Batman V: The extrasubinterpostquel

I saw Batman Begins a couple of weeks ago. I really liked it. I took part in the cheering that followed the final fade to black.

I read today that popular opinion has it that this "prequel" has revived the ailing series, and that there are talks of "sequels." Christian Bale has signed an agreement to do additional Batman films. Sequel prequels.

So there may be two sequels to to prequel? Postprequels? Retroperidiaquels? Circumhypoacroexoobnonsymquels? What the hell are we supposed to call them?

Distance Makes the Car Go Farther

My Grandparents always operated under the assumption that New England was a state. After all, it has a local NFL team, an Aquarium, a University and a Journal of Medicine, right? They'd fly up from Florida for a weekend to visit both my parents in Maine and my aunt Pat in Connecticut (Total Estimated Distance: 203.74 miles).

I bring this up because this weekend, my Grandmother is flying in and out of Maine for a wedding in Rhode Island (Total Estimated Distance: 166.43 miles). It's cool, cause she gets to drive down with my dad, who seems to be the only person who can give her a hard time and get away with it. But there is an airport in Providence, which is only about 10 minutes from the ceremony. I'm just saying...

I suppose you have to cut her some slack though. After all, she grew up in New York, where there are basically two regions: The City, and Upstate. The dividing line is somewhere around Yonkers, which I think is technically in the "The City" region (at least according to the people in Yonkers).

Jen grew up in the Upstate region, in Colton, NY (near Pottsdam) which is about 30 hours north of Buffalo. People from this area refer to it as "The North Country." I like to call it Canada.

I, on the other hand, grew up in southern Maine, a region the locals refer to as "Downeast." You'd think "Downeast" wouldn't aptly describe the northernmost continental State, and would instead be somewhere around South Carolina or Georgia, but no -- that's the "Deep South". And the locals in Maine make geography VERY simple. They divide the whole earth into two regions. Maine, and Away. ("She from Buxton?" "No, she ain't from heeyah... She's from Away")

The only other state Maine-iacs will recognize is Massachussets, and that's just because of the Red Sox and Bad Drivers.

Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?

Remember that Alanis Morissette song from 1995 where she lists a whole bunch of ironies that are really just unfortunate coincidences? Here are a few to ponder:

• You are walking down a steep staircase on slippery shoes. You start to slip, catch your balance and think "Man, I'd better walk more carefully or I'm going to fall." Then five steps later, you slip and fall down the rest of the stairs.
  
• You buy a new bike with clipless pedals, and you're really psyched up to ride it for the first time. You've heard how easy it is to fall over when starting to use clipless pedals, so you're really concentrating on how you're NOT going to fall on your first bike ride. Then, carrying your bike down your stairs, you slip and fall, hurt yourself, and never end up riding the bike at all.
• You spend a year training for your first triathlon, then injure yourself exactly two weeks before the race.

No, it didn't happen to me, it just happened to a good friend of mine.

A little too ironic. Yeah, I really do think.

Raw Deal

I just went to a certain high-end sushi establishment that charges $22 for a piece of toro sushi (that's a piece of raw fatty tuna on rice for you non sushi regulars). Twenty two dollars!! (needless to say, I went with one of the lunch specials, and didn't order a la carte)

Here are some circumstances under which I'd pay $22 for one small piece of fish:

a) It comes with a pitcher of Guinness
b) Free t-shirt
c) I'm paying for it with my lottery winnings
d) The fish is Shamoo
e) I'm starving to death, have $22 in my pocket, and one piece of tuna sushi is the only thing on the menu.

La Cucaracha

That's right, I'm talking about that big, brown, antennae'd and ugly -- that Paris Hilton of the bug world, Periplaneta americana!! (The American Cockroach)

So Jen had just gotten back from a nice trip with her mom. [On a side note, they went to the Vermont Quilt Festival, and do you think I got invited??? Of course not :(] I was about to take a shower, thinking we'd go out for a nice lunch, when I heard a BLOODCURDLING SCREAM from the other room. Honestly, I thought she had just stabbed herself in the eye.

What had stabbed her in the eye?? The vision of A COCKROACH ON HER CHEST!!!

Totally Assgusting.

What is it about cockroaches that freaks us out so much? I mean, they're just beatles, right?

Ladybugs are beatles. They're also destructive pests that destroy crops and gardens. Cockroaches, on the other hand, are like the cleaning lady. They clean up all of the crumbs we spill behind our stoves, and the rotten potatos that we leave in our cupboards, yet they want no thanks in return -- in fact they try to hide when we turn on the lights (which always freaks me out when my cleaning lady does that).

So why is it that the Ladybugs get all the street cred, and Cockroaches are the pariahs of the bug caste system? Is it because Ladybugs have polka dots and we think they're "pretty"?

Don't get me wrong, I still squashed the little monster with Jen's shoe, I just feel like Cockroaches have it hard.

Hello World

When I was about 6, my parents sent me to Syracuse to live with my Grandmother for the summer (cause we lived in South Carolina which feels like South Hell in the summertime).

When my mom dropped me off, she said to Grandma Dorothy, "He doesn't stop talking, so whenever you tire of listening to him, just say 'Mikey, I love you dearly, but I can't listen to you anymore. You need to go in the other room and play by yourself.'"

My grandmother thought this was terrible, and let my mom have an earful about nurturing a young mind, yada yada. My mom shrugged and said, "Just remember what I said."

After two blissfully silent Mikey-free days, my mom called Dot to check in. Dorothy said "Nancy, I'm so sorry for doubting you. You're right, he just keeps talking! After two hours I told him, 'Mikey, I love you dearly, but I can't listen to you anymore. You need to go in the other room and play by yourself.'"

Now that I'm all grown up, I have Jen to talk at... I mean TO! and she's too nice (or our apartment is too small) to tell me to go in the other room.

SO, I'm starting this blog, and dedicating it to my Grandma Dorothy, Jen, and everyone else whose ears have desired some respite from my tireless tongue. Now if I go on too long, you can just ALT+F4 and I'll shut up.