Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

a floorwax, a dessert topping...

Well, I did make smores this weekend. My god. Was I on crack when I had that idea? After they were done I sort of chipped at the edges of the pan--you know, pulling away handfuls of greasy, gooey smoreness--and now I'm so sugared out I think I could spit cubes into a horse's mouth.

I've decided that weekends are too short. This is a startling theory sure to revolutionalize the realm of social-industrial engineering, and I'm sure that scientists everywhere will be picking up this ball of thought and rolling with it. Look for breaking news from your local affiliate.

I've done very little this weekend, all in all. I did spend a lot of time trying to bring Riley along, show him the ropes. He's not taking to Anna's Fantasy Realm all that well. I try to tell him: "Look, pal, you're a *soldier*. Not just any soldier, either, but one of an elite squad of biologically altered super-soldiers who have been trained to track, fight, and capture paranormal entities. I *think* that after four or five years, you've probably, (a) learned some of the filthiest language known to mankind, (b) had raunchy sex in a seedy hotel with a ten-dollar ho at least once, (c) watched hard-core porn with your buddies, and (d) gotten your rocks off with your fists now and again. So stop being such a puss! I don't care if you were a barn-raised boy scout, I know you have a nasty streak somewhere in you, under all that creamed corn." Still, he resists my attempts--and Spike's--to seduce him to the dark side and remains annoyingly cheerful and apple-cheeked, even when he has a hot naked vampire tied up and writhing on furs.

The boy's just not right.

And you know--swerve--I really thought Angel was going to be on this Saturday, yesterday, but apparently not. I'm bummed. I kept going to the video store to try and find something to watch but there was almost nothing I wanted to see. I paced the shelves like a bored cat. Ended up returning XXX half watched, because I never turned it back on again and my time ran out. Sad, but oh well. Rented Ocean's Eleven and confirmed, on second viewing, that I still find it glossy and pretty and rather boring. Julia Roberts has a nothing role that she clearly only took because it was an A-list vehicle. And the ending--my god. It's the stupidest ending ever, starting with that moment outside the elevator when Tess gives the game away by revealing to Terry that there was a set-up which allowed her to witness his betrayal. It invalidates the *entire premise* of the movie. I can't be the only one who thinks this. After all the trouble they take to establish that Terry Benedict is this ultimate bad-ass who will grind you under his heel if he suspects you did him wrong, they bring themselves to his attention, and we end up with his goons tailing Danny and Rusty and The Vapid One off into the sunset. I mean, what the fuck? Are we supposed to believe they got away with something? That this is a happy, successful ending? They were supposed to have pulled off the heist without ever giving him a suspicion of who might be involved--never letting him see their faces, as they made a point of saying. And the entire stupid "romantic" B-plot just undermines all their efforts, because Terry clearly suspects Danny stole not only his woman but his money--and thus could easily find out by association all the people he worked with on the heist and ruin and/or take their lives.

I don't know why this pisses me off so much, but it does. Pretty men. Stupid, stupid movie.
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