Am I Really Watching a Trailer for Another HOBBIT Movie?

It’s a whole thing. I know.

There are few mysteries of our world: the pyramids, Mount Rushmore, and who is Keyser Söze.

Now, we have one more to add to the list – the ninety-eighth installment of THE HOBBIT.

No offense to E.L. Tollhouse – wait – L.J. Tolstoy – nope, that’s not it – LL Cool J – no, that doesn’t sound right…J.R.R. Tolkien! That’s it! Anyway, that’s a lot of hobbits.

Do we really need forty-five movies for one idea? That’s like taking your leftover Thanksgiving dinner and stretching it out to New Year’s. Trust me, someone is going to get sick.

I understand the amount of backlash I am about to receive. People love their elves. I once performed improv with a grown man whose doormat was in Elven. He was so proud of his doormat, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it is NOT A REAL LANGUAGE. At least my Bank of America ATM does not give Elven as one of the language options.

A side note to the major motion picture studios – this is not a knock on you. I get it, these bad boys are money makers and you folks have been hit pretty hard. You need to bring home the bacon. Also, I am fluent in studio math: you need five Hobbit movies to make up for one R.I.P.D.

But enough.

There are a few reasons as to why we might need to lay Bilbo Baggins to rest:

Actors. This cast is incredibly talented. No argument. But they are getting older. Do we really want to see an 86 year old goblin take their Boniva? While these movies are fantastic bread and butter for the actors, perhaps they want to try out different projects and roles. One that does not put them on the side of a lunchbox or require prosthetic ears.
It’s Not Star Wars. As far as I’m concerned, they can make eight more Star Wars movies. And notice, those movies are about space. Space goes on and on and on. Gondor? Not so much. Also, the theme music is way better in Star Wars. Every time I hear the Imperial March I become slightly aroused. Just sayin’.
Whoops! Wrong Imperial.
Didn’t they find That Ring? Was that not their whole purpose? I thought they found it in movie twelve-point-eight. No need to belabor the point here.
If I give you this ring, will you make it stop?
It was ONE Book. Yep, you read that right. There is only one Hobbit book. THE HOBBIT was published in 1937, followed by the three THE LORD OF THE RINGS sequels in 1954 (two that year) and 1955. They already made all of those The Lord of the Rings movies based on the books. Do we really need to squeeze so much from one HOBBIT book? Even the late, great writer of the series, J.R.R. Tolkien told me, “Maybe they should give it a rest.” I know this because I am a ghost whisperer.
The movies are each Nine Hours Long. It’s like training for a marathon to watch one of these epics. A marathon of How long can I sit before my right butt check goes numb? Peter Jackson knows how to make a glorious movie, no doubt, but perhaps Gandalf can help him with the powers of editing.[cue lightning and thunder]
I only know your name because I Googled it.

Before you Hobbit lovers write me Elvish nasty letters (which I won’t be able to read anyway), listen up. I have no disdain in my heart for these movies. They are beautifully shot, wonderfully acted, and beyond imaginative. Tolkien really was some type of genius when he created these stories. That, or extremely mentally ill. Perhaps both.

We just need to take a chill on the big-footed folk for a while. There are a million other sequels, books converted to movies, and movie re-makes. The general public needs to catch up.

Plus, bare feet freak me out. The hobbits could use an adventure to the land of Stride Rite-ion.

This kind of crazy I can get behind.

Photos courtesy of:

Bilbo Baggins – www.imaginationlane.net

Frodo – www.hollywoodmemorabilia.com

Gandalf – www.examiner.com

Keyser Soze/Kevin Spacey – www.empireonline.com

Dark Helmet/Space Balls – http://www.geekimprovement.com

Am I Really Arm Wrestling a Badger for My Hair Dryer? And Other Camping Adventures – Part Deux

Having the time of his life.

I cannot tell you how much I detest camping. It emotionally scars me for years. I don’t understand this voluntary “activity” whatsoever. Didn’t the early pioneers die from this type of life? Did they not do everything in their power to better our living conditions? If Laura Ingalls Wilder saw a bunch of Girl Scouts “roughing it,” she would look at them and say, “Wait a minute, you have homes with locks on your doors, no snakes in your bed, a bathroom inside your house, and you are sleeping in this tent – on purpose?!”[cue hysterical laughter]

When my daughter informed me she wanted to attend the two-day Brownie campout, I thought, good luck suckers…er…I mean…have fun sweetheart! When she said she wanted me to go with her, I needed a shot of bourbon and three therapy sessions.

Also, I don’t drink bourbon.

Who the hell are these people?

If you read my post last year about the campout, you would know I still have nightmares about the daddy long legs and the lack of refrigeration. Also the wasp attack, but that is a story for another time.

Why, dear God, why do people do this on purpose? To earn a badge? That is a lovely honor, but will my child also earn the badge for, My mom chaperoned the camp out and now she cries every time she hears the word corn?

I know!

To all you bold and brave outdoorsmen, let me illuminate why camping is not necessary for us lay people:

Bugs. Gross, just gross. Call me a snob, but I don’t like to fraternize with insects. Plus, ABC Pest Control won’t service state parks. Standards people, standards.
Cuisine. I am not a five-star chef, but even I know camp cooking is for the birds…and the squirrels…and the raccoons. You get where I am going with this.
Remember this gem from Blazing Saddles? Beans.
It’s Insulting. Our forefathers worked so hard for us to achieve climate control. Camping is just a slap in the face.
The Weather. Good luck with that pup tent in a thunderstorm. Or a hurricane, or snowstorm. Or condor attack.
Guess What? You can still have your “togetherness time” in a log cabin with running water. Shower, then go on a hike. Then shower again. Maybe play Yahtzee. INSIDE.
The wildlife does NOT want you there. Contrary to popular belief, the bears don’t like us. Neither do the deer. I also have it on good authority that the squirrels will steal your wallet when not looking. Stay home people.
Well Good Morning sunshine.
The Park Rangers don’t want you there either. Let’s face it people, the Park Rangers are there for the – wait for it – park! They are not People Rangers. That would just be weird.

Let me clarify, my disdain for camping has nothing to do with nature. I love the outdoors. I like sitting outside and breathing the fresh air. I like boats, and sand, and trees. I like flowers, fish, and lady bugs.

I do not like sleeping on lumpy ground, cabins with no bathrooms, and earth in my hair. I am not a girly girl, but I am a lady damn it. At this age, I have earned the right to sleep in a bed.

I think Pecos Bill and the Saloon girls of the Wild West would agree with me.

Yes, there are. This includes camping.

Photos Courtesy of:

Family in a tent: www.adventure.howstuffworks.com

Old angry guy in a tent – www.textielmuseum.nl

Bear peaking in tent – www.redwineandapplesauce.com

Blazing Saddles – www.youtube.com – Blazing Saddles

A Million Ways to Die in the West – www.flixfry.com

Indian from A Million Ways to Die in the West – www.thedissolve.com

Am I Really the Patron Saint Too Much Caffeine after 3 P.M.?

All Saints Day was this past Saturday, November 1^st. As Catholics, we celebrate this day – the day after Halloween. I am convinced a group of really surly nuns got together and picked this day as a holy day, just to agitate all the hung over Catholics.

At any rate, the saints are celebrated. Each saint is a “patron” of something. For example, St. Francis of Assisi is the patron saint of animals, St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers, and so on it goes.

The interesting stuff is already taken by most of the saints. Unless you are St. Polycarp of Smyrna, patron saint of earaches and dysentery. Sorry buddy.

Wrong kind of saints. Then again….

So what happens if we modernized sainthood to match where we are today as a society? What patron saint would I be?

Here are some thoughts:

Patron Saint of Why did I walk into this room? I am nowhere near the age of ninety-seven, but I have been super forgetful lately. To the point of embarrassment. I can’t remember names for the life of me. The other day I looked over at the person sitting next to me and said, “I’m sorry, remind me of your name.” He replied, “Your husband.”
Patron Saint of I can wear this sock with a hole in the toe, and oh no, now we are doing this “team building” exercise at work without shoes. If there is one thing I can’t stand buying, it’s socks. I will put on a sock with a hole in the big toe and in the heel, think about throwing it away, then wear it, wash it, and fold it away in my drawer. Repeat in two days.
Patron Saint of Drive-By Liking on Facebook. Oh come on, you do it too. Then you see those posts that ask you to comment and cut and paste into your newsfeed, that way people will know you are really friends. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Oh wait – did a Catholic saint come up with this post?
Patron Saint of Saying, “Yes, of course I will help you with blah, blah, blah.” Then kicking yourself in your holy ass. If you have school-age children, you get this. Just one more volunteer assignment at the carnival. Just one more help the teacher cut out 908 snowmen for the holiday party. This patronage can happen at any age. My mother sits on so many philanthropy boards, I’m getting her a doughnut for Christmas.
Patron Saint of I’m pretending to be asleep so you will get up and let the dog out. This applies to any situation you want to avoid. Pretending to be on the phone to avoid talking to someone you know. Pretending you don’t see a car waiting to pull into a parking spot. Pretending you just didn’t get that notice about your turn to bring the gluten-free snacks to the Brownie meeting [see #3 above].
Patron Saint of I have not downloaded my photos from my IPhone, and now I can’t take anymore pictures. I think I still have photos in my phone from when my daughter was three. She is eight now. I. Never. Download. Photos. Ever. Instead, every time I need to take a picture, I play a little Russian Roulette called, “Wonder which photo is going to be deleted from my life?” Huge ice cream sundae eating photo, or dog making hilarious face photo? The possibilities are endless. I lead a very exciting life.

I also never update my phone and other tales from my wild life.

Most likely, I will not be canonized [stop laughing]. Not even close. Luckily, I’m not bucking for sainthood, just paying homage to the things that fill my life – and most likely, the lives of others.

Plus, it really beats being burned at the stake, getting your eyeballs gouged out, or stoned to death.