I was sitting in the middle seat on my Sun Country flight outta here Friday night, sandwiched between a scientist and someone reading the WSJ (obvs I did not need to gather any more character info on him), when the pilot announced, "Well folks, we've got about 45 planes ahead of us and each takes around 2 or 3 minutes to make it down the jetway....you do the math." There was about 30 seconds of silence as we all furiously multiplied in our heads, and then a communal groan.

I did what any good middle seat passenger should-- took two Tylenol PMs and passed out on the shoulder of the friendly scientist. I didn't wake up until the plane hit the ground in Minnesota. The boom and vibration startled me. It seemed pretty obvious that we had just been hit by a shoulder-launched missle at the exact right moment for the plane to come crashing down into the Mall of America (this plot is always in the back of my mind as I fly home-- the terrorists have won!). For a split-second, I was sure I felt us starting to careen downwards. Life flashed before me. My first and last thought:

"FUCK. I have not seen Lars and The Real Girl yet!!"



Does this make me a shallow person? Yes, probably. But I am just dying to see their chemistry onscreen.

However with this new lease on life a lot was accomplished during my short stay at the bosom. I bought a crazy-sexy red skintight satin dress for my sister's wedding. My Mom was like, "I guess your old enough to make your own taste decisions-- but maybe wear your glasses to tone it down."

My Grandma, multiple times throughout my stay, randomly started offering nuggets of life wisdom which were very akin to Hold Steady lyrics, only with the added element of Judiasm (i.e. There's always other boys, there's always other boyfriends.... but only Jewish ones!.) I told her I was making her a mix CD of indie rock bands that lyrically echo her age-old wisdom. She didn't know what a CD was. Sometimes I forget that she's as old as she is-- she's so damn sassy.

I saw Liz-- which was obvs totes great. We talked about the aesthetics of the face and the class issues surrounding Rachael Ray's recipe for pizza cobbler.

Lars, unfortunately, was not playing in Minneapolis yet. This made me feel uneasy as I had another life-threatening flight ahead of me, and I didn't want to take my second chances for granted. There was nothing to be done though, except to transfer my cinematic craving to a different picture--Across the Universe.

I've never been obsessed with The Beatles, though I've always liked them. The movie clearly borrowed much from Moulin Rouge (which I thought was absolutely brilliant in a myriad of ways), but Across the Universe did an even better job with the musical numbers. Every aspect-- the musical interpretations, the striking choreography, the visual imagery-- was crafted so painstakingly and deliberately. It was beautiful and smart at once.

The dialogue between songs however was lacking. Evan Rachel Woods should not be allowed to act. I do not understand how she was even able to make this movie. She should be grounded for years and years for her rampant displays of choke sex with Manson. WHERE ARE THIS GIRL'S PARENTS? DO NOT MAKE ME CALL YOU BY ALL THREE NAMES, RACHEL, STOP YOUR CHOKE SEX RIGHT THIS INSTANT!!!



I would just like you to know, that in order to post this choke sex video I actually had to create an account with YouTube to verify that I was over 18. I was pretty high, and with Gaby, so my user password obviously manifested itself "bonermcgee". Yet YouTube security only rated this password as "fair" and I started shouting at the website, "What is wrong with you? That is the BEST PASSWORD EVER."

Evan Rachel Wood's boring onscreen presence was made up for wholly by the introduction of Jude. Let me introduce Jude (aka Jim Sturgess) to the blog.

Hey, Jude.




I especially enjoyed this fan video medley. Fan videos in general are fantastic:





If Jim Sturgess is not famous in two years I will cut off my pinkie and mail it to him with an obsessive fan letter written in Klingon on my decaying digit. He is already famous for the feeling he inspired in my loin. By God boy, sing to me.

On the way out of the movie, my Mom had a freakish fall in the parking lot, hit her head, and lost consciousness. She came to in the ambulance. I barfed up my popcorn. We were at the hospital all Sunday night. It was really scary. Thankfully, she is okay now. Except she looks like a battered wife and is too embarrassed to leave the house.

My parents, like most parents of people my age, are completely inept with new technology yet insist on acquiring the latest gadget once it becomes in vogue. Before I left this afternoon, my Mom begged me to transfer the pictures on her digital camera onto our computer for her. I did. I found these videos, obviously taken inadvertently by my parents and my uncle and aunt. They feature my dog in a dog stroller. Why, I do not know. What I do know is that this is the funniest video I have ever seen (perhaps you have to be related to these people to love it), and that my dog, Annie, is thinking two things:

1.) Why do you have me in a stroller?

2.) You people are idiots.

Also, having the volume up is key.