Monday, August 31, 2009
Now I wasn't expecting those heedlessly entertaining Basterds to rake in "Transformers Dollars" by any stretch of the imagination. (Talk about an Apocalyptic sign. Wonder if Bay is aware that he sold his soul to the Devil for that one?) But I was hoping it would at least win this lackluster weekend.
But NO. Not during these dark times. The better movie hardly ever wins anymore. And the tragedy is not only did it lose the weekend, but it lost it to this BAM ("Barely A Movie"). THE FINAL DESTINATION "3-D" not only has the performance quality of a kindergarten play (Bobby Campo, Shantel VanSanten, Nick Zano, and Haley Webb's portrayals of The Squirrel, The Rabbit, The Tree, and The Bolder are a bit lacking), but the special effects were so weak that I wanted to scoop up the chocolate sauce they were using for blood and pour it on my Dibbs.
As my sagacious viewing companion pointed out, "This movie is like 'Ed Wood bad.'" But I think even Mr. Wood would take offense to that comparison. At least PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE and GLEN OR GLENDA offer some contribution to cinema history (and great fodder for a brilliant Tim Burton exploration). Despite earning the esteemed title of "Worst Filmmaker of All Time," there's a love of cinema hidden in Ed Wood's terrible camera work and cue-card acting that David R. Ellis just didn't achieve. In fact, the only actual entertainment value in this film is the hilarity of seeing shots meant for 3-D in 2-D. (Even the deaths were only chuckle-worthy and not nearly as inventive and clever as some of the franchise's previous slayings.)
I'm SO glad I was drunk for that one.
But I blame myself for this whole weekend debacle. I do. And not with the same pride that I take in OTHER signs of the Apocalypse. I didn't review INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS last week. I didn't give it that little word-of-blog push that it clearly needed. I didn't tell YOU, all of our many readers, to run, run, RUN NOW to the theaters to see what could be Tarantino's finest work since Travolta and Thurman twisted up the dance floor at Jack Rabbit Slims. (Protest ALLLLL you want, Kill Bill Lovers. You know it's true.)
theater and make sure this horrible disaster never happens again! (Or at least next week.) Even if you question Brad Pitt's crazy accent or why all the Basterds are name actors that we barely see, you will be so blissfully happy that you witnessed the superb acting skills of one Christoph Waltz and one Melanie Laurent. (Talk about an Honorary Horsewoman! We should just give the girl a flame thrower right now and call it a day.) And as always, Tarantino's unparalleled vignette artistry keeps each "chapter" filled with humor that is only matched by the extreme tension in every moment. You will not be disappointed. Well, you might be. But that's the mark of a good Tarantino film, isn't it? Its ability to totally polarize an audience? At the very least, don't you want to join the debates?
Oh, and PS: THE Final Destination got it WRONG. The "real Final Destination" is Denver. Discuss.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
While Miss Roberts has committed many fearsome acts of Horsewomanly awesomeness in the past 20 years, it was my early morning viewing of the pre-apocalyptic masterpiece MYSTIC PIZZA that inspire the giving of this particular honor.
MYSTIC PIZZA is a perfect specimen of 1980's era film making. Big hair, dashing love interests (including an almost unrecognizably young Vincent D'Onofrio), a blindingly obvious moral (don't date married dudes, no matter how much they know about astronomy), and a heart of gold, make this one that just never gets old (even when Lili Taylor's neon green cropped pants do).
The crowning moment of this movie, and, in this Horsewoman's opinion, the moment in which Miss Roberts first showed Horsewomanly potential, is the scene in which Daisy Arujo, played by Miss Roberts, dumps a BARREL OF FISH GUTS into her rich boyfriend's convertible when she thinks he's cheating on her. The fact that it turns out that he's just out for dinner with his sister doesn't make this any less than a truly apocalyptic level moment of decisive action.
So, Miss Roberts, we salute you for a career of playing women with backbone, attitude and awesome fashion sense:
Bearing in mind some of the rules of thumb handed down from other online daters we picked a visually dynamic location, Denver:
Friday, August 28, 2009
WTF Emmerich!?!?!?!? All of our hard work plotting, planning, and bringing about the apocalypse and you just totally CUT US OUT OF THE PICTURE?!?!?!? Not a single Horsewoman to be seen in these! Mother effer. I bet we end up on cutting room floor too. "Starring roles" my ass.
(*Thanks to MAK9 for the poster images. MAK9 is an expert Poster Critic, with much experience working for a Movie Poster Company that shall not be named.)
First, I go to work on the menu. My thoughts drift back to happier, less doom and gloomy times when I could serve up a lovely poached salmon or a nice Duck Breast with Frisée Salad and Port Vinaigrette. But I quickly shake them off. Mustn’t live in the past! I’ve been scavenging the “markets” with End Of Daisy all week looking for something to make tonight’s party a little extra special. I couldn't just serve the usual Spam and Tang combo. No, this time I found THE perfect non-perishable to serve: Tac Bac – Tactical Canned Bacon! This stuff will get you through the best of times AND the worst of times.
Now that I’ve opened the bacon and set it out to “breath,” I go about setting the table. I cannot WAIT to use these amazing place settings I found while pillaging what’s left of the local Crate and Barrel. Most of
My wine rack is empty thanks to a very successful Thirsty Thursday (hence the hangover), so I’m going to have to run out and grab a few bottles. But first I’ll visit our good friend, Robert Sharker for his advice about what wine goes best with Tac Bac.
I switch out all my day-to-day candles for the "fancy candles" (Electricity what? Not since the Waveries arrived) and then select my dinner music. Some classic Duran Duran, the soundtrack to THE ROAD, and some Nick Cave, will set tonight’s mood. I have some dancing music on standby in case Conquest and War are feeling groovy later – apocalyptic funk, Sinatra and Madonna, because those never die. I hope their dates like to dance, because I’m afraid Miss Death is bringing Mr. Grim Reaper, and he’s a total buzz kill when it comes to dancing. He’s all left feet, tripping on his robe, knocking people around with his scythe…
Overall, I think this is going to be a successful dinner party! I even have some back up dishes incase some other friends decide to stop by. I have fresh monkey brains for the zombies and steak tartar for the vamps – and a brand new recipe for delicious Blood Fudge for dessert!
I can’t wait!
"The Apocalypse is nature’s way of saying, 'Let’s Party!'"
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Today a very astute and safety-minded friend brought to my attention this incredibly useful ZOMBIE EMERGENCY KIT (pictured below).
Now, I don't know how this slipped by the girls and me, but this is too important to ignore. After all, after "party," "fun," and "fashion," THE key word of the Apocalypse is "SAFETY." We all know about fire safety, and earthquake kits to store in your car, and bunkers for BOTH tornadoes and nuclear fall out. But now it's time to step it up. I'm making it my personal mission to get one or more of these Zombie Emergency Kits installed in every home and public building. Can you imagine sending your children to school without knowing that they're properly protected from an invading zombie army? Never! What if you're minding your business in your own hovel when a zombie breaks into your kitchen and steals your pot roast AND tries to eat your brains? Then what?
Don't be vulnerable for one more minute! Visit our brand-spanking-new Facebook page (yeah, you read that right) to sign our petition to make it mandatory to have one of these puppies in every building.
Home is where the blood red, beating organs lie,
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
That's right, kids. The Horsewomen have leaped into the future. You can now follow us and all of our crazy Doomsday antics on TWITTER!
Click here to follow the loveliest ladies this side of Hades!
I'm on a bit of a movie kick this week. It's been (fire) rainy all week and I'm in the mood to cuddle up with some good movies and movie trailers. D9 left my feathers a bit ruffled, but I was calmed and soothed upon seeing the trailer for Legion.
What calmed and soothed me? Well I've seen this movie before. I loved it the first time it was released under the name Constantine.
Ok, that's a bit harsh. Legion appears to address my favorite apocalyptic approach (Biblical), thus addressing the extermination of evil mankind by angels. In this story, we find that God has grown tired of our antics and has decided to wipe the slate clean and start fresh. He sends his angels to perform said extermination, and of course we find ourselves in the midst of a rogue angel who intends to save the unborn baby savior from extinction.
Thereby we come across some fundamental flaws here.
1. God is omniscient. All knowing. He HAD to know there was an unborn baby savior in that waitresses womb. He had to know a rogue angel was going to put up a sexy fight (thank you, Paul Bettany) and he had to know that with Randy Quaid driving this crazy train, the day is bound to be saved. (Hello? Day After Tomorrow?)
Reasons to see this film in 2010:
It may give you some pointers on surviving the Biblical apocalypse.
It has some pretty bad ass CGI demon angels.
Reasons NOT to see this film in 2010:
You'll see it in reruns on TBS in 2011
Constantine had Keanu and Gavin (cat sound) Rossdale. Legion has Randy Quaid and the pale Paul Bettany. Winner? Constantine.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Oh Neill Blomkamp… I know you have all sorts of pent up apartheid angst, and much to say about your native land in this metaphorical political movie masquerading as an alien sci-fi action flick. Yes, D9 is “smart.” Yes, it’s “gritty and realistic.” Yes, it says a lot about Apartheid South Africa. And yes, it made even ME shield my evil eyes at times. (The plucking off of decaying fingernails made my manicure hurt, and a girl can only take so much juicy, squishy, slimy alien guts flying about!) Bravo, Mr. Blomkamp. You made a Horsewoman squeamish. Bravo.
Is DISTRICT 9 “good?” Sure. It's well made and there's an inventive sense of a reverse-monster movie here. The Aliens are not the monsters in D9. Humans are. How clever. Humans = monstrous. Never would have thought of that.
But that is not the point of this review. As a “First Contact” film… is it accurate?
The REAL first contact wasn’t nearly as depressing as was depicted in D9. Hell, the movie even skipped the “Welcome to Earth!” party we threw for the aliens in the Colosseum. Come on! I mean, I know I can only remember HALF of that party. (Conquest thought it’d be REALLY funny to slip me a roofie – no more watching THE HANGOVER for YOU, Conquest!) But the Girls and I worked long and hard on that party, and to “pretend” like it didn’t happen, why that’s not only RUDE… it’s just plain crazy! That’s like pretending Hitler was killed in a movie theater by a Frenchwoman and a bunch of bastards! I know you had very important things to say, Mr. Blomkamp, but if you’re going to pick a historically pivotal moment to build your film around, at least get it RIGHT.
1.) The 1st ship did not hover over Johannesburg, South Africa. It parked itself right above a Wal-Mart in Wichita.
2.) All of the “ruling/upper” class had not been killed off by some mysterious, non-descript illness (talk about a cop-out). Instead, they greeted us willingly and introduced us to their awesome fashion sense and wickedly advanced (and ALSO fashion-forward) communication technology (something like using an iPhone to do a Vulcan Mind Meld).
3.) Catfood?? No no no no no no. Mr. Spielberg’s guess was more accurate than Mr. Blomkamp’s. The REAL aliens found candy and soda WAY more appetizing than CATFOOD. They’re also big fans of spicy beef goulash served with a nice glass of 1999 Clos des Lambrays Grand Cru Pinot Noir.
(*This “Goulash Revelation” is the reason Wolfgang Puck became the #2 most important person of the Apocalypse. Right after Will Smith. Of Course.)
4.) Catfood??? (Part 2) No no no no no no! The alien drug of choice is CLEARLY cocaine. Get it right people. Sometimes they dabble in E, but only at parties really.
5.) The first Alien-Human hybrid did not result from some slow-on-the-uptake dude spraying himself in the face with a can of Alien Hairspray-Fuel, cleverly named “MacGuffin.” It happened the way all genetic hybrids happen: MATING. Aren’t we glad that the REAL aliens are WAY hotter than the Prawns of D9? It makes for MUCH cuter alien-human babies.
Overall DISTRICT 9 is worth the price of the ticket, but not something I ever want to see again. The historical inaccuracies were just too much for me.
Peace, Love, and Mai Tais,
I do apologize in advance for the amount of times I'm about the type the word "poon." If you prefer another word for my favorite part of the female anatomy, by all means, feel free to export this, find, and replace with another word. Might I suggest "hoo-hoo, box, La-La, vag," or for those of you who have a proper name for yours, feel free to add that in. Mine is named "Reginald."
Let's briefly discuss a different approach to dating. I get emails from girlfriends all the time asking "why don't these apocalyptic boys stay with me, want to date me, dump me, deny me, etc. I mean, we ARE the last girls on Earth!"
The answer is: These girls just don't understand the value of their poon real estate.
It's all about being selective in the poon real estate market.
Steps to establishing your poon real estate market value:
1. Am I a beautiful, independent, intelligent woman of remarkable being who survived the apocalypse? (answer: yes)
Than we can safely establish that your poon real estate market value is $1,000,000.
2. Repeat poon real estate market value to yourself 20-30 times per day. This is your mantra.
"My poon is worth $1,000,000. My poon is worth $1,000,000."
Now, for every zombie/vampire/werewolf/soldier of fortune that comes your way looking for a date, you run a credit check on him.
Determine his value in terms of personality, loyalty, devotion, charm, wit, love, looks, and anything else you desire in a perfect man-being.
Does his credit check put him into the $1,000,000 category?
Yes? Proceed with dating.
No? You can ignore those phone calls. He'll get the hint.
Maybe? "Well, he rated a $999,999." NO! He did not score a perfect $1,000,000. He's out.
Believe in the value of yourself and your poon and let this be the way you date. Don't ever take the approach that you are "just lucky to have a date, any date!"
Own the poon ladies. Believe in its increasing value. Realize that YOU determine the going rate of your poon and do NOT settle for anyone who falls short of it's value.
And be aware, ladies of the apocalypse, that the poon real estate bubble will never burst. I don't care if they ARE the last males on Earth. We can still afford to be selective!
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
But my recent failures have only fueled my fantasies about how this world of disaster might actually HELP my love life. So this afternoon I’m going to take a breather from the real dating world and instead dive into the REEL dating world. As I lie back on my reupholstered lounge chair that Miss Famine so kindly rescued and restored for me, and take a sip of my Toxic Waste Martini, I imagine being saved from a giant tsunami and whisked away to safety by one of these FIVE hunky apocalyptic fighter pilots:
#5. Maverick – While Maverick’s hotshot, high flying skills haven’t been tested since Pre-Apocalyptic times, I wouldn’t think twice about take a ride with him right into the Danger Zone!
#4. Malcolm (Mal) Reynolds – The yummy “Firefly” hero only had one short season to show us his stuff – but boy was he made of some delicious rebellious charm served up with a side of quotable snarktastic remarks. With Mal at the helm, you’ll never have to worry about being eaten by an evil Reaver.
(*Note: One of the reasons The Fox Network didn’t survive the Apocalypse was because they canceled God Whedon’s work of genius. Just sayin.)
#3. Han Solo – The ORIGINAL Apocalyptic Fighter Pilot. ‘Nuff said.
“You like me because I'm a scoundrel. There aren't enough scoundrels in your life.”
Indeed there aren’t, Han. Indeed there aren’t…
#2. Harry S. Stamper COMBINED with Korben Dallas – Yes, I KNOW Stampler is an oil driller. And Korben Dallas is a cab driver (and former soldier, might I remind you!). But with asteroid showers on the rise, and Evil dooers like Mr. Zorg running as rampant as Reavers these days, if you put the two together, there’s no one sexier, I mean better, to save the world...
#1. Captain Steve Hiller – Except THIS GUY. Now, Will Smith has made a career out of saving the world - at least three times from aliens, once from zombies, and once from robots. And don’t forget about his stint as a gen-u-ine superhero. In fact, this man has saved so many lives that he IS the first step in surviving the Apocalypse. He’s not only big, strong, handsome and impossibly charming… he’s gosh darn Armageddon-PROOF.
But Captain Steve Hiller? Well, when he punches out that final alien and lights up his cigar, you won’t even care that the fat lady is hitting those high C’s because you’ll be safe in his arms, watching the world burn around you.
And THAT is why he’s our #1 Apocalyptic Fighter Pilot.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Vegas. Modern Day. Post-Apocalypse. To be fair, it only got better after the End of Days came about. This weekend, if you happened to be in Las Vegas, you would have gotten to meet the infamous Four Horsewomen and their eight boobs of the Apocalypse.
Now I've been to Vegas before, but I was much, much younger. Vegas in 500 B.C. was still the party spot, but I was a child and unable to really get down.
This time however, I am older. Wiser. Far more developed, breastily speaking. And as anyone who has ever been to Vegas will tell you, boobs are the key to the kingdom.
While the full recap of our adventures together will have to wait until later (I do have an Apocalyptic day job, you know. Souls aren't going to torture themselves.) I will say, we had a bit of a life changing time out there.
Don't worry, this wasn't some crazed clothing optional event. Clothing wasn't an option at all. And besides the hot zombie club jumpers, the cockroaches and the hot desert sand, we found ourselves in the midst of something far more unsettling than nuclear burns. We found Pauly Shore.
We had, that very morning, been discussing his highly acclaimed acting career. So irony had a quick layover in town when suddenly, amongst the topless zombie sunbathers at the VIP Pool, Pauly Shore made his way through the crowd.
Oh. Shit. Buh-dy.
Let me say this first and foremost. I love me some Pauly Shore movies. Biodome, Son-in-Law and Encino Man are my deep, dark, dirty movie affairs. But the reason Pauly Shore survived the apocalypse was immediately clear to everyone. He's a fucking douchebag.
Not just a regular, run-of-the-mill celebrity douchebag. But a legit post-apocalyptic douchebag, complete with douchey bandana and douchey sneer.
Pauly Shore is the type of guy who Googles himself and writes his own Wikipedia entry. He is thoroughly unimpressed with everyone around him at all times and you cannot overlook the sense of undeserved entitlement he carries. Pauly Shore and cockroaches survived the apocalypse on the mere basis that no one cared if they lived or died.
I realize I'm being harsh. I'm just bitter that he didn't even GLANCE at my post-apocalyptic rack. I mean, my girls were standing at attention and saluting, and nothing?
Well fine, Pauly Shore. Have it your way. We could have made out. Check out my fresh nugs, weasin' the juice. We could have chowed down and munched on some grindage!
Monday, August 17, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
As War already mentioned, we Horsewomen are participating in the great time honored summer tradition this weekend – THE WEEKEND GETAWAY.
Back before the Dark Times, the weekend getaway was my FAVORITE type of vacation. Spontaneous, short, and destined to be jam packed full of fun and memories. Whether it was an impromptu road trip to Wine Country or the Hamptons, or a crazy weekend in Vegas NOTHING beat a weekend getaway.
Well, since the Apocalypse, the term “getaway” has changed a little bit. While it can still spark the excitement of that girls’ weekend in Cabo, sometimes the “getaway” is just THAT – getting away. And FAST. When the mutant army is banging down your door, or the floods are rising in your basements, or the rain of fiery sulfur is burning a fast hole in your roof, you’re going to need to make a quick escape. And who knows when or IF you’ll ever return. So here are a few tips on how to pack so you'll be prepared for that luxury resort weekend that has every possibility of turning into a permanent hideout.
First, you’ll want to keep your adorable weekender packed and ready to go. The responsible apocalyptic survivor keeps it easily in reach by the front door. And because you never know where you'll end up or how long you'll be gone, only pack what you will absolutely need, which is not so easy these days with the drastic climate changes.
Say you’ve fled a zombie invasion and are headed down to Mexico (or what’s left of it). You’ll need to be prepared to wake up to a blistery 140 degree morning – so a light cotton sundress, and airy sandals are all you’ll need. Well, those and your super-sunblock. And maybe a hat.
But when the acid rain starts falling, make sure you have sturdy rain boots and a compact umbrella. Preferably one lined with lead.
And we all know that there are some days that the sun just doesn’t rise. Or maybe an earthquake ripped your apart your coastline and you’ve got to book it up to Canada before the aftershocks sweep you away. You’re DEFINITELY going to want some protection against those cold, -75 degree, Canadian Nights stashed somewhere in that bag.
We all know that when you want to get more out of an outfit, mix it up with accessories! Why not carry something fashionable AND practical? Remember, you certainly don't want your merry night on the town ruined by a swarm of zombies that you can't fight off. If you've chosen your accessories wisely, you can take care of those pests while still looking great! Hidden in your getaway bag, you’ll want a solid, reliable, 9mm for day time, but something a little flashier for night. Guns not your style? Nothing classes up an outfit like a gleaming cutlass, and a thin rapier will do the trick without adding unwanted pounds to your weekender.
So pack smart. Pack light. And pack NOW!
We’re going to VEGAS, BABY!
Ta ta and to die for,
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Well that's a bit dramatic. Her name is Sheila. She and I have been through a lot. Riding through a rain of fire and brimstone is no small feat. Tack on the screaming agony of the masses and you've got the perfect recipe for a migraine and a cranky pony.
She deserves some time away, and frankly, so do I. Lucky for us, all Four Horsewomen have plans this weekend to descend upon the vapid wasteland that is Las Vegas. To be fair, after the apocalypse, Vegas only got better.
Ever seen Stephen King's The Stand? Well good old S.K. nailed it. Vegas post-apocalypse is bigger, better and badder than ever and the and girls and I intend to show it no mercy as we celebrate a Bachelorette Party for a close friend. In short, there will be death, destruction, chaos and boobs. We can't lose!
Updates this weekend will be slim to none. We will be indulging wildly in the 7 Deadly Sins, starting with sloth and gluttony (Pool Boy! Bring me another Mai Tai!)
Topless sunbathing is a must, although that skinny bitch Death is sure to bring out the envy in all of us. There will be bloodshed, debauchery, and apocalyptic escapades. We will recap it all. So sit tight, little doomsayers. THIS wil be a weekend to remember....
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Miss Famine here. Ah, Mondays. It’s so hard to get going after the weekend isn’t it? And particularly after a weekend of hosting. I had the girls over on Saturday for a good old-fashioned dinner party at the hovel (more on the menu later). After dinner we settled in for some party games and we realized we were a bit tired of the usual – we’ve gone through all of the Apples to Rotten Apples cards, Charades gets old when Miss War chooses the SAME thing to act out every single time (sounds like: “Rapocalypse Cow”), and Conquest is constantly cheating at Hearts. And then End of Daisy stopped by and she has well…she has some losing…issues. So we tried to find a fresh, non-competition based game to play, and after some time on the Google, we discovered this amazing and glorious new website:
Choose Your Own Apocalypse!
Now I swear to you, we are not affiliated with this website at all, but boy did we play this game for HOURS. I felt like a little kid again reading a Choose Your Own Adventure book, but it was like this website was tapping into everything I am thinking right now! You just choose five possible causes for the Apocalypse (it’s fun to play make believe even though we already know what REALLY caused the end of days), and then the site tells you what kind of Apocalypse stems from those causes. The results were very telling as well!
For example I chose: Swine Flu, bottled water, obesity, pesticides, and antibiotic resistance, and apparently I’m a bloodthirsty misanthrope! Who knew!?
Miss War went in a much more…technological direction and chose: Media Piracy, The Matrix, Neo-Humans, Geoengineering, and something called a …Supercolider? And she’s a humanitarian internationalist! Ironically, in Miss War’s apocalypse…humans have a higher likelihood of surviving than in mine. I scoff at that.
Then Death went all “fire and brimstone” on us with natural disasters (except for “diet” of course) like: Floods, rising sea levels, hurricanes, ice age, and diets. She’s a Gaia-hating doomsayer.
Conquest decided she needed to expand her rolodex and wanted to meet something new and exciting so she chose: Alien invasion, modified organisms, space debris, and alien species and she was named a fretful doomsayer. Well, she is.
And to nobody’s surprise, Daisy chose: The Rapture, Isolation of Elites, Geographical Sorting, Wealth Gap, and Texas Succession and was too crowned a humanitarian internationalist.
All in all, this game is hands down our new fave. A barrel of fun, say the Four Horsewomen! Give it a try! But it’s addictive. Don’t say I didn’t warn you…
Saturday, August 8, 2009
During one of those annoying “invasion” weekends, I opted to stay inside for obvious reasons, and discovered that the CN was playing a SCOOBY DOO marathon. 14 hours later, I realized how relevant that show is to real life, now more than ever. And I think the CN knew that too! They weren’t just entertaining me! They were trying to SAVE ME! So this is what I learned:
6. SCOOBY SNACKS: Always have rations.
You never know when you’ll be locked in a trap door basement or secret passageway, stuck in a van, or lost in a mineshaft. A box of Scooby snacks, pocket-pizza, or compact picnic basket full of sandwiches will DEFINITELY come in handy.
5. INCREASE YOUR SPEED: A good 70’s song always makes a good chase montage go much faster. Running from ghosts and ghouls was never more entertaining. AND it often inspires creative hiding places. Which brings me to # 4 –
4. BLENDING IN. Zombies and ghosts have notoriously bad eyesight. When in doubt, disguise yourself as a wax figure or a statue, hide behind a painting with eye holes, or jump in a basket or vase (there will be enough for all of you, and all in the right sizes, promise!).
3. SOMETIMES THAT ZOMBIE IS JUST A LOOTER IN DISGUISE
This one speaks for itself. If it IS just a looter, pick up the nearest chair and whack him in the face and take your stuff back (probably some sort of deed to an old plantation or aforementioned mineshaft. Sometimes a roller rink.).
2. THE IMPORTANCE OF A SCOOBY GANG
There’s safety in numbers, folks. And in these darkest of times there’s no one we rely on more than our friends.
1. ALWAYS HAVE A DOG!
This isn’t just a Scooby rule, this is THE #1 rule of the Apocalypse! Those friendly pups never die, and chances are, if you’re dog’s best friend, neither will you! (Also helps if they can talk, then they become even BETTER companions!)
Friday, August 7, 2009
It breaks my heart to think just because of all this Apocalypse nonsense, all form of class and elegance, beauty and taste, goes right out the window. And so, I lament the loss of the little things. For instance, as I partook of my afternoon promenade (as I do every Tuesday afternoon, as mother did before me, and my grandmother before her) , I noticed a young lady not one block from my home wearing sandals with stockings. Open-toed sandals with stockings! I never! As if that weren’t enough of a faux pas, I regret to inform you the stockings themselves were almost certainly of the dime-store variety, their hue a vulgar shade of taupe. I know in these trying times, with the zombies and the mutants and the roving Mad Max-style motorcycle gangs, such a breech in good taste is hardly worth a second thought--- and yet, I was awake all night thinking about those toes encased like little sausages under a gaudy sheen. If we allow the young ladies of this country (however fractured at the moment by rampant earthquakes, turf wars, and forbidden zones) to parade around with open-toed shoes and stockings, what’s next?
We simply must cling to our traditions of refinement and I, for one, am doing my part. When a nice young man offered to carry my bag home from the market (my friends and I habitually refer to the abandoned lots and former dumps where we scrounge for food as “markets” ), I not only expressed my gratitude in person, I also copied out a lovely thank you note on my monogrammed stationary. Unfortunately, I was unable to deliver the note due to the young man’s sudden disappearance (he was either carried off by a flash flood or eaten by one of those nuclear alligators), but it’s the thought that counts.
Additionally, I have begun to horde and embroider small scraps of cloth to be used as the requisite linens at my annual Winter Tea. A few acquaintances have employed paper napkins (and plastic cups!) at their summer soirees, but my closest friends and I have agreed in the name of tradition to do as our proud Southern ancestors have done for generations: we will go to absurd lengths to preserve the appearance of wealth and gentility. And so I continue to stitch by candle light and guard my grandmother’s crystal punch bowl (the only piece of family crystal not to shatter when that giant asteroid disrupted the Earth’s gravitational pull) with my grandfather’s equally-precious antique silver musket. I have, as of yet, refrained from yanking down my drapes to forge a ball gown--- but I would never rule out the possibility (although most of my window dressings have been singed by acid rain and the occasional well-aimed grenade).
Make no mistake, these are times of great upheaval and change. But I implore all modern girls attempting to navigate this often confusing, sometimes exhilarating post-apocalyptic world not to relinquish all brand of taste, class, and elegance. If you do devolve into a sandal-and-stockings-wearing-unmannered-uncouth-Yankee-loving philistine, don’t be surprised when your social calendar remains as vacant as your gaze and the country club (we plan to start reseeding the greens as soon as all those quarantined super-flu victims near the fourteenth hole can be relocated) ignores your application.
Until next time, remember, tomorrow is another day…maybe.
End of Daisy
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
What is the Apocalypse if not a really bad ass party? How will you throw down and get your groove on this End of Days Eve? Let me offer you a few suggestions for a great Top Ten Party Mix:
10. Livin' On a Prayer - Bon Jovi
You bet your sweet ass you are. Good luck making it to tomorrow!
9. Every Breath You Take - The Police
...might be your last. Enjoy them while you can!
8. Maneater - Nelly Furtado
To all my zombies out there, whatWHAT!
7. Ain't That a Kick in the Head - Dean Martin
Not the most accurate way to kill a zombie, but classy!
6. Dig Lazarus Dig! - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Nick Cave has been warning you for years about the dark things that come in the night to steal you away.
6. Heaven is a Place on Earth - Belinda Carlisle
Highly debatable, but I guess for some it is (eh hem, the aliens who feed on human brain stems.)
5. Hell - Squirrel Nut Zippers
This was my theme song when I started the great war that ended it all. It got me PUMPED!
4. S.O.S. - Rihanna
Love the song but why bother screaming for help? No one's coming to rescue you.
3. Hurt - Johnny Cash
Yeah, having your flesh torn from your bones probably fits into this category.
2. Re: Your Brains - Jonathan Coulton
Here's an FYI...you're all gonna die screaming. But no one's gonna eat your eyes.
1. Like a Prayer - Madonna
Because Madonna is immortal and cannot be destroyed. We've tried.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
But that is rather beside the point.
Once the newly painted piece of furniture is fully dry, its ready to be reassembled. As long as you're sure to replace hinges, latches and handles in the same pre-drilled holes you removed them from, you'll be sure everything is properly aligned. Just to be extra sure that you're not replacing anything in a crooked fashion, screw all of your parts in loosely first, then tighten each screw so that you can be sure they are all square to each other.
I did, and just LOOK how beautifully it turned out:
Next time on Brightening the Hovel -- creating your own kitchen garden. So useful now that the local farmers market is run by the Umbrella Corporation!