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Heaven Leigh

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[13 Jan 2012|01:36pm]

Good golly miss Molly. Is this all there is?

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.


[18 Mar 2007|01:16pm]
[ mood | sore ]

I just downloaded to my iPod

- the rest of my music
- all of my personal contacts
- my calendar
- 300 wav files of voicemail messages
- 849 photos
- the contents of my fridge
- my entire wardrobe
- four of my friends
- my dog

and most of my furniture, and it's telling me I don't have enough memory for my microwave.


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Movie Review: One Year Too Late [17 Mar 2006|07:16pm]

A still from "War of the Worlds". That's so strange -- the girl next to Dakota Fanning...

...is wearing the same expression I had on throughout the entirety of the film. And the same hat.

When Steven Spielberg's "War of the Worlds" came out last year, I had little to no motivation to see it. Tom Cruise, Dakota Fanning...not my idea of fun.

But yesterday, thanks to the alluring convenience of M.O.D. ("Movies on Demand"), I ordered "War of the Worlds" with my mom, as I was in the mood for something action-y and dumb, in the lines of, say, "Independence Day." Well who knew "Independence Day" would be Shakespeare compared to this shit?

OK, first of all, Tom Cruise is supposed to be this rugged ass construction worker guy, who lives in a shanty in Jersey somewhere. He is poor. He's a real... you know, "guy". He doesn't even know what hummus is... Then how is it, Mr. Spielberg, that this so-called poor "man" is wearing Paper Denim & Cloth jeans? THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A STRAIGHT, POOR, BLUE COLLAR GUY who knows SHIT about MIDDLE EASTERN DIPS! Yet you expect me to believe that he shops at fucking Barneys? Scoff times infinity.

One of roughly 435,000 screenshots incorporating the verb "to clutch".

OK, fine. I'll let the whole designer wardrobe thing go because, as I'll learn later, it will turn out to be the least aggravating thing about this movie.

Hey, here's an idea! OK, when you're standing on asphalt and the ground begins to split open, and giant mechanical monsters with laserbeam hands seem to spring to life from the sewers, you might want to GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE instead of just standing around to see what happens next.

The only time the following two words will ever, ever make sense when used together: "Poor Spielberg."

And another thing: When a crazy child molester in a dirty, shit-stained wife beater (Tim Robbins, natch), beckons you into his damp cellar by waving a rifle at you? Best idea not to go in.
The more I think about this movie, the more infuriated I am... these aliens had no heart! No life! And guess what (SPOILER ALERT)... do you know how the movie ends? These humongous monsters just drop. dead. There is no all out war, no clever alien-hack that leads to their demise. Tom Cruise says to a soldier on the road "What's happening?" and the man literally says "I don't know, sir! They began acting erratically! They were walking around in circles!"

The aliens simply fall over and die. WHAT KIND OF A MOVIE IS THIS!!! Seriously, anyone have a latte they need made... cause there's steam coming OUT of my EARS. (My humor has been sufficiently dumbed down... you can thank "War of the Worlds" for that.) The movie ends with Morgan Freeman explaining that they weren't immune to the bacteria in our water. Dude (meaning Spielberg) seriously? If they're going to die from a bacterial disease, let it be something fun, like a yeast infection. I don't think it's completely impossible for an alien to stockpile a couple of BRITTA water filters.

Oh, this movie. I'm still fuming. In fact, the only saving grace in this film... and God, I can't believe I'm about to say this... was DAKOTA FANNING.

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[06 Feb 2006|07:29pm]
[ mood | crazy ]

The NY Post today really outdid themselves with disgusting, pedophilic wit. A small blurb written up about children's calcium levels in relation to broken bones in later life is featured under the headline "Broke-Bones Mountin'".

Cause nothin' says a nice, wholesome, after-school glass of milk for Timmy like a headline punning off of a movie about gay sex in the West.


[29 Jan 2006|08:34pm]
Professions least likely to be bragged about to strangers at a dinner party:*
  • Supermarket Dairy Technician**
  • High School Cafeteria Chef
  • Militant religious missionary
  • Executioner
  • America Online CEO
  • Medical Guinea Pig
  • Playground drug pusher
  • Grand Dragon
  • pork-rind connoisseur
  • IRS auditor
  • Meter-Maid
  • Child Porn Collector
  • Cosmetics Animal-Tester
  • Facist Dictator
  • Dominatrix
  • Burglar
  • Microsoft programmer
  • Door-to-door Bible salesman
  • Mortician
  • Stable Mucker
  • Poison taste-tester for kings
  • Cult Leader
  • Beach Comber
  • Carnie
  • Dumpster Diver
  • Abortion Doctor
  • Tobacco Marketing Chairperson
  • Adult Film Director and/or Producer
  • Street Corner Preacher
  • McDonald's Fry Cook
  • Rodeo Clown
  • Adult "Arcade" Janitor
  • Serial Killer
  • Professional Blood Donor
  • Whitehouse intern

* I am not implying that many of these jobs are not decent professions.  I am commenting on social implications, as well.  That and some of them aren't decent career paths.

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[17 Jan 2006|04:23pm]
[ mood | energetic ]

Does IMDB's advertising department know something we don't?

In a genius case of movie themes meets advertising synergy, their page for Brokeback Mountain has a large advertisement for, you guessed it: Best Western Hotels.

Click to Enlarge:

Now the question is: Is Brokeback Mountain the Best Western (according to last night's Globe's, the answer is yes)... or is Best Western the best place to have gay sex marathons? (coughing loudly: It's the latter)

Sidenote: Where was Jake at last night's Golden Globe Awards??
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[28 Dec 2005|06:23pm]
[ mood | blank ]

So I went to make myself dinner last night, which usually starts out with me standing in from of the open refrigerator for about five or ten minutes while I systematically check off what I know I don't want to eat. Suddenly my eyes fall on two new canisters of parmasean cheese. This, of course, lead to my ultimate decision to make myself a nice pot of spaghetti, seeing as how we have had a drastic shortage of sprinkleable cheese - there hasn't been a pinch in the house for months.

About twenty minutes later, I had the spaghetti all cooked up, all the utensils pulled out and everything in place. At this point I'm looking around for the pasta sauce only to discover that we are fresh out!

Whoever went to the store last remembered the cheese, but forgot to pick up some sauce. I swear, the ironies of this household never cease to amaze me.

I ate the spaghetti anyway, but there was this deep well of sorrow where the Prego should have been.


[21 Dec 2005|07:04pm]
[ mood | scared ]

A pope's popeCollapse )


[20 Nov 2005|12:14pm]
[ mood | crazy ]

The Black Clams

Have you guys caught the Triaminic commercial with the Baby Clam and the Mama Clam? Everytime this commercial comes on TV, I'm fascinated. Why? Because don't get me wrong, the commercial is beautiful, and kind of cute, but is it just me, or is it just a teeeeensy bit racist?

WATCH THE AD HERE. (Click on the link on the bottom left.)

Cute, right? Or is it? I mean, the colors are gorgeous, vibrant, the puppetry is brill, but am I wrong here, or is something with this commercial... just not PC?

Clearly, from the voiceovers, the Clams are black. The soothing, southern rasp of Mama Clam brings to mind the bosom of Della Reese. (Note how the Mama Claim is shaped like Della Reese's buzzy.)

But apparently I'm going to have to be the one to say it: What is with the lips? The huge purple lips? I love the voice, love the look. But BIG BLACK LIPS? Really, Triaminic, I would have thought more highly of you. How about next time you use Jewish Anteaters, with big hooked snouts, who suck change out of their neighbor's couch and constaaantly complaaaain about how sick they are? Or a Chinese Dog who's really good at math and takes pictures of everything while driving badly in their miniature car, huh?

And hey -- where is Daddy Clam?! Oh, so she has to be a SINGLE Black Clam Mama trying to raise her sick baby? Does she even know the Daddy? Or is she gonna have to go on Mon-Shell Crilliams to take a Clamternity test?! So typical -- TIH. PIH. KULL.

What? Oh, the dad's at work? Huh. Ok, well, that's good then. I'm happy for Mr. Clam. Oh, Dr. Clam? Dr. Clam. My apologies Dr. Clam.
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Oh My God. [05 Nov 2005|10:46pm]
[ mood | nauseated ]

The Smoking Gun reports that a Judge in Oklahoma has been disrobed, so to speak, for using a male enhancement pump, shaving and oiling his nether region, and pleasuring himself. Pretty standard stuff. Pause, 2, 3. All while sitting on the bench.

My god -- can you imagine? "Keep that up (pump, pump), and I'm gonna put you (pump, sigh, pump) in CONTEMPT (pump) of the (hiss, hissss) COURT!"

Here Comes The Judge


[29 Oct 2005|07:01pm]
[ mood | amused ]

Today I was perusing the latest issue of Rolling Stone, with Paul McCartney gracing the cover. In it is a story called "Kid Cannabis", about a 19-year-old chubby loser-shlub who ended up running a multi-million dollar pot smuggling business. The young guys running the joint (har) inevitably ended up living the Scarface lifestyle, lots of money, Escalades, fur coats, diamonds, and of course, slutty stripper girlfriends.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, is the best thing I've read today. The author of the story, Mark Binelli, interviews the girlfriend of the head of operations, named Buffy. Buckle up:

Later that summer, Nate broke both of his arms in a dirt-bike accident and moved in with Buffy. "That was a bad time," she recalls. "Nate's arms were in casts. I was recovering from my surgery." She fluffs her breasts as a visual aid. "And my cat Titty Bar Bob had broken his back, and he got addicted to these painkillers. He'd crawl up the sides of the wall to get to them. It was a weird summer.

Kid Cannabis by Mark Binelli

I call this next piece Titty Bar Bob Wants WaterCollapse )


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