“Bring me my legs.”

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This year is turning into “the year of the movie in the theater” for me. Usually, my drive to see a movie is lower than my drive to avoid being surrounded by humanity and their cell phone lights and rustling wrappers, but not this year: Avengers, Cabin in the Woods, Prometheus, The Dark Knight Rises, The Expendables 2, The Hobbit, Snow White and the Huntsmen…and Piranha 3DD. This last one I had fully intended to see on Sunday when I discovered that it was not playing in a single theater near me. And not “not playing in the theater five minutes from the house” near me: not playing within 80 miles of me. Not playing at all, anywhere in this state. All in all, Piranha 3DD is only playing in 75 theaters nationwide. In order to see Piranha 3DD in the theater, I’d have to grab a passport, hop on a ferry, and watch it in Victoria B.C.: Canada coming through where the United States has clearly failed me.

Now, I almost considered it–a ridiculous trip for what was sure to be a ridiculous movie, plus Canada has delicious candy, but I also took a moment to investigate any other options. If I had Comcast, I could watch it via OnDemand, but Jason and I both think it’s stupid to pay for cable tv when it’s mostly comprised of wretched made-for-TV movies, 30 year old movies with anything remotely interesting edited out, home shopping, commercials, and infomercials. I could pay to watch it through Facebook or YouTube, but watching it on a relatively small screen with notifications blinking at me felt less than ideal. Then Jason discovered that we could stream it through Xbox Live: WE HAVE A WINNER.

It was worth every second of hassle. I truly don’t understand why it’s getting such negative reviews–yes, critics are practically required to hate horror-comedies because the genre doesn’t beautifully depict the human condition via a plastic trash bag blown to and fro by a capitalist wind, but that’s not the job of the horror-comedy. The horror-comedy’s job is to beautifully depict the human condition via the juxtaposition of blood and fake boobs. Sex, death, and fart jokes: the holy trifecta.

Piranha 3DD hits every single one of its targets–ridiculous monsters, great gore FX, delightfully stupid people, and a number of moments in which I was desperately sad that we weren’t watching in 3D as this is a movie that hearkens back to classic 3D tactics, none of this tasteful Avatar 3d where “You forget that you’re watching a 3D movie.” NO. This is campy magic, and I’m sure it’s even more magical when it’s thrust into your face. Riotously funny, at one point I commented to Jason that I was having difficulty deciding whether this was the movie of the year or the movie of the decad-BAM. Annoying child decapitation: MOVIE OF THE CENTURY.

“In doggy heaven, there are mountains of bones and you can’t turn around without sniffing another dog’s butt!”

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I fixed all of the Napoleon-killed stuffed animals we had in the house today, sneaking them downstairs underneath my shirt (dogs are so stupid, he didn’t suspect a thing until I accidentally squeaked my new massive third breast) and gave them all to him at once.

He is the happiest dog in the world right now–he can’t decide which one to play with so he’ll run off with one only to come back to jealously guard the pile as if it might disappear at any moment and then select a new favorite.

“Come to think of it, every shift at the cemetery is the graveyard shift.”: The Neon Graveyard in Las Vegas

6 Comments read (f)Art, Attractions, Mountain, Nevada, Travel, USA, West

On our trip to Las Vegas, we made sure we had time to visit the neon boneyard, as it’s something I’ve wanted to do for a few years and kept missing. It will eventually be turned into a full-fledged museum, but at the moment, it’s basically a backlot full of signs out in the blazing Las Vegas heat. I’m not exaggerating: we were told that the 106 degree heat was the hottest tour they’d given this year, and they discourage people from straggling from the group as they’ve actually had issues with people keeling over!

Thankfully, no one keeled over on our visit, though I did learn about some of the more unpleasant ways the body can sweat. The neon boneyard collection contains any and all of the signs they could scavenge from the neighboring casinos, either from when they replaced their signs or went out of business. So, as one might expect, the signs are rusted or otherwise broken. Our tour guide instructed us to please avoid touching them (apparently some people have attempted to lick the signs? I can’t begin to fathom why) as not only are they rusted and full of lead and asbestos, but they are also irreplaceable–they consider the signs their Mona Lisa, and you wouldn’t go and lick the Mona Lisa, would you?

No sooner had she given her instructions than I backed away from the group to take a photo and promptly stumbled backward into a sign–not enough to fall, but enough to give it a kick, which made a terrible clattering sound. My only cover was to disguise my voice and say gruffly “It was an accident!” and then I skittered away. I don’t know if that’s a resume-worthy line: Kicked the Mona Lisa.

That S has tasted my foot.

We were also told that we were not allowed to use any of the photos we took for commercial purposes–when I asked how they would know, they said “Oh, we’re big on the internet.” So I told them that they would probably find my blog, and not to be aghast at the fat Elvis I’d photoshopped in front of a sign. So as not to disappoint: