We were not in the theater to see “Revenge of the Sith” on the weekend it opened. I wasn’t feeling well, and rather than drag me anyway, Michael suggested we wait and see it some other time. As a result, he was shamed by his fellow geeks at work and now feels somewhat less of a man. At least he wasn’t banished. I hear you can get banished from the Secret Order of the Geeks for a grievous offense like that.

Speaking of Grievous, General Grievous has a Hamster Wheel of Death and that makes everything alright. I’m trying to get a song together with that idea as the main thrust, but it’s not coming together the way I want it to. I’d like the song to have kind of a retro Monkee’s feel to it, but I can’t decide where to put the “hey hey”s or the “no no no”s. Also, not much rhymes with Grievous.

My songstressing woes aside, I must admit that I liked the movie overall, because gadgets never fail to impress me. And, although Grievous met his death because he was a clumsy oaf, he had FOUR lightsabers, which you must admit is quite something. Four lightsabers! Can you imagine the time you could save making a salad if you had some mad utensils like that?

Also, I gotta give Lucas many props on killing Padme. Good call. The only way to improve on that would be to clone her and then promptly kill her again. Could she have possibly been more bland even if they had poured her out of a white box labeled “BLAND” in large black capital letters? I’m not talking about hotness here. Amazingly, she is both incredibly hot and incredibly bland at the same time. It’s unsettling. Yet, I can almost hear the discussion that must have taken place in order for this miracle of duality to happen. “We have this hot actress, let’s give her some lines that convey a personality of some sort. We did that with Carrie Fischer. We could do it again.” Then some slug chimes in with, “No, ’cause if we do that, we have to make Samuel L. Jackson’s character likeable too. It’s too much trouble. Nah, let’s just dress her up.”

So, they dressed her up and then killed her and that makes everything alright. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I would normally close there, because “yeah, yeah, yeah” is such a good way to end a train of thought. But, we have to talk about Vader. Specificically, the scene where they put Anakin in his Vader gear for the first time.

One word: “Spaceballs.”

The helmet is too big! Or, is the head too small? Either way, putting the big helmet on and then doing the burnt Sith walk was comic gold.

My husband explained to me – rather condescendingly, I might add – that Anakin is badly burnt in the scene and is trying to get used to the new gear. Well, DUH. (Notice how I revert into a ten year old child when I get defensive? That’s just one of my many charms.) But, in my never humble opinion, where Lucas was trying to convey the horror of Frankenstein, he got Dark Helmet instead.

Nobody has to agree with me. At least not yet. (I’m having a hard time getting that bill passed for some strange reason.)

May the scwartz be with you. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

The Village offered up a few surprises and a nice little love story to boot. Go see it. Now.

My inner dialog during this movie:

“WTF?”

“Oh, that’s sooo sweet.”

“Oh my god! NOOOOO! I can’t frickin’ believe this.”

“No, don’t let her go!!!!”

“Damn. I jumped pretty high just then.”

“WTF!?”

“WTF?!”

Today I have a V.C. Andrews headache.

I haven’t picked up one of Andrews’ books for about fifteen years. (If you are doing the math on how old that makes me, you can stop right now dammit.) Well, if you want to be technical, I have picked her books up but always quickly put them back down before I am spotted with any of them. It’s my husband, you see. He’d laugh at me until tears rolled down his face, and after that he wouldn’t have to pretend to respect me anymore. Pretending to respect each other is what keeps our marriage strong and healthy. This is why I have to keep certain urges for cheesy goodness secret from him.

But, today I had the house all to myself, and wouldn’t ya know it, a movie adaptation of Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic came on television. Woo hoo! I was all over it. I got me a soda pop and settled in. Only thing better would be maybe a Little House on the Prairie marathon on TBS.

Anyhow, the movie wouldn’t have been bad except that the director felt the need to convey how haunting the subject matter was by playing, well, haunting music throughout. You know, for melodramatic effect. That would be fine and all, but this was done in such a way that it detracted from the drama itself.

Case in point. The story is about four kids locked in an attic. Dramatic subject matter, right? Well, when I actually find myself concerned about the soprano they got to do the arias straining her voice or breaking my soda glass instead of worrying about the starving kids on the screen, maybe they’ve overdone it just a bit on the background vocals.

I swear I kept thinking, “For the love of God, someone get that woman a lozenge. That had to hurt.”

It’s like a the whole laugh track concept, I guess. Bad sitcom? Make sure the audience knows it’s supposed to be funny by having other people laugh. Bad drama? Have an opera singer howl every time the audience should feel anxious.

So, anyway, I guess their plan worked on me . I’m going to take a couple aspirin and go watch the end of it, if only to find out the name of the soprano they got. She had a tough gig, and she screeched through it like a trooper.

*Never fear. My Aspercreme post is still in the works, but this isn’t it.

I just started reading The Thorn Birds. It’s the book that inspired the steamy 1983 made for television mini-series of the same name.

I haven’t read much of the book yet, but I adore the mini-series. The first time I watched it, I remember being afraid my mom would come into the room, catch me up to no good, and make me change the channel. So, whenever I managed to take my eyes off the screen, I’d glance in the direction of the door to make sure I wasn’t gonna get busted. It was that hot.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the story, here it is. Richard Chamberlain plays Ralph, a young priest who falls in love with a girl named *Meggie (Rachel Ward) and is, supposedly, torn between his love for her and his devotion to God.

My take on the whole thing is that Ralph is simply a shameless tease. He even unconscionably runs around shirtless in front of Meggie’s horny old grandmother (Barbara Stanwyk). His motto is, “If you got it, flaunt it. But, only give it up for real on special occasions – like the Eucharist.” The old woman, I guess, is dosed up on too much estrogen, and seeing his naked chest is much more than her frail body can stand. She tries to tap that ass, but Ralph cruelly reminds her that he is a priest. He tells her he will not cheat on God with a shriveled-up prune like her. (Maybe those aren’t his exact words, but that’s the general idea.)

No. Ralph will only cheat on God with Meggie, a hot young thing who can’t get enough of his priestly organ. But, even Meggie has to wait inhumanely long intervals between his booty calls, because he’s all torn and stuff.

Anyway, all this goes on for years and years, and eventually, Ralph becomes a Cardinal, which is, of course, a sin of pride for him. Meggie gets married and divorced, and has a kid, not necessarily in that order. I’m just recapping the main points for you…Oh, and I’m pretty sure Meggie actually dies from horniness at the end. Or, at least that’s how I remember it. I’d have to watch it again to be completely certain. I don’t have it on dvd, so I can’t check my facts. (Your mission, Christmas shoppers, should you choose to accept it: Get out there and find it!)

Why does this lurid little tale hold so much fascination for someone as worldly** as I? We may never know. But, there’s something about watching forbidden love with a priest that leaves me needing an urgent massage every time.

*By the way, Meggie is way too young for courting at the outset of the movie, and it’s quite twisted that his guardianship of her ever turns sexual even though she initiates it. But, I’m not going there. Not today. Not ever.

**How worldly am I, you ask? Well, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend…

We just saw Matrix Revolutions. I guess I liked it better than Matrix Reloaded, which I didn’t like at all. If I had to sum it up in one word, my word would be, “Blah.”

But, the one thing gets to me about this movie – and all the matrix movies, really – is that the “Oracle” character is completely useless, yet Neo and the rest of his crew cannot so much as wipe their respective posteriors without consulting her first.

Why do they waste their time asking this woman anything? They’d have a much better shot at getting a straight answer from a Magic 8 Ball.

The Oracle’s preset answer to almost any question you ask her is, “When the time comes, you’ll make that choice.” Then there’s her other favorite catch phrase, “You know the answer to that yourself.”

Huh? What? Oh thank you, Oracle! You’ve helped me so much.

You’re a great oracle….

FOR ME TO POOP ON!!!

What use is seeing the future if all you do is sit on your ass, eating cookies and making remarks like, “I knew that was gonna happen. Yep – that too. And, I also knew that other thing was gonna happen, but if I had told you it would have ruined the surprise.”

I could be the frickin’ oracle for Pete’s sake! I couldn’t be any worse at it than she is. Are there no bakeries that would hire her? That’s where she needs to be. Her cookies might be good, but her advice doesn’t even qualify as advice. It would be much more accurate to refer to her as “The Great Sounding Board Who Bakes.”

I’ll tell you what – ask me a question here, any question at all, and I’ll give you an “oracle response” to it. I’ll waive my usual consultation fee.

But, try not to be too upset if I’m no help to you. Remember, I never claimed to be helpful, just oracle-like in my wisdom.

I don’t hit my kid. But I’m here to tell ya – that Damien boy needs a spanking! There are some misbehaviors that merit more than a “time out.”

“Don’t try to kill your mother, Damien. That’s naughty.”

See? It just doesn’t ring true.

A good ass whipping is what’s called for in this case.