert to the comments on this post over at Ace of Spades.

Dance This Mess Around with the B-52s.

…but first earlier today my site was down for a bit (server issues), I had to go to a job interview — which I did not find, because God forbid that Orlando put address numbers on the office buildings scattered haphazardly in the twisty, tub-of-live-bait nightmare that are the streets here, so after driving around swearing at the insane people I have to share the streets with (stopping at stop signs is optional — you are allowed to let your car roll halfway into the street so people in the right lane can smash into you or swerve around you and smash into cars the next lane over; it’s fun for the whole family! like a bargain ride sponsored by Universal Studios or something) I came home to thunder and rain, so I disconnected the cable until that was over. (I have already sacrificed one computer to lightning hitting an unprotected cable installation; I’m not sacrificing another.)

Oh, and I bruised the bottom of my left foot on the corner of one of the plastic crates holding my godforsaken record albums, and then whilst chasing a mosquito around the bathroom I bent my right ring finger backwards on the shower curtain rod and now it’s killing me. So I may not be typing much tonight. (I still have lots of thank you emails to send — I’ll get them out as soon as I can.)

Update, later: okay, here comes the thunder again, so it’s time to shut down. I’ve been slogging through Bright Young Things — the movie, not the book — and I must say I can’t really seem to get involved in the stories of the characters. Perhaps it’s because either the filmmakers or the author of the original novel (which I have not read) seem to detest just about everyone with the possible exception of the main guy’s lady-love (though she comes off as both stupid and selfish) and her canny father, played by Peter O’Toole, who is smart enough not to give his wayward child and her blank-personalitied beau any money. So far the only time I’ve had sympathy for anyone is when the Agatha character, normally a “daring” pseudo-lesbian (for the time), seems genuinely shocked that the pad she was invited to crash at after a coke-and-jazz party turned out to be No. 10 Downing Street, but then her character snaps back into useless upper-class-twitdom. I must admit I rented this movie out because David Tennant is in it — he plays the part of what is supposed to be a dull, common fellow, I guess, though compared to the shallow rich creatures he’s surrounded with he comes off as rather superior. I’m thinking, though, that Evelyn Waugh’s sort of broad, cruel farce has had its day, despite the superficial resemblance to our own rich, shallow celebrity culture. At least the rich bitches of yore had a solid base to both rebel and be criticized against. At least the pre-WW2 generation knew who Croesus was. Today what do the Paris Hiltonites have — mocking their parents for watching Eight Is Enough when they were kids?

Check out this awesome pulp magazine cover illustration over at Kathy Shaidle’s. (It’s in regards to this the-apple-doesn’t-fall-far-from-the-tree story, by the way.)

I think the knife-wielding monkeys are a nice touch. Everything is better with monkeys.

(Second link via Tim Blair.)

Update: the wackos over at Ace of Spades finally got onto this. What took you so long, boys?