May 6th, 2011

Berthold Run

Sharon Stone told me so

(The perfect title just in the sound of it would be "O, Stone, be not so," but in meaning it wouldn't really fit, thus I just quote it here because I like it. Onward.)

Sharon Stone made me a better driver.

I'll admit something: I'm at best an OK driver, not a great one, sometimes not all that good a one. Probably over-cautious, which has bothered my more aggressively-driving co-workers when I've driven them. (Though I was more aggressive the most recent time I drove the Marketing team to the airport, and Justin one of my supervisors said "Good driving, Mario." I don't know if he meant Andretti or Mario Cart.) Other times I don't pay enough attention, and have had close calls. I've been in two accidents, at least one basically due to my inattention and my doing something stupid (my 1997 one, not my 1990 one; the other driver's stupidity contributed to that), and the sound -- even of a low-impact accident that doesn't hurt people, only cars -- is one of the worst sounds in the world.

Thing is, I'm exceedingly aware of how much damage a car can do. Says the guy who's known at least three people, including his best friend, get killed in car crashes. The point is to respect the power of a car and be careful, not get intimidated by that and be either too careful or miss something you need to see.

Here's where Sharon Stone comes in.

One of my Eighties-Nineties indulgences was movie-celebrity coverage. Lots of Entertainment Tonight, followed by subscribing to Premiere and Entertainment Weekly; I burned out very suddenly on ET, where almost overnight I got to the Why am I watching this? point, but the magazines felt a little more "me" and meaty. (By the way, I'll also admit: sometimes I still watch Extra.) I knew, for instance, that I'd like Premiere when it ran the side-bar about -- no lie -- the TV edit of Blue Velvet. Yes, there is a TV edit of Blue Velvet. Wrap your mind around that. MASSIVE re-dubbing on that one, because how do you make Frank Booth safe for television? I read that and others, even sometimes Us Weekly.

There was an issue of Movieline with a Sharon Stone profile, circa Basic Instinct. I'd been aware of Stone (and aware of how good she looks naked) ever since her early career, thanks to Irreconcilable Differences. Heck, I even saw King Solomon's Mines in the theater. That profile mentioned her early career. Including how, early in her career, Stone was in a car accident. It happened because she turned onto a one-way road -- and promptly got hit head-on by a driver driving the wrong way. Promptly. Head-ons HAVE to be vicious collisions. I'm cringing just writing about them.

To this day, when I turn onto one-way roads, I look where traffic is coming from, in case -- JUST IN CASE -- someone's attention failure has led to them going the wrong way. This has yet to happen, but it might. Be prepared. Let Sharon Stone teach you something.

Though now I'm wondering: why didn't Planes, Trains and Automobiles teach me the same lesson? Oh, maybe because I was too busy laughing at


Can you be deep about The Big Lebowski? Let's try!

For people like coyotegoth who cannot get to tonight's Cort and Fatboy Midnight Movie screening of The Big Lebowski, you can listen to the latest commentary:

Cort, Bobby, Mike Russell, and the Portland Mercury's Erik Henriksen have thoughts and stories, like about a touchy-feely bowling instructor, a defense of profanity, love for John Goodman, parallels to Scarface (sort of) and more.

In which I write for greygirlbeast

Caitlin R. Kiernan (greygirlbeast) will include, alongside her erotic vignettes in her story-by-subscription service Sirenia Digest, responses to questions she asks. Last month, for the May edition of Sirenia, she asked
If I were to be pressed into servitude as a freak in a carnival sideshow, and if you were to have a hand in how I would be made freakish and how I would be presented to the carnival-going public...what would you make of me? Yes, illusion and chicanery may be involved. But nothing's too outlandish.
And I didn't pass up a chance to write for Caitlin by finding my own personal answer for this, written 4/9/2011:

Scales. Fish scales. But patchy, like it's a skin outbreak: a few on the face, here and there on the arms and torso, a snaking line of them along the left thigh (to be shown by the artfully-torn rags you are wearing), others along what looks like a growth growing out of your left shoulder, as if there were a vestigial wing or you'd been a Dr. Moreau-like hybrid of mermaid and angel. One where the vivisection didn't quite -- quite -- take. With legs looking like they were likely to become two mermaid tails: the hints of, perhaps, proto-flukes fluttering from the sides of your feet.

It would be a chance to swim. The carnival wouldn't be able to afford a big tank, I'm sure you'd understand, plus it'd have to be portable enough for travel, but your breath control would allow you to stay underwater for lengths of time designed to make visitors...uncomfortable.

Webbing could be considered, were you willing.
Cartoon Chris

(no subject)

You don't have to be on drugs or drinking too many White Russians to see human-sized bottles of Kahlua, Smirnoff and half-and-half dancing. Just

A) be at the Bagdad right now


B) click this pic from Kelly "Verso" Guimont.

Me, I'm home, but an hour ago I was at the Bagdad, and I saw those three in costume outside. Now they abide inside. Good for them.

Edit: Here's a shot from Mike Russell!