Owen Wilson Talks Funny And Jennifer Aniston Should Go Back to Working at Central Perk

It has come to my attention that blogs need "maintaining." I'm not quite sure what I was expecting but I think in my mind it went a little something like this:

1.) get blog
2.) write first post
3.) elves come in the night to write all subsequent posts
4.) get up every morning and read new posts
5.) drink coffee and feel smug
6.) accept all credit
7.) repeat

So far, none of this has happened. Except for the drinking coffee and feeling smug part. But I did that before I got a blog.

I guess I could try writing a second entry. Buy those elves a little more time. For all I know they could be stuck in Fort Lauderdale at some curly shoe conference. I'm all about giving midgets people the benefit of the doubt.

Ok. So, what? I just talk about things going on in my life? How do you now how much or how little information to share?

What if I just write: since the last time I posted, I've done stuff. Too vague? Alright, how about this: I swapped out my bike seat the other day because it was making my crotch resemble hamburger. TMI?

See, I just don't know. I suppose I could read other peoples blogs and get a general feel of whats appropriate blogging material. That seems like a lot of work though. And I'm already pretty busy writing this......

Ok. I've got a good not-too-personal/not-too-general topic to discuss.

So, you know how when you're at the library on a Tuesday afternoon picking out a DVD to watch later that night because "Real Housewives of Orange Country" PBS's 5-part documentary on Darfur is going to be a rerun? And you're looking for something light, non-committal, the "easy-listening-for-the-over-40-crowd" of movies? And you're scanning over all the titles saying to yourself "no, no, too violent, too boring, not violent enough, too early 90's, too foreign, too American, main character too ugly, main character too obscenely slutty" and then you come across a Jennifer Aniston/Owen Wilson flick with a PUPPY on the cover and you're like "Hmmm, 'Marley and Me,' yeah this one looks good." Right? You know what I'm talking about? I can't be the only one to admit to seeing this movie because it made $36,357,586 at the box office in its opening weekend. FACT. So I know other people have watched it. Paid money to watch it. In the theatre.

So, I took it to the front desk and checked it out. Explaining, of course, to the librarian how it was for my 9 year-old sister who loves puppies...and sub-par acting.

Let me state for the record that I went into this movie with low expectations. Jennifer Aniston, Owen Wilson and a dog. What can I say? I knew it wasn't going to be in the same league as "Don't Tell Mom the Babysitters Dead" "Citizen Kane."

And see here's the thing, I had already read this book. Plot was not an issue. Just a cute story about a guy and his dog. Mildly funny anecdotes of furniture chewing and wading through poop to search for a swallowed necklace. Pretty straightforward man vs. dog stuff. How do you fuck that up? Its IMPOSSIBLE.

And then we watched it. That's where things got a little hazy.

As did my understanding of the word impossible.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS MOVIE ABOUT?! It was like the director shot an entire film about two miserable people played by two b-rate actors with terrible chemistry and then on the last day of filming, the doughnut delivery guy was like, "where's the dog?" and the director was like "what dog" and then the doughnut delivery guy was like "well, in the book there's a dog. He's Marley. You know, "Marley and Me." And then the director was like "I thought Marley was the dude's wife! Uh oh. How much is this dog in the book?" and then the doughnut delivery guy was like "well, seeing as how the whole point of the story is his existence, he pops up quite a bit. Pretty much on every page." and then the director, like, shouted into his parking cone thingy "OK I NEED A PUPPY, A JUVENILE AND AN OLD ARTHRITIC DOG ALL IN THE SAME COLOUR AND BREED! WE'RE GOING TO SHOOT THESE SCENES IN 1 DAY AND FOOL THE PUBLIC INTO THINKING WE DIDN'T GET IT TERRIBLY, TERRIBLY WRONG. LETS MOVE PEOPLE!"

Things That Suck More Than The Movie "Marley and Me"

1.) a high-performance vacuum cleaner (like a Dyson)
2.) plastic spit sucker thingy they use at the dentist

Ok. I thought that list would be longer. But still. A Dyson vacuum! Those things can pick up gold bars with the crevice tool.

So, yeah. Don't rent "Marley and Me." And if you're thinking that a bottle of red wine will make it better, let me just stop you right there. Even a room full of tipsy and witty critics couldn't bring this movie back from death's door. Although, Nayt did get a chance to practice his Owen Wilson accent. And that is no easy feat. Try to say something out loud that sounds convincingly like Owen Wilson right now. I dare you. FAIL. Not even close my friend.

So the next movie we are going to try and enjoy, is "Cold Mountain." Apparently the Washington Post called it "The Best Picture Of The Year" but I never trust anyone from Washington. And if you were smart, neither would you...

We'll see. Its got Old Scrunchee-Face McGee Renee Zellweger in it so I'm not getting my hopes up. But beggars can't be choosers when they get their movies from the library. It was either Cold Mountain or a Pilates Home Workout DVD. And you know my stance on exercising along with condescending spandex-clad health freaks on the TV. Or maybe you don't. Wait. That could be a blog entry. You know, in case the elf thing doesn't pan out......

The Sanctimonious First Post.

So here's the thing: I'm a white female, I'm almost 2 years away from turning 30 and I have opinions on just about everything. Opinions that really should matter to you. Since I wouldn't be doing my part for the Western world if I didn't find some way to cram those opinions down your throat, I'm starting a blog. How have I resisted thus far, you might ask? Well, Facebook. And don't get me wrong, Facebook has served its purpose well. I've played simultaneous scrabble games with people all over the world, posted pictures of summer trips with corresponding witty comments, and of course, shared with all my "friends" my list of favourite movies. I believe I may have even thrown a sheep at someone. But I'm just feeling constrained. Perhaps Facebook is too structured for my gifted right-sided brain. I can't keep staring at that status box every day, being begged to proclaim "what's on my mind." I need a deeper question than that! And yes I'm sure I could find some Facebook Application called Deeper Questions to add to my page. But we all know that somewhere down the line the Indian creators, Rajat and Jayant, of said application are going to be found guilty of copying some American's version that claims to have done it first, and then be forced to cease and desist, leaving all us plebs who have grown to love and depend on our beloved Deeper Questions, in the lurch. Has The Great Scrabulous War of 2008 taught us nothing?!

Right. So to recap:
Facebook = holding back potential creative genius flow.
Sarah = still not over Hasbro's hostile takeover in the online Scrabble world.

The other thing about Facebook? Everyone's on it. Facebook is the common cold. Who doesn't get it? And the few who don't, spend all their time self-righteously telling the world how they'll never succumb to its powerful forces because they take Echinacea and buffered vitamin C (yeah, like that's SO much better than the regular stuff...). That is, until they hear there are pictures of their slutty ex doing jello shooters off some dude's bare rippling abs, posted on it. Then they get it. Ha! So much for moral superiority. And Ester-C. I knew paying that extra $1.99 was a rip-off!

So if Facebook is the common cold, I'm interested in something a little rarer. More exotic. A disease that bed-rest and fluids certainly won't be curing. Enter, Beckwith-Wiedemann Syndrome (which is, of course, my way of referring to "blogging" while cleverly keeping this metaphor alive - try to keep up). My very own website where I could control e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. MUAH HA HA HA HA! Shortly into my evil laughter and chair-spinning though, I realized that to have one of "those" websites you needed to a.) pay money (not likely) and b.) have enough computer savvy to actually design and create a functional website (really not likely). So I lowered my disease expectation down to like, Lyme Disease. Easy enough to get from a tick while walking through the woods but, really, what are the chances that one of those suckers is actually packing heat? (and by packing heat I mean "carrying Lyme disease" but in street-lingo. Just trying to appeal to a broader demographic; I wouldn't want any of those inner-city Harlem kids to feel alienated from my blog....)

After googling possible blog start-up sites I came across Blogspot. Yes, perhaps it was the first hit that google generated but in no way does my laziness that diminish the awesomeness of Blogspot. First, ITS FREE. Second, the sign up process was short enough for my MTV-Generation brain to stick with. And third (this is the best part), I can make up to $1200 a month from my own home by merely participating in a series of not-at-all-shady interactions over the internet with a friendly and seemingly trustworthy Nigerian fellow who only requires my SIN and bank account info (for direct deposit of course). I don't even have to give out my name! This whole blogging thing is like a fairy-tale....

So heading off on my journey to the land of individualism (ha!), I created a so-totally-the-opposite-of-generic web address using my full name (uh oh, I am starting to get a bad feeling about that "online job opportunity"...) followed by .blogspot.com. Oh man, I can practically taste the uniqueness on my middle-class WASP-y tongue! I was then asked to choose a layout from a potential 16 templates (hmmm, well that's not a lot of choice but remember how at Facebook they didn't even offer you 1?) so in the true spirit of nonconformism (and intellectual theft), I ripped-off my friends Nayt and Julia's babies' blog format (thanks Everest! Auntie Sarah owes you one). Basic black. No frills. Lets the reader just zero in on the mind-blowing wisdom being impressed upon their inferior brains (unless they too have a blog , in which case the battle to see who can stay more motivated to write priggish and self-congratulatory posts everyday has just begun. En garde, geeks). Then I just stuck in a black and white photo of myself that gives the impression of candidness while actually having been carefully crafted in iPhoto (oooh yeaaah, welcome to the big leagues), made to make you feel the need to go edit your profile photo to match the arty-ness of mine. And to finish my page off? I added a running commentary on what book I'm reading right now. Of which I'll only confess to the "smart and hip" ones that make me seem way edgier than I really am. Certainly not the pre-teen "Twilight" series that I may or may not have devoured in 6 days after shirking all other responsibilities just to do so....(Edward Cullen I love you! Make me your vampire wife!)

Huzzah! I am now Sarah Macnabb: Blogger Extraordinaire. So I guess this is where I just sit back and wait for the acclamations to start rolling in.

*chirp chirp*

Well, I mean, its only been a few minutes since I posted this. I'm sure people just haven't checked their computers yet today. And it is Saturday so probably most people won't even jump online for another 2 days.......I'm not worried. Remember Kevin Costner in that baseball/corn-field movie? It took people time to realize that he wasn't crazy, just clairvoyant. And then when they finally did realize his genius, they all wanted to play at his baseball diamond. And instead of saying "hell no you fuckers! None of you believed in me when I was building the field. Where were you when I was cutting down all that corn to make room for the pitcher's mound, huh? Huh?! That's right, you were standing on the sidelines laughing. Well you know what? Who's laughing now?!" But he didn't. He was all like "hey guys, no hard feelings about you ridiculing me and my vision. I admit, it must have sounded pretty whacked out! I'm just glad we now have this great baseball diamond on land zoned solely for agriculture. Lets bury the hatchet by playing what some refer to as the Great American Pastime. And after that we can all eat some corn together from the harvest. And then sit around while James Earl Jones tells us stories about following our dreams and other stuff."

Or at least I think that's what happened. It was on cable TV and I kept flipping between that and the E! True Hollywood Story of "Blossom."