the nomness

I’m briefly popping my head up from editing this next behemoth to share the sweetest countdown to the Season 6 House premiere that I’ve ever seen. Nevermind that it’s the only one I’ve ever seen. I have a feeling that, short of video of Hugh Laurie counting backwards, this one will take the prize (that does not actually exist) (damndamn). Anyhoo, nature calls (nature being FCP), so enjoy. Sadly, this tab will probably be open on my screen for the next month and a half. Less sadly is the fact that I’m so making a House vid next.

would love to hear the Teardrop heartbeats behind it

This week’s memes included:

When fanfiction meets safari, you get "Jungle Cullens" (please sing to the tune of "Jungle Boogie" and add the "ooooooh ah oooooo ah" after. (use of "get down get down" optional)

My own personal Twi-nom goes – Rob, Jackson, Peter, Kellan, Taylor, and the various boys from there.  If I feel compelled to let my mind wander, Jasper often finds himself lost in that big ‘ole house and wanders into an awkward situation with Edward and Bella.  My stories are always so much more detailed than Ms. Meyer’s.

Bitchface goes blonde again post-"The Runaways"

I believe this one is self-explanatory.  Kstew, for the uninitiated, is dubbed Bitchface, for what seems to me, obvious reasons, but for those who are a little more sensitive (and really why would they read this blog anyway) one actually has to HUNT for a picture where this girl looks happy/grateful for what she has/involved in what’s happening around her/or just not a bitch.  I often have to pull her actual name out of the dark recesses of my mind because I honestly cannot remember anything other than “Bitchface.”

And finally, the title track of today’s post:

I was going to think of an applicable caption, but we've titled this file "Jazz Hands" and I think we'll just leave it at that.

*nonsense images courtesy of Awkward Family Photos

And I have an interwebz addiction to Ravelry. In the forums of Ravely, there is a group. And this group of ladies are FUNneh. And smart. And web-ninjas. They feed my closeted (less so than before), inexplicable Twilight addiction. Thankfully, however, they are also clever enough to mock the shit out of it because it is SILLY (and I’m so ok with silly) for women, adult women, to swoon over this story. And the subsequent films – nomable men or no. (please reference our bloglist for another silly site who shares my view on the subject)

I bring you. Genius.

Remember that one scene in High Fidelity when Laura makes the point to Rob, and I’m paraphrasing, that once the record comes out he’s officially part of the system? Well, we here at the Nomness are now officially part of the system. Witness our first fanvid, Snape and all his Snapey glory, in…

If you click, you can view in what I’ve found to be quite a lovely HD or even fullscreen.

It’s not that I’m SPOILED, per se (please reference South Park), but it’s more that even now in my 30-somethingth year, I am always suprised when faced with the idea that I canNOT have something. I’m smacked in the face with a big ‘ole WTF – I can not haz?!  and then I go immediately into my pre-adolescent mindset of “well, I didn’t want it anyway”

Rob, if you are reading this, please be aware that Laymee is writing this, really, and just trying to keep us apart. Lies, I tell you, lies.

My immediate reaction is -   Take THIS!

Love-Tunnel. I haz one (heh.)

And THIS!!

Rob - I've carried a parasol TOO (yes, I know, this surprises no one)! We have so MUCH in common (also - I have that fan.)

Mockery IS my highest form of flattery. I save it for my closest friends and loved ones. Oh, and reality television.

So yes, while I honestly, in my mind – which at most times has the capacity for logic – know that the me-and-Rob-thing is never going to happen, some part of me, let’s call her Dymphna, somehow believes that this thing is in the realm of possibility (I’m not really interested in being with a 23 yr old, am I? Well….every lady has her exceptions.) and hence, this takes me out of the squealy fangirl/Beatle-hysteria realm and brings me into the role of would-be come-to-mama seductress. And Dymphna is a mad bitch. Dymphna also encourages the following campaign:

Effbit for Siobhan in Breaking Dawn – 2011

Seriously, that Dymphna needs to be taken in hand. She’s chanting this shit a la “Let Donna Martin Graduate”.

*nonsense images courtesy of Awkward Family Photos

I think the subject here is a bit misleading. I’m talking new old like when NBC would run old episodes of Friends over the summer 8 years ago with the tagline “If you haven’t seen it then it’s new to you.” And now this is entirely wrong because in no way is Friends meant to be implied as a classic. Let’s just say it’s no West Wing, and I have one word to those who disagree.

Toby.

I will back my words up in a future post in an attempt to convince anyone else that Richard Schiff is a sexy motherfucker, but only when sporting facial hair. I KNOW I can make that final argument; it’s the earlier one that has previously earned me more than one cocked head of confusion (make your own damn dirty joke here, I’m too busy thinking of tobypr0n). And for the record, his RL wife teaches other ladies how to pole dance. Seriously. Sheila Kelley (nerdalert) is the one responsible for teaching Lisa Edelstein her Cuddy pole moves as seen at the end of Season 4 of House (/nerdalert), and is thus a personal hero of mine. THAT WAS SOME HOT SHIT RIGHT THERE. Daaaamn….but the point is…um…the point is gone, and Schiff must have some righteous moves of his own to bag that dame and I just want to see them, what…

What I mean by new old classics is the sense of….well, we have these classics, yeah? These fine specimens of manness and maleitude with HAIR and lines on their faces (for the most part anyway). And we pore over bites and bytes of a lot of the same poses or photoshoots (and yes, thank you Eff for linking all the dripping wet rpattz nomitude because fucking HELL that’s a pretty young hairy mannishboy), but it’s rare to come across (heh) a new pic that wasn’t shot, cropped and printed earlier that day. Damn you, age of immediate gratification!

To wit, I offer two pieces of evidence, from my and Effbit’s primary whipping men (oh, but for one night in bangkok).  First up, I’ve seen this pic a couple of times in the past but never had the thought to actually grab it for keepsies until Effbit rolled up the other day and was all, I WANT RICKMAN ON A BEACH NOW.  Then I was all, damn girl, calm.  Once I’d found the pic again, I remembered why she was in a state.

Christ on crutches, what’s a girl to do with THAT!?  I’d heard all English were deathly allergic to sunlight, or were just pissed at the outdoors because the sun has no appreciation for dry humor and isn’t that a kick in the head.  I’ve no idea of his age in this one but those bangs look as if they were dealt with by mummy not 4 hours earlier.  Early to mid 20s?  Jesus God, WANT.

All drooling aside (yeah right), the pic for my own interest is decided less graphic (and perhaps you’ll appreciate the typographical irony of that statement in a minute).  From the bowels of some bloke’s camera in 1981, I give you a registration board showing two lists of names of rowers.  Peep the Cambridge spare.

Sexy handwriting does something to my brain that is a glorious thing, although it can be quite surprising when it pops up at inopportune moments.  Like reading a map written and drawn by a babysittee’s father.  Bad to swerve violently while lusting after lower zone 4′s.

For anyone not in the know about Mr Laurie’s rowing career (and for me because I will look at manleg at the drop of a sock), please enjoy the following.  While brief, it’s still an eye-popping look at a 74.5″/194# 20-year-old piece with thighs to crack walnuts (and yes i’m holding those walnuts in my teeth).

Eff & I got to talking about Crispin Glover this morning (do NOT ask how, I’m not entirely comfortable with the path we had to take to get there), and I immediately jumped to his Letterman interview. Then I went mushy thinking about Letterman, because I’m probably one of only three or four folks who do and I’m counting that crazy stalker of his from back in the day. And, like…his mom. He’s a tall, passionate, and angry man with a quick brain and I think we all know that’s right up the nomness M.O. alley. I think Biggie said it best…M.O. alley, M.O. nommin.

So yeah, the crazy is all over the Glover (must’ve skipped a generation with Danny and jumped ship for Mel Gibson early on in their partnership), and it would appear that crazy flocks to Letterman like chips to pannecotta. No rhyme or reason whatsoever. So here’s a selection, in backwards chronological order. Because ordering things makes crazy even crazier, and we all know that safe crazy is always up for a good time and I am ALWAYS up a good time heeeeeeyy.

Honestly, big auld back the fuck up to anyone who is going to bitch about Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland.  I am super sickeningly excited for this film for several reasons.  Let’s look at them here.

The one that really should go without saying is the Rickman.  I don’t care that he’s not going to have legs or that he will be CG’ed so that only his face will be there.  It WILL be his voice, and I WILL audibly squee because the caterpillar was always my favourite character.  Cut to Effbit’s 18th year.  Getting high in good friend’s room while painting a MASSIVE, will we say 8′ x 12′?, caterpillar and Alice on her bedroom wall.  Her parents were so much cooler than mine, obviously.  It was always my telephone doodle – to draw some incarnation of that scene – I did it in the styles of some of the greats – Van Gogh, Seurat, Gauguin…. I wrote a thesis on Lewis Carroll and his writings.  His collective works is the cornerstone for my “big girl books” – those gold-leafed, leather-bound ones.  So yes.  There is that as well – as a decidedly influential story that carried me from toddlerdom to my just post-adolescent life.  I still read it every so often, I’m not gonna lie to you.

Also, there is Helena Bonham Carter, on whom I have a most definite girl-crush.  EVERYTHING she’s ever done makes me want to BE her.  Silly.

I have a crush on Tim Burton.  He may not be an oil painting, ladies, but the man has a vision, and like it or lump it, it’s HIS and is practically trademarked.  Brilliance, girls, is sexy and a super turn on for me.

And Johnny.  Oh, Johnny.  You were a crush since Edward Scissorhands (I know.  My FIRST crush was Boy George, though.  Took multiple people to explain to me that he actually LIKED boys – I just couldn’t be convinced).  When I ran into you, very near literally, in real life, it turned out you were much more wee than I initially suspected.  Which was soul-crushing.  You were a MAN to me.  How could my measly 5’9″ stature (6’1″ in the shoes I was wearing) dwarf YOU, Johnny?  Sigh.  More to the point though, I love your work when you are on a project with Tim, dear Johnny, and am all butterflies in the tummy in anticipation.

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat, / How I wonder what you're at / Up above the world so high / Like a tea tray in the sky...

The rest of the cast – Michael Sheen (eeee!), Stephen Fry (hip hip!), Timothy Spall (I just want a pint with him!)….Christopher Lee, Crispin Glover…It’s very nearly too much.  And the cinematography looks amazing.  And the COSTUMES!  Good Christ.  The film, honestly, looks like someone just took everything that could be favouritest in my brain and said “Oi, Burton.  C’mere te me.  Do this here now”.  And he did.

But then, shall I never get any older than I am now? That'll be a comfort, one way -- never to be an old woman -- but then -- always to have lessons to learn!

So that is my little post for right now.  Will definitely be talking about this more in the future, as tomorrow is Comic Con, and for the first time I am feeling pangs of “what if I were there”.

And you've picked up a bit of an attitude, still curious and willing to learn, I hope.

Well I’m back in Texas and none the better for it. Effbit & I had stupid amounts of drunken nonsense fun, not the least of which was a midnight Half-Blood Prince screening where I wore my DA t-shirt & had Lego Snape in my pocket and Effbit brought her FRIGGIN SNAPE WAND. Now, I could mock her incessantly if A) I wasn’t the one who procured said birthday dorkstick, and 2) I wasn’t just a bit jealous that she could totally pwn my Wingardium Leviosa. I can mime a chopstick for days but it’s nothing against the licensed fake Real Thing, especially as it’s being jabbed into my ribs when the good potions master is onscreen waaay more than expected. Gah, I can never win unless I actually go to med school and brave the Jersey hospitals. Although I must say, watching copious amounts of House is increasing my need to not be quite so delicate with the creepy close talkers I plan to run into as I continue to hottiefy myself. And yes that’s a word, and as a 30+yo woman it’s not overly creepy, just way past due. Ob-viously.

When I used to smoke, my choice was Kamel Red Lights. Because they were yummy and a gentleman friend of mine taught me how to smoke and that was his choice and that’s how this happens, right? One is somewhat grandfathered in, taught by one who knows, and that’s it. Why did I flip one? Because he did. Makes total sense. I don’t smoke anymore (and really only did off and on for a few years), but I have always been drawn to the fetish of it. I like the look of it, I love the accoutrement and habit of the whole thing, and I really really don’t mind the smell and taste. I consider it a key part of my pool game, whenever I can find a table that actually allows for it. I swear when I have a pool table at home, smoking will be REQUIRED. Like, there’ll be a cigarette candle on repeat.

From what I’ve learned about other smokers, one is loyal to one’s brand. You make allowances dependent upon finances and sobriety but in general you won’t have a lot of Winston folks jumping ship for Lucky Strike. However, this pic makes me reconsider my firm stand against Marlboro Lights.

And the open mouth doesn’t hurt his case either.

(edited by effbit to say OH HELL YEAH.  I have been off the fags for TWENTY….count them TWENTY weeks and this is not helping in the least.  For the curious, yes, I smoked Marlboro Lights – both in America and in Ireland, because I was definitely brand loyal.  I salivate now while thinking about it – WHY is it that my cravings have gotten worse after the 3rd month?!  This shit is SO fucking unfair.

Here, I know you always like a smoke after teh sex, let me light one for you......

Jesus.  I will post tomorrow.  I am in too weak-kneed/willed a state to fucking manage this right now….gaaaaah.)

I am coming to realize that I am often inspired to post while recovery from the evening before. Lucky for you lovely readers, this is not too rare an occurance and provides wonderful perving fodder. We do not, however, want our topics to be purely banal, so we will offer what I like to call “useful household tips”. At least they are useful in my household.

Yesterday Laymee and I managed a good deal of girly tasks. First task- makeover. That’s right. We went to Bloomingdales and went to my wonderful makeup genie and done did gotten our faces did up. We looked perty. So perty, in fact, that we wanted celebrate. Liquidly. And we made an AMAZING discovery. Coconut lychee martini. Yes. You read that correctly. They were truly things of beauty. And, gentle readers, in the interest of bringing you pertinent news of the booze and boys variety, we decided to take it upon ourselves to go shopping in the Asian grocery store, purchase the relevent tinned and cartoned materials. Did you know that lychees only come in heavy syrup? I didn’t either. Now I do.

So below you will find the elusive Coconut Lychee Martini. It took damn near a bottle of Stoli (consumed by yours truly) I-don’t-know-how-many bottles of persecco (consumed by Laymee) and an endless amount of patience from the wonderful neighbour/friend/bartender at my local (due to the endless amount of bullshit that came out of my mouth).

A healthy pour of stolichnaya. By healthy I mean maybe 5 or 6 counts
Half as much lychee juice
Splash of coconut milk
Touch of chambord
Lychee

Chill your martini glass. In mixer pour vodka, lychee juice, and coconut milk. Shake the hell out of it. Pour over lychee in martini glass. Pour in tiniest splash of chambord. Enjoy

Repeat until the floor spins underneath of you. Or the enourmous polish-american chatting up your best friend with weird conversation about bees looks good.

In oher news, I am finding that blogging from NJTransit is fantastic. This wordpress iPhone app is the bestest. I do have a request for the riders of NJTransit. If you are going to share the 2person seat with me, I ask you to bathe. I hate to be a stickler about this. But like maybe once this week. I know it’s the end of the workday. Hell. I know it’s the end of the workweek. But is it SO much to ask that you don’t smell of the delightful combination of urine and B.O. during rush hour? Maybe wait until the 7 pm train or something? I know that my sense of smell is far more sensitive since I quit smoking. I also know that I am far bitchier (ok, really, it’s hard to tell, isn’t it). Please though maybe next time don’t sit next to me. Kthanxbai.

I just had a near-miss there. Got on the wrong train in Penn station. Seriously. Had to get out and switch at Newark or I would have ended up in Long Beach. I could have sworn the fecking board said track 3.

Soooooo. I will use this time to catch up on other bloggers. And stay awake. And keep from puking. Godspeed. Or something.