Did non-zombies in zombie films ever watch zombie movies?

I wish this were discussed more. In fact, I wish there was an entire Jeopardy category dedicated to zombie reasoning. I'm in the middle of watching the most recent release of "Dawn of the Dead" and so far, the burdening question among the selected living is, "what are they?"

Bitch, they're zombies.

Look, it's about to be 2010. There are like 862 zombie movies, probably originating during the time of Adam and Eve. So during a weekend romp with a 2004 remake where no one seemed to know what to do, I was a little taken aback.

Let us break this down....

You (Read "general term for general idiot in leading role of horror film, male or female, though likely 'all'") wake up one day, and at random most of the people in your life, and on television, and walking the streets of city center have somehow formed a death strut of thump-thump-drag. You are able to escape in your 2004 Honda Civic to the nearest mall where you find solace in other humans who have yet to morph into grandma on her 97th birthday. The mall is empty, the PA system lulls you into a calmness with its elevator music, the escalators are still running by the electricity we've had since the 18th century, and the vast spread of Abercrombies and Crate & Barrels are at your endless disposal. The televisions are even still broadcasting the horrors of nearby ravaged cities, detailing the mass chaos that has plagued the millions of Americans (pompously assuming this hasn't gone "H1N1") who you live among.

With the rest of the film stained with modernity, are you telling me that if you marched your living ass to the nearest Blockbuster, there wouldn't be one single zombie movie to tell you what the F is going on?

I can only conclude that this ups the ante for Shaun of the Dead to be one of the greatest zombie movies ever made. It's original, funny, the characters placate the undead with their knowledge of how to "blend in", and to boot, it's a British film.

God this has exhausted me.

Dan Brown, where are you?

With my B.A. in Religious Studies firmly nailed to my wall*, I recall the summer of 2001 being the first wave of Dan Brown awesomeness. The DaVinci Code sold so many copies, hot dog vendors traded in there "ass and lips" for copies of the highly talked about novel to sell from their push carts to the late-night drunks. Hold the mustard.

After reading the book and absolutely loving it, I decided on tackling its predecessor: Angels and Demons. Whatever seat I was sitting in during its page-by-page play of dramatic religious and symbolic infusions, I was on the edge. This guy writes like another favorite author of mine, Ken Wilbur. I think they're both too interesting to write a text book or some other form of non-fiction (likely because it will bore the hell out...zzzz). I think they chose the smarter route and placed their intelligence into the not-so subtle notes of fiction.

Until I met The Lost Symbol.

I wanted to love it, I really did. But everything seemed so anti-climactic. It had the occasional build up, and then followed by the inevitable let down. It gave new meaning to a few choice phrases that were popular in grade school. It was like watching Aaron Carter on Dancing with the Stars - I just couldn't force myself to like it. Books are like albums. They have to be treated delicately because it's most important for you to grow as a musician, grow as a writer. I struggled past book 4 of Harry Potter, and Dan Brown lost my on book 3. It's a record.

I finished the book this morning on my commute to work. Generally I sit and ferment in a job well done to even complete a book, but I skipped that and went right to popping in my ear phones and wishing like hell the train would plunge into the dark waters of the Chicago River.

Dan Brown, if ever become rich and famous off one of my awesome inventions, and this blog ends up at the top of your Google search, take heed: evolve. The intellectual Indiana Jones is cute as a button, but I need more. I wish for Robert Langdon nothing but success. Maybe he could achieve greater success through a carefully leaked sex tape, Jennifer Aniston's next dumper, or maybe a cameo on "What Not to Wear." I mean, it can't be that hard. Right now you could even place him anywhere with Carrie Prejean and he'll get attention.

Regardless, I know where my weaknesses lie and I am sure I will be purchasing whatever money maker you decide to put out next.

Until then....


*This statement is up for grabs in the Truth department. I'm not sure I ever received my actual diploma, from high school or college. I'm assuming there was some pending or unpaid balance from excessive parking tickets which led as a barrier to receipt. If so, I promise I'll pay those fees. Maybe.

What better way to say "I care" than with a well-chosen emoticon

I love emoticons. And by that I mean I <3 emoticons. With most of my beloveds located around the world, most of my communication is conducted via IM, email and text messages (I find phone calls to be SO archaic). For moments such as, I often find conveying proper e-emotion to be a very fragile situation which requires the delicacy of handling newborn baby chick with a missing leg and a Napoleon complex. It's tough.

By personal jest law, I am required to mitigate the distance issue by cracking a joke (that might not sound much like a joke). As a substitute for voice inflection, it might go something like this:

So-and-so: Damn, I really feel like crap today.

Sarah: Yeah? I bet you look like crap today.


There's only one way to save this....


So-and-so: Damn, I really feel like crap today.

Sarah: Yeah? I bet you look like crap today. :D

No tears. No ended friendships. Just the understanding that my dry sense of humor and sarcasm shouldn't be taken for more than just that. Assume I am always laughing or joking when I say mean and hurtful things. And if a day shall come that the emoticon makers make a middle finger emoticon, then you know when I'm crossing a line.

Until then....

What do you do with sunshine

I used to love that old song:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine; you make me happy when skies are gray...

When it comes to rallying for life, I am at the front of the picket line waving the flag of independence and self-reliance. At some point, I figured you can have the best of both worlds, so relying and depending on people has gotten harder the older we get, but when you learn you can harbor such trust in someone else (friend, family, personal relationships overall) you start to use it.

So what happens when you realize that you're life isn't everything you thought it would be? For instance, with the economy in the crapper, I run into more and more people who are extremely unhappy with their job. And considering you spend like 80% of your day working, it's probably one of those places you prefer to be coming up roses. On the other hand, maybe you entered into a line of work that you much later realize isn't what you want to do forever.

If you're in this boat, keep reading...

While we wait with breath bated and fingers crossed, it's becoming ever-so important to rely on the other things that make you happy. Primarily, the people in your life. In even the darkest of days, you need to be able to rely on that one special person. The one person you can go to and just...exhale. Frenchie from Grease said, "the only man a girl can really depend on is her daddy." And while I agree with this comment 100%, my dad isn't much of a chit chatter. So I have my brigade, and at the front of the line a leader full of sunshine.

Is that sunshine an actuality? Or is it a flame in the allegorical Cave?

I come to this question on a relatively frequent basis, and fear I may be putting more effort into it than necessary. Is it really this difficult to make yourself your best possible self without reliance on others? Are the people who have freely chosen to be in your life actually a product of choice as we commonly know it, or necessity, and can these two ideas live independently from each other?

I have no answer to this, except that I can't shake that everything is subjective, and nothing is real.

Now THAT is depressing.

Posh Spice: Hilarious

There is no shortage of Victoria Beckham cracks spread all over the internet, TV, and the Us Weeklys of the world. She's often portrayed as stone-faced and cold, with her harsh features and skeletal frame, her poses quick-to-react for cameras and is often never smiling. But the Victoria Beckham I see is anything but stone-faced and cold. In fact, she's quite funny!

No woman could make the following videos and not be a lot of fun to hang out with. It might be one of the few intelligent moves Tom Cruise has ever made.

Hot yoga: heat should not always result in nudity

Last night I completed my third day as a bikram yoga student. The first time I ever took yoga was working with a Beginner's VHS tape when I was 18, and it's slowly graduated to this: bikram yoga, where the temperature is raised to 105, allowing you to really sweat your ass off. If you've heard the workout results in what appears to be the yogee to have jumped into a pool, it's true.

(This often results in a few stares from the community I bike through afterward. I don't blame them: my sports bra sweats through the shirt I wear, leaving these big (or, not-so-big) sweaty prints right over my boobs.)

The class is comprised of many different types of people. We have men, large men, skinny-tall men, (un)flexible men. We have women, large women, skinny-tall women, (un)flexible women. And what I love, we're all scantily clothed as you have no idea how much 105 degrees hits you when your yogic for 90 minutes.

So last night, I was in the Tulandandasana pose (see right). You're supposed to look toward the mirror in front of you, which sounds like a good idea...unless you're Tulandandsanaing behind the same girl I was last night. I look up to face the mirror, and home girl was not wearing any underwear.

I completely understand that your knickers get a little swampy, and I'm all for women's liberation, but OMG...at least wear pants or long shorts. Something other than what a roller skater from the 70's would wear.

Maybe I'm acting a bit prudish about the event, but I couldn't keep my pose. It reminded me of the Friends episode when Pheobe's boyfriend's genitals kept popping out from underneath his shorts. Just knowing it was there, staring at me like I was guilty for being in the second row, I ended up standing most of the pose.

So ladies, men, whatever you do, wherever you go, when you're in yoga class, remember to put your pants on.

Griller sans la buerre

I once read that the origin of the word (and musical genre) "Zydeco" came from the Clifton Chenier song "Les Haricots Sont Pas Salés," which means the beans aren't salty. This was in reference to the Louisiana-based singer being too poor to provide salted pork for his beans. The actual word Zydeco is a corruption of the shortened "les haricots."

During this economical crisis, or the intertia of it's trough, I can't help but modernize by own "les haricots." After one of my biggest clients was busted running a Ponzi scheme worth $11 million, I've added on 13 offices and lost the next few months of commission. I am able to pay my rent and most of my bills, some gas and even afford a new bit of mascara here and there, but other than that my means are rationed. I've taken to canned vegetarian chili ($3 at Trader Joe's - delicious!) and water crackers, and making the meal spread over 2 days. A hard-boiled egg or instant oatmeal is close to doing to the trick in the mornings, so I feel relatively covered.

However, this morning I found myself toasting high-fiber bread...and realizing I have absolutely no butter, no jam, no spread whatsoever. And the $50 in my checking account I have to live on for the next 6 days is inspiration enough to eat the toast dry. I can't afford the butter.

So I have decided I am going to start my own line of music, my own corruption of the phrase "griller sans la buerre: the toast without butter."

This is what my life has come to.