Ho, Kamelfurzegoj!

The title is Esperanto for "Oh, Giant Camel Farts!", and you can learn to say that and lots more that shouldn't be spoken in polite company over at How to Talk Dirty in Esperanto. Warning though, "dirty" means extremely dirty.

Thanks to Zoe Brain for the pointer.

Movie Review: Fido

Note: this was originally posted over at the old place. I'll be moving the Cult Flicks category over a little at a time and this seemed a good place to start.

Fido is a sweet, funny, heartwarming and nostalgic look at the world back in the 1950's, just after the zombies attacked.

Think of this as a cross between Night of the Living Dead and Leave It To Beaver to get a general feel for the movie. As for the look, it's reminiscent of Edward Scissorhands, although greatly toned down from the pastel hell that Ed was.

The Robinson's are the only family on their block that don't own their own zombie, and status-conscious Mrs. Robinson is bound and determined to do something about that. When she finally orders one, Timmy and the zombie (whom he names Fido) become fast friends.

Of course, even the most domesticated zombie can still be dangerous, and that's where the problems begin. Through it all, we're treated to a family becoming closer than ever thanks to love, acceptance and the undead.

Ok, that's enough dancing around the plot. Despite the fact that in a very real way this is a family movie, Fido also features some blood and mild gore. It is, after all, a movie about zombies. There are disturbing scenes and some parts of these people's lives that are genuinely scary, but it's perfectly balanced by some of the most delightful situations and funniest writing I've experienced in a long time. We actually had to stop the movie once because we were laughing our asses off.

Believe it or not, actor Billy Connolly manages to give Fido a full range of emotions and motivations, making you care for him despite the fact that he never falls out of his zombie persona.

If you've ever wanted to introduce someone to horror movies, this is about the most gentle way I can imagine. It's what the Donna Reed Show would've been like if they added all the classic horror elements, and that, my friends, is excellence. Good enough to go straight to the top of my "to buy" list.

Fido. See it. Seriously.

Winner And New Champeeeeeen!

Over at Q&O, my new pick for best comment ever, in regards to new Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin:

VPILF?

Did I Mention?

Daughter Robyn is due on Halloween. Little girl, her name will be Lorelei.

In honor of this auspicious occasion, I've put a poll up at the top of the sidebar. Choose what my future "grandfather" name shall be. Vote early. Vote often. 'Tis the season.

I'm going to be a grandfather.

Reason #489,677,312 Why I Love The Internet

Things like this.

Thanks to LeeAnn for the pointer.

Getting It Completely Wrong - As Usual

Here's what the news story says:

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti (AP) - Hurricane Gustav grew rapidly as it closed in on impoverished Haiti on Tuesday, and sent global oil prices soaring on fears it could become "extremely dangerous" in the Gulf of Mexico.

Here's what the news story means:

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti (AP) - Hurricane Gustav grew rapidly as it closed in on impoverished Haiti on Tuesday, and sent global oil prices soaring on [the chance that] it could become "extremely dangerous" in the Gulf of Mexico.

Not "fears". On "expectations", or "speculations", or even "hopes" for sure, but certainly not because of fear.

Economics 101, way over the head of Journalism 101.

Flu

Yech, I'd rather be at work than feel like this.

Not Surprised

Your result for The Hockey Role Test...

The Goalie

20% Playmaker, 40% Goal-scorer, 30% Stay-at-home, 30% Rusher and 70% Goalie!

You're quick, dependable, and comfortable in solitude. On a hockey team, you'd be the Goalie, the rock of the club. Capable of deciding the outcome of a game all on your own, you are the most important piece of the puzzle for any hockey team. Chances are you're a little quirky, too.

Jose Theodore is certainly a goalie. (So is Evgeni Nabokov, Bucko! -- Ted)

Thanks to Nic for the pointer!

Take The Hockey Role Test at HelloQuizzy

Ahhhh, the Joys of Starting Over

Blogger really does suck. Change the template, start from scratch. But, and this is huge to me at the moment, I have seen zero spam here. I can deal for now.

Even the links in previous posts are toast. Jeez. Oops, looks like this template defaulted to have the links look completely like ordinary text... that will be changed toot sweet.

Leaking With Style

Pretty damn cool:

Thanks to Mike Wilson for the pointer.

By the way, this marks the first time ever that I've embedded a video on Rocket Jones. Not because I'm stupid, but because I'm stubborn. Principled doesn't always mean right.

Check it out, looks like a Jeep dealership has one too.

Another One For My "Things to Avoid Before I Die" List

Courtesy of Random Nuclear Strikes, this link to the wikipedia entry for Caminito del Rey (the king's little pathway), which is pretty cool by itself, but you'll freak at the video this guy took as he walked the path (at the first link above).

Linkses

Since I'm up at this unholy hour of 3am (stomach bug, you don't want details)(and yes, it's 3am despite what blogspot claims, their clock function is whack), I've updated the blogroll somewhat. It's still a completely automated pain in the ass to do this, so if you're not there, don't worry, you will make it eventually. Unless I read your blog by clicking through on another site or read you on my aggregator (Wizz RSS - I like it), in which case I might not think to add you. But I probably will, eventually. Depends on the workload and whether I'm sundownning or not I suppose.

More Anecdotal Evidence Of My Awesomeness

One: My son TJ attended a gaming convention of some sort a couple of weeks ago (Indianapolis maybe?). Anyway, there was someone there at a table full of B-movies and horror goodies. As my family has been conditioned to do, TJ automatically stopped to look over the display and got into a conversation with the proprietor. TJ mentioned that I watched a lot of cult cinema and wrote reviews about them online, and when he told the guy about "Rocket Jones", the response was "Wow, your dad is Rocket Jones?!?!?!"

Oh yeah, I rock.

Two: There are several ladies at Mary Baldwin College who "religiously" read Rocket Jones every day. Note the quotes. I won't go so far as to say that Rocket Jones is the official blog of that woman's college... Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I'm going to claim that!

So there you have it. Name drop "Rocket Jones" in any social circle and you will get adulation from the guys, and religious-like devotion from college-age women. Just another service I provide.

Bonding With Song

On Friday Night, Rachael and I went to the ballgame - it was "hat night", Yay Hats! - and as we entered the ballpark we were singing:

Dad: I love the ballgames.
Rachael: I love the home runs.
Dad: I love the hot dogs.
Rachael: I love to watch the butts.
Together: Boom da-yada, boom da-yada, boom da-yada...

In case you're not in on the giggles, check it out here.

That One! No, That One! Or Maybe That One! Wait...

The Lake Elsinore Storm* have one of the coolest hats in baseball, and when you visit their webstore to decide which one you want, you just keep scrolling and scrolling and scrolling...


*California League, Class A, in a division with Rancho Cucamonga, High Desert, Inland Empire, and boring ol' Lancaster.

I'm Not Much of a Drinker, but I Do Love Me Some Breakfast

A recipe, on how to infuse your bourbon with the taste of good, smoky bacon.

Movie Idea

I thought of this great concept to introduce a whole new generation of fans to horror movies.



Hannabal Montana




Yes, my photoshop skills suck big sweaty donkey balls, and no, I don't care enough to try harder. Stop being so hyper-critical and enjoy it anyway. Sheesh.

Minor Bitchin'

One of the things that the new Blogger does is automate everything. Good for the newbie or the person who doesn't want to deal with the nuts 'n' bolts of the website, but bad for those of us who do occasionally tinker under the hood.

My gripe o' the moment is that I can't just import my old link list. There's a handy template generator that lets you do them quick and easy. One. At. A. Time.

I need to poke around a little more and find all the trapdoors to the dungeon. This happy, helpful and friendly crap is gonna aggravate the hell outta me.

A Care Package That Really Cares

During WWII, a little known place called Fort Hunt was heavily involved in the effort to help American POW's escape from the Germans. Much of this effort was done via "care" packages.

The baseballs, pipes and cribbage boards inside the packages had been crafted at
Fort Hunt. They contained hidden compartments.
"Put into these special
packages under these fake foundations were compasses, saws, escape maps, other
items such as pairs of wire cutters," LaClair says."

Several POW's managed to successfully escape with the assistance of these care packages. And there was some serious assistance included.

The cribbage board — as you moved the pieces you could listen to the channels of
the BBC. The deck of playing cards, if you steamed the pieces apart, in between
each card would be a little piece of a silk escape map," says Bies.

Somehow, the Germans never caught on to just how big an operation this was. It wasn't a one-way effort either, because a code was developed for passing intelligence *both ways* via letters "to home".

"I remember growing up in the 1960s, my father loved [the TV show] Hogan's
Heroes," says Peter Bedini, whose father Silvio served at Fort Hunt. "Especially
when they were hiding radios in coffee pots and things like that. He used to
say, 'You know, that's not too far off from what really happened.'"

Hogan's Heroes as documentary. Heh.

Bloodthirsty Little Bastards

I've had many pets over the years. Dogs, cats, birds, hamsters, lizards, you name it. Had a roommate once with a pet tarantula. But of all the critters I've shared accomodations with, none have been so ferociously vicious as rabbits.

Done laughing?

Rabbits are Lagomorphs, but we call them cutesy names like "bunnies" to conceal their true nature, that of fanged bloodlusting devils. They pretend to be meek and mild, but put two of them together and look out, you're liable to have blood splattered walls in short order.

We have three house rabbits. Fred and Java are a bonded pair, and Ozzie is an unattached buck. We tried several times to bond Oz, but in each case beligerence soon won out over romance, and bunnies hold a grudge!

Pet a bunny and they feel so soft and cuddly, but if you look and feel carefully, you'll find scars from old battles, and ragged flesh along the edges of ears, where chunks were torn free. Faces get bitten, as do asses, and they have razor sharp teeth and aren't afraid to use them.

For all that, I love my bunnies. I've been bitten once, lightly breaking the skin, while breaking up a fight. Ozzie has let me feel his teeth a couple of times, letting me know that he could've bitten me if he'd wanted. Both times, I reminded him about manners by flicking him firmly on the nose. He got the message, and headed for under the bed, where he could plot my eventual doom.

Mostly though, we get snuggles and cuddles and love from them. But I'm wary, because that "vorpal bunny" joke from Monty Python's Grail? It wasn't far from the actual truth.

Things Could Get Ugly(er) Around Here For Awhile

I'm gonna be messing with the template. This one sucks big time.

Now That You're Here

I suspect there will be more of the same nonsense you used to get at the other three iterations of Rocket Jones. Classic horror and cult flicks, rocketry, rabbits, links to stuff that amuses me, surreal humor, vegan recipes, puppies and rainbows, unicorns and enema bags.

For some reason, the spammers have anti-eroded my online attitude. Instead of being smoothed by the gentle currents of flowing water, they've uncovered the jagged little edges and made me prickly and less willing to always be Mr. Optimism.

One more thing. I expect comments. Lots and lots of comments. I don't mind lurkers and looky-loos, but I'm not counting page hits or visits, so if you don't at least let us know that you're here, then you're not contributing. I'm not here for myself, Rocket Jones (hopefully) supplies the inspiration (or instigation), and you all supply the conversation and tard baiting and poking with a stick.

Existential Crises

I may have misspelt both words in the title (and one earlier in this sentence but that one was intentional), but oh well. I meant that to mean "cri-seeees", as in plural.

Today at work an email came through informing everyone that a co-worker... well, you have to see it in its entirety:

".... called and he will be today."

There was much pondering as to what he would be tomorrow. The followup email trying to correct the original was only slightly more coherent.

Meanwhile, back on the arigula ranch, there's a new blog out there. No, really!

Michele Obama's Suicide Watch

Gotta love shit like this:

"THE GLOOM AND ANGER VOICED BY THE ASPIRING FIRST LADY AS SHE SURVEYS THE ROTTING, MISERABLE HELL THAT IS AMERICA HAVE REACHED ALARMING DEPTHS"

Not deep enough as far as I'm concerned. I can still hear her whiney voice from the deepest pits at the bottom of her rotten stinking soul. And not one word of thanks for the package of single-edge razor blades I sent her either. Bitch.

Thanks to Brian J. for the pointer.

I s'pose I should post something now

I tell ya, it's freakin' liberating to surf from blog to blog, dropping the occasional comment and never once worrying about what to post at your own place. It just dawned on me a few minutes ago that I once again have that responsibility.

Ok, how's about a Quote of the Day, being defined as "whenever the hell I feel like it"? I like it. Here goes:

"Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box. Religion is the smile on a dog." -- Edie Brickell

Yeah, I think I like this Quote of the Day crap.

Peek-a-boo

Remember that guy that lived down the street in your old neighborhood? He'd lived there for as long as you could remember, but was still an outsider. He mostly kept to himself except for that time when your parents were having a yard sale and he showed up and talked to them for an unprecedented hour before buying an ugly old lamp. You only ever saw him in his rattletrap car, driving away in a cloud of blue smoke or pulling into his oil-stained driveway. On Halloween he gave out full-size candy bars. The good ones. He always bought raffle tickets or whatever you were hawking for fundraising. And you wondered what the rest of the inside of his house looked like, beyond the bit of room you could see from his front doorway.

And then one day, a "For Sale" sign went up. And surprisingly quickly, "SOLD" appeared. And you came home from school one day and he was gone.

But then on Saturday, you saw his car driving by. And wonder of wonders, he pulled into a driveway up the street. That old place that had been empty for a long, long time. He got out, walked up to the door and went inside just like he lived there. Son of a bitch! He bought another house just a few doors away from where he used to live. Who the fuck does that? Weird.

Heh. I'm back.