Not A Dollarshort

Seamless.

I've had tons of fun taking the FilmWise Invisibles quizes.

Basically, an Invisible is a screen shot from a movie in which some or all of the actors have been completely removed from their clothing. It's your job to figure out what the movie is.

That's a lot of high-quality photo editing. I can't figure out how they can recreate what was originally blocked by the actor's face and body.

Do you have an idea?

Can it be that it was all so simple then?

We're purchasing a new car Saturday.

Something wild and flashy. Maybe a Honda Civic or an Accord. Definitely a sedan.

And we've already planned all the places we aren't going to drive it.

We're not going to take it to The City on Saturday.

Certainly not to work on Monday.

Oh, and our trip to Los Angeles? Forget about it.

We're not new car people. We like the comfort of an old car, one where scratches and dings don't mean much. A new car brings the anxiety of ownership -- the constant worry of chipped paint, a dinged bumper or a stolen hubcap.

I've been driving my current car, a 1992 Ford Tempo, since I was a junior in high school. It's been a good car. It's been a reliable car. Sure, the brakes are about to give out and the air conditioner has been broken for years, but that's just part of it's charm.

The worst thing about this new purchase is that my Tempo doesn't even see the trade-in coming.

We'll get in the car on Saturday and it'll be like "Oh, I wonder where we are going. Maybe the beach, or the mall? Maybe to visit family? I'll take you there and wait until you're ready to come home. I love you guys."

And then, we'll betray the one constant in my last seven years.

Maybe instead of anthropomorphizing my car and making it my best friend, I should give the Tempo a darker, more sinister side.

"Yeah, get in ... I've got no airbags. You're going to get hurt. And my trunk? That's mold, baby! You hear my engine sputtering? Oh, don't mind that. You'll know soon enough what's wrong."

Who am I kidding? That's not my beloved Tempo talking.

Really, it's not personal.

That's not Lieutenant Dan.

Warning: Racy content ahoy!

Oh yeah, the male Realdoll is finally in production.

And he looks kind of like Gary Sinise.

Except, you know, dead. And holding his penis.

The photos are interesting, though.

He's not just a sex toy! He's a stereotypical, couch potato male, complete with remote control and cold beer.

link via boingboing.

Oh, the good old days.

Ben: So, do you want to go see Air or not?
(note: Ben really is nowhere near as confrontational as I make him out to be)
Mena: Yes. I told you I did.
Ben: Are you sure? You can't change your mind.
Mena: Why would I?

Why would I?

Maybe because I'm trying to preserve my image as a can't-handle-crowds-like-a-normal-person kind of person.

I'll try desperately to get out of going to a concert as soon as I start picturing the crowds. The lines. The Neanderthals who just don't get it. The people who spill beer on me as I try to squeeze my way through the lobby and find the restroom.

And of course, I do all this thinking the night of the concert.

I always go, though.

And, once the music starts, I usually forget all my hang-ups and realize:

Wow, I really love concerts.

Unfortunately, this epiphany usually is a bit of "too little, too late" for Ben. After spending half the night listening me to complain about the crowds, the lines and the beer, he's ready to swear off concerts for good.

That's the background behind the Air question. And even though I answered affirmatively, he didn't buy the tickets.

But I did.

We haven't been to a concert in ages. We attended our last one -- Mercury Rev -- while in college. I figured, it's time to turn off HGTV and start acting our ages.

And now, a random list.

My top five concert-going experiences (in chronological order):

1. BFD, 06.10.94, B.B. (Before Ben). Shoreline Amphitheater, Mountain View.
My first concert, BFD was a radio-sponsored all-day festival. Musically, not very memorable. But what freedom! Because my friend Beth and I had to lie and say we were sleeping-over at each other's houses, and because we never considered where we would actually stay after the show was over, we ended up sleeping in my car in a library parking lot.

2. Possum Dixon/Violent Femmes. 02.10.95, Luther Burbank Center, Santa Rosa.
The most exhilarating concert I ever attended. It was local, I was three feet away from the stage, and, for one night, I got over my "I hate people" blues.

3. The Longpigs / Suede, 05.23.97. The Fillmore, San Francisco.
In 1995, on Ben and my first date, one of our conversations was about how Suede was playing the next weekend. We couldn't get our acts together and missed that show. Suede in 1997 was about anticipation and pure animal lust. There's nothing like a sexy British man slapping his arse with a microphone.

4. Spiritualized / Radiohead, 04.02.98. Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, San Francisco.
Ben says Spiritualized was better. I say Radiohead. Regardless, it was the first concert where we learned that we sure like sitting in assigned seats. (Middle-age is quickly creeping up on us at this point.)

5. Kids in the Hall, 01.15.00. The Warfield, San Francisco.
Like Suede in 1995, I missed seeing the Kids in the Hall play the Palace of Fine Arts in 1994 by a matter of days. It didn't really matter, though. I wouldn't have been able to find anyone to go with me. All my friends hated the show and one even went so far as ripping down and throwing away the picture of Dave Foley I kept in my locker. A little while later they broke up and I cursed my horrid luck. I never thought I'd get to see them live.

More Blogathon Thanks.

Yeah, I know these "thank yous" are getting a bit trite but I'm genuinely grateful to my sponsors.

Thanks go to Tim at timothompson.com.

Random plug.

Ben appreciates security. Everyone should.

Here's a link to STAMP, Ben's new form mailer.

STAMP is a Secure, Template-Aware Mail Processor. It's a form mailer that works similarly to FormMail. However, instead of relying upon hidden input fields to drive the email generation, it uses a server-side configuration file. This prevents spammers from using your form mailer as a mail gateway.

And it's better than you-know-who's.

Sticks and Stones.

Alan Berliner's The Sweetest Sound on P.O.V Tuesday night at 10:00. (Check local listings):

What's in a name? Names are the opening words to our life stories. With intimacy, humor and his own inimitable style, Alan Berliner dives headfirst into the American name pool in search of the treasures and traps hidden in names — especially his own.

And elsewhere: Davezilla challenges the source of wee little sprite named Cricket.

And my name?

It took a while for me to grow into my name: Philomena Frances Grabowski. It's unique and long and clearly a sign that an ancestor is being fondly remembered. In my case, I'm named after my grandmother who was named after her grandmother and so on. I can safely say that I'll probably never run into someone who shares my name. Especially since I tacked on the "Trott."

Luckily, the kids had a hard time making heads or tails of my name -- let alone come up with a clever nickname.

One elementary-school kid always called me "Philadelphia Cream Cheese" which, to no surprise, never made a dent in my self-esteem. I remember telling him to cut it out since it just wasn't funny.

Another boy called me "Mena Grab-my-house-ski" which was probably intended to be some sort of deviant play on emerging sexuality. I didn't get it, and just thanked my parents for a name so difficult to mock.

The only name that has ever stuck is "Mean."

It's because it sounds good, right?

It only happens in my dreams.

I'm at work work today.

Meaning, I commuted to the office and am not working from home. Usually I remember to grab a couple CDs on the way out the door. Today, I didn't.

So I have been listening to a loop of one of the few mp3s I have on my system at work -- Roy Orbison's In Dreams.

In Dreams is one of my favorite songs and one of the few songs I can listen to over and over and over again. So, it was very unsettling to see that Blue Velvet's Frank Booth shares my obsession with the song.

It wasn't until a couple weeks ago that I saw Blue Velvet for the first time. We had rented it on a couple other occasions but I never had the courage to discover what was so disturbing about the film.

I don't handle "disturbing" well.

Perhaps viewing Freaks as a child has something to do it.

Dad: Oh, you'll love it. It's great.
Mena: What's it about?
Dad: The circus.

My dad always had a strange notion of what a six, seven, eight year old would like.

Dad: Clare, she'll love Faces of Death.
Mena: I don't want to see that!
Dad: Well, let's get her The Groove Tube instead.

If my dad worked in a video store, his "favorites" section would be subtitled: What's the point of having a kid if you can't f**k with their head?

I loved Blue Velvet, by the way.

What song can you listen to on a loop?

Coffee Table.

Paul wants to know:

What's on your coffee table?

Math is hard.

When I grow up, I'm going to buy any toy I want.

This was the battle cry sounded whenever I went home empty-handed after a trip to Toys R Us with my parents. I wasn't a very good browser, and each time we went to the store "just to look around," I was reminded that I had as much independence as a shoe.

I'm sure that I sounded like one of those kids that now makes me say "No Ben, I don't think I want to have kids."

Their lies are familiar. Their voices unbearably whiny:

"Oh, I just have to have this. I've wanted this my entire life."

"I'll never ask for anything else again.

"I need this. I need this. I need this."

As Ben and I walked around a Toys R Us yesterday, I decided that I was going to exercise my independence and my Visa.

But what happens when you finally have money yet no real desire to purchase any toys?

That was the dilemma.

I ended up purchasing a Barbie. She has brown hair and bangs and is as sickeningly skinny as always. In the box, she looked like a complete tramp. I decided to purchase the doll as a reminder of the negative female imagery forced upon little girls as they question their own looks and role in society.

Plus, she was only $5.99 and came with a cute little purse.

And since I'm one of those little girls that Mattel managed to screw up, I just had to get an new outfit to go along with my new Barbie.

I chose this one because it looks like something Jennifer Coolidge as Sheri Ann Cabot would wear in Best in Show.

I need help. I know.

At least I didn't spend $70 and purchase the Barbie I really wanted.

Tougher looking than the usual Ken doll, this one has painted-on bushy eyebrows, a full beard, and chest hair, and he even sports a "born to ride" eagle tattoo. Although he cannot stand unsupported, he is fully jointed and easy to pose.

Boy, all of my old Barbies would have had fun with him.