I got soul, but I'm not a soldier... What?
A few recs and specs from this week's goings-on:
Firefox. I am now on the hip, with-it bandwagon, in no small part because my beautiful website is beautiful again. Oh, the days and nights spent tinkering with code, wondering why spaces appeared where no commands were given. Of course, the thing read beautifully in Firefox and Safari—even Macs know browsing better than Bill Gates. Internet Explorer made me doubt myself. Internet Explorer is dead to me.
The Kindle 2. All book lovers must be having this dilemma; we love books for the smell and the pages and the sheer bookiness, and at the end of the day, the Kindle is a soulless piece of machinery. Put simply: it’s an iPod for books. The pro/con list is like Bobby Riggs vs. Billie Jean King: It’s so many books at once! [thock!] Actually it’s no books. [thock!] You can get newspapers on it! [thock!] If you subscribe, which you don’t. [thock!] You can load it with 200 books at once, for traveling! [thock!] If you pay for them, yeah. [thock!] You can get library books on it! [thock!] Yeah, but you can’t put them on the shelf. [wiff!] Love, dammit! LOVE! Does anyone have one? Can I touch it?
Rhinestone. Dolly Parton. Stallone. Singing. DOLLY PARTON. STALLONE. SING. ING. I don’t know what else I can say.
Trader Joe’s Extra-Dry Moisturizing Cream. I feel slightly uncomfortable using a lotion that calls itself A Midsummer Night’s Cream—apparently nobody at TJ HQ has a mind as dirty as mine—but this lotion is amazing. They swear it’s unscented, but there’s a hint of aloe and lemon; it’s not overpowering, and doesn’t leave you all sticky (misnomer #2). It’s perfect for the pre-spring dryness, can be used on hands and post-shaven legs, and fits nicely into the current economy’s Aveeno gap. I have several lotions in a rotation on my bedside table,* but the lightness of this one makes it perfect for everyday use without the vaguely medicinal Eucerin tang most winter lotions carry.
The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. If you haven’t seen this spoof of 1950s horror flicks, you need to rectify that shit right now. On a budget of about a thousand dollars, ten people managed to make a hilarious and oddly compelling monster movie that addresses all the clichés of the genre, but clearly loves it all the same. As an added bonus, it is quotable from start to finish. “Rowr!”
The Killers. This is one of those bands I really like, but feel like I shouldn't. Not because they're mainstream or dress like faux-irreverent hipster douches, but because I don't know if the lyrics are brilliant or they’re just bullshitting me. I mean, ‘my sign is vital / my hands are cold’? I should hate that. They start all 'on my knees, it's killing me,' blah, and then they go all 'rebel diamonds cut out of the sun,' and I don't know what to think. Just because the lyrics are simple doesn't make them lazy (just ask Neil Diamond; that man did a lot with a little), and when they're trite, they're usually only trite three words at a time. At worst, they're the prime years of U2 minus the Irish bombing references (which is great, if they skip their 'Vertigo' phase). But at best, they could be Depeche Mode. Reach out and touch faith, Killers—I put Human on my iPod, and I don’t want to regret that.
* Mostly sad, streaky bottles of flavors past that are no longer available (which may be for the best, because Bath and Body Works still made Rice Flower and Shea body cream, I would smoke it).