A Battle Of The Slave Leia's

In the pinnacle of nerdom there is one movie that stands out above all others…Star Wars. Sure, you have the occasional person that has A) Never seen the movies and B) Doesn’t like them, but come on, those people are weird. By weird I mean abnormal. By abnormal I mean there is something seriously wrong with them. Its ok though, we can forgive them, so long as they are attractive. Now with this greatness of nerdom there is possibly the most fantastic outfit ever to grace the screen…the Slave Leia outfit. You can go to any Comic Con/Dragon Con/”insert any other nerd festival here…hell…even Renaissance Festival” and you will see some lass wearing the Slave Leia costume. Some of them can pull it off, some of them can’t. But god bless you for trying ladies. Slave Leias have provided nerd masturbation fodder for years. Well I decided to do a search for celebrities portrayed in the Slave Leia outfit. I’ve searched for hours and only came across a few (feel free to tell me others in the comments and I’ll be happy to add them).

(A random hot Leia for you)

As a basis we shall begin with the original Leia herself…Carrie Fisher. Now some may argue that there are none who can compete with Fisher, seeing as how she was the original, but I disagree.


Kristen Bell. The Veronica Mars star has basically kept a career of TV shows but occasionally steps into the movie business (such as Forgetting Sarah Marshall). However, proper nerds will also know that she appears in Fanboys.


Up next we have Adrianne Curry. I suppose she’s most known for appearing as herself, especially when she was on the show America’s Next Top Model. Although it appears she has also tried a hand in film and television. Also…it appears she’s a big nerd. She’s even dressed up as Wonder Woman.


One of my favorites would have to be Olivia Munn. Most known among the geek world for her role on Attack of the Show, she has also been in a few films (Date Night, Iron Man 2), and recently got herself a gig on The Daily Show.


Now there’s Yvonne Strahovski. Yvonne is one of the stars on the TV show Chuck…which also has a huge nerd following. It doesn’t hurt that she’s been in her underwear a lot during the course of the show.


Believe it or not it actually took me awhile to find this picture (although now it seems to be in every search) of Melissa Joan Hart as a Slave Leia. Surely you know who Hart is. Fuck if she’s done anything else, we should know her from Clarissa Explains it All and Sabrina the Teenage Witch.


I know she doesn’t count but if you’ve seen Black Snake Moan with Christina Ricci its hard not to tell that the concept was borrowed from Slave Leia. At least…I like to think so.


So there you have it. If you can think of anymore, like I said, feel free to share with me. I’ll leave you with another random, hot, Comic/Dragon/blahcon nerd...or three.

Ice...Cold...Beer

I want to write. I want to write so badly I can taste it. Yet when I look at this blank page and my fingers hover over the keys nothing comes out. Nothing. I can write a story in my head the entire time I’m at work and yet as soon as I come home and open up the laptop it refuses to yield. Nothing.

For the last eight years the same two stories have been writing themselves in my head. I’ve mentioned one of them before, that one I had 200+ pages written of and deleted in a night of drunken stupidity. Its still kicking its way around in the back of my head…waiting on a backburner. The other story, the one that is now at the front of my head, is the one that was on the backburner during that one. Yet…nothing.

The characters are unfolding. The story is writing itself. The images are placing themselves clearly in my mind. Dialogue is molding into realistic tones. Yet…nothing.

Short stories. The happy place of my existence that always seemed to pour forth from me are gone, like a dried up river bed. Short stories were the things I never ran out of. Even when I was in a writers block, if I could get past my dull state of mind, I could always ink out a short story. It might not have been my best work, it might have been a piece of shit, but it was still flowing. I think that is driving me nuts more than anything. I don’t even have my short stories to fall back on. Even further back…my poetry.

I’m trying to get inspiration. I’m reading more. I’m watching so many movies I can’t even keep track of what I’ve seen and what I haven’t (I started making lists, as evident by my Monday face book posts). Yet…nothing. I’ve turned to my favorite movies that help me write…Wonder Boys…Dead Poets Society…I’m still refusing to watch Dark City (don’t ask). I know I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. Women have always been my muse.

Women. Yet I have what appears to be such an apathetic attitude towards women that its starting to freak me out. Sure, my online flirting is still progressing at the same pace that it has been. In fact, I’ve even found one that is currently appealing to me more than any others. Yet, once again, its someone who lives far enough away from me that my attention is, in the long scheme of things, utterly useless. However, when I look at the women that I see around me I can’t seem to actually strum up any desire to engage in a conversation with one. Then again I would actually have to go somewhere where I can meet women, which my current situation is devoid of the possibility of allowing me to even do such a thing. Which brings me to my next subject of conversation.

I was placed on non-reporting probation today. I finally finished counseling last week (despite the fact that I’m still going. I’ll explain that later) and today was my last meeting with my probation officer. Of course, I’m still under the rules of probation, I.e. I’m not supposed to drink or do any drugs. Which brings me to my next point. What am I supposed to do?

My whole life for the last eight years has revolved around bars. I hang out with friends…at bars. I take dates…to bars. I spend my days off…at bars. What the fuck am I supposed to do now that I’m not drinking? Of course my options are even more limited due to the fact that I still can’t drive. So, if I want to go out, my only option is to go out with a friend. Who is…guess what? Going to a bar. I thought about this the other day and I can’t think of a single friend that lives around me that doesn’t drink. Not a one. At least not one that I actually know/hang out with enough to consider going/hanging out with. Can I go to a bar? Yes. Do I want to go to a bar and sit there and watch them get drunk? No. At first this wasn’t a problem for me. Lately however, its getting worse. Of course it doesn’t help that my friends have verbally declared how “lame” I am now that I’m not drinking. How much “fun” I used to be. How I’m now “boring” and “dull.” The sad thing is…I agree. I am fucking boring. What do I do? I sit at home, I go to work, I sit at home. This is my daily fucking routine. Days off? Can’t drive anywhere…so I sit at home. You know what has been going through my head the last few days? A big ass fucking beer mug with ice clinging to the side, filled to the brim with Budweiser. I have had such a visual of this that I have practically smelled it in my nose. Tasted it in my mouth. I’ve been practically drooling. I’ll tell you when this started.

Saturday I was chilling before work, fucking around on the internet (my new favorite past time), and my dad walks in and hands me a letter from KSU. I take the letter, place it on the bed, and continue fucking around on the internet.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” My dad asks.
I look at him.
“Open it. I want to know what it says.”
I reluctantly grab the letter and open it. It takes me less than a second to scan the letter, to see the word denied in bold letters just like that, and I toss it back on the bed.
“What?”
He reaches over me and reads it, says, “Sonofabitch!” and throws it back down. Then he looks at me.
“Are you ok?”
Beer. I’m fine.
“Are you sure?”
Beer. I’m fine.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Beer. I’m fine dad…really.
“You’re not thinking about doing anything stupid are you?”
Beer. No dad.
“I’ve really sorry.”
Beer I give him a fake smile to reassure him that I’m going to be alright.
Every since then I have had that fucking image of a beer in my head. A big mug…one of those that holds 28-32 ounces. Ice cold. Delicious. My main reason for not drinking, my purpose, has been because I was getting back in school. I didn’t want to fuck it up like I did last time. The last time I was in school I was more interested in what bar I was going to when I got out of class then actually paying attention.

I’m trying though. After ashes yelled at me tonight I sent an e-mail to both Reinhardt University and Georgia State University. Asking them what their policy on senior transfers is, and how many of my credits will actually count in the transfer. In a slight glimmer of desire I also noted that both universities offer BA’s in Creative Writing. That was what I initially wanted to get my degree in but KSU didn’t offer it. For shits and giggles I also looked at Emory (which I was actually accepted to straight out of high school) and Texas A&M. I didn’t send them anything (mainly because Emory costs almost $20,000 a semester) but I looked.

The thing is I likely won’t be able to get into either university until next Spring. Which leaves me with what, 5 months of more boredom? At least I should (unless the DMV decides to fuck me) get my license back on August 20th. I have no doubt that I will put several thousand miles on my car in the first week I get it back. I will also be able to start doing things. I really want to start hiking again. I have thought about getting a gym membership at a 24hr gym so I can go when I get off work (although this is doubtful…I hate working out). I’ve thought about going places on my days off…maybe little trips out of state. Which brings me back to counseling.

I’m done with counseling. I don’t have to go back. Right now I’m taking a friend because he started going with me and needs a ride…and he’s not done yet. But I’m also going not because I need it…the only thing I’m really getting out of it is being able to talk to other sober people…but because it gives me something to do. It is an excuse/reason for me to get out of the house. FUCK do I want to be out of the house.

Anyways…if you made it this far congrats, I’ll buy you a beer…oh…wait.

By the way, I’m thinking of getting a credit card. Why you ask? So I can finish getting my fucking tattoos. I don’t have any idea how long its going to take for me to actually save up the money. If I get a credit card with, at the very least a $1,200 limit, I can get the tattoos that I want done. Then I can cut the card, pay it off, and cancel it. I mean, for reals, I’ve needed to get my half sleeve finished for over a year now.

#23 Lullaby

This was my first foray into Chuck Palahniuk. Admittedly I wanted the first book to be Fight Club but the book store didn’t have any copies, so I grabbed Lullaby, Choke, and Haunted. I chose Lullaby first based on the recommendations of a few people. I was told I would like Palahniuk because my writing, in some ways, mirrors his. I can see this after reading Lullaby…mainly because he is fucked up, and I, myself, am pretty fucked up.

Lullaby begins by following a reporter, Carl, as he goes around interviewing the parents that have suffered at the hands of infant deaths. His assignment is to tell the tale of how these parents have coped and moved on with their lives. While doing his research he realizes that the same book keeps popping up Poems and Rhymes from Around the World. One of these poems, he realizes, is a culling song. A song that actually kills those it is told to. I take that back…the story really begins by introducing us to Helen, a real estate agent that deals primarily with haunted houses. Eventually the story delves into witchcraft and other black magic. You see, once Carl reads the culling song he can’t get it out of his head…and he starts killing people by accident…and some not so much by accident. Carl and three other people start a hunt for the book with the intent of removing the culling song from every copy so that no other people die unnecessarily. Along the way some of the group seek out another book for an entirely different purpose.

I was told not to look for the bigger picture but its kind of hard. I suppose what Palahniuk is really trying to say is that people desire power (for many different reasons) and once they have that power they only want more. Some want to use it to achieve ulterior motives, some want to help, some just want to rule the world.

Palahniuk’s writing flows really well. He writes simple, but not too simple. The pace stays fairly even throughout, and his language isn’t difficult to understand. He has a weird means of description, an example of which would be as follows: The suit she’s wearing, the skirt is fitted to her hips. It’s green, but not the green of a lime, more the green of a key lime pie. It’s not the green of an avocado, but more the green of avocado bisque topped with a paper-thin sliver of lemon, served ice cold in a yellow Sevres soup plate. He also has an unusual obsession with sex. Not just normal sex though. Frequently the book comes up with instances of necrophilia. He also just throws out random descriptions that make no sense, like constantly describing a woman by saying she has hairy armpits but a shaved vagina. I can understand referring to it once…but several times? I also found it interesting that the only penis he really mentions is pierced.

Bottom line? I like Palahniuk and look forward to reading more of his books. If you’re looking for a quick read I would recommend Lullaby…that is…if you don’t have a problem with weird sex and uncomfortable situations. I will say, however, that when he describes a scene in the book that is both horrific and brutal, he could rival the King himself.

#22 Under the Dome

Let me begin how I always begin when discussing Stephen King. I’ve read all of his books with the exception of the Dark Tower series. In that regards I would consider myself to be a fan. I think, since his accident (in 1999) that his work has declined. His last three books, Duma Key, Lisey's Story and Cell have left me…wanting. It seemed gone were the gross King, the seriously macabre King, the King that made me get lost in a world of horror. I found that he had been replaced by someone else, someone less…disturbed. So, when I was given Under the Dome I was expecting, yet again, to be unimpressed. The result was the opposite.

Under the Dome is a story, at its core, about a small town. This small town, Chester’s Mill-Maine, is surrounded by an invisible force field that no one can explain. The novel details the events that take place throughout the town during its captivity. The main characters would be, essentially, Barbie (a former Army Lieutenant now drifter) and Rennie (the towns very own corrupt politician). Overall the cast of characters is quite large and rather expansive. Some of these characters go on to play larger roles, others simply drift into the background.

How is he back to form? The book has everything a King lover could hope for. Murder (in sickening detail), brutal rape, crazy fuckers, suicides, dismemberments, fire, lots of fire, more crazy fuckers, beatings, aliens, nightmares, drug addicts, even more crazy fuckers, child to child lust (he always creeps me out when he goes that route…think IT), plane wrecks, car wrecks, tales of childhood woe, broken bones, yet even more crazy fuckers. The book has everything, including his inability to write sex scenes:

“He kissed her again. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and gave back as good as she got. And when his hand tugged her blouse from the waistband of her slacks and then slipped up across her midriff to cup her breast, she gave him her tongue. When they broke apart, she was breathing fast.

"Want to?" he asked.

"Yes. Do you?"

He took her hand and put it on his jeans, where how much he wanted to was immediately evident.”

God bless you Stephen.

The bad? The length. Most of the times I get a King book I can read it in one sitting, no matter how long it is. There are times in Under the Dome that he just over expands himself. I think, at some points, he got lost in his cast of characters. Like he wanted to give all of them equal page time despite the fact that some of them didn’t need to exist…or could have been combined into one character. As always this usually comes in the form of the children (I’m convinced he doesn’t understand kids…at all), and old people. The other factor is pop culture. I’ve always loved his references to days of old. Just look at Christine and Tales from a Buick 8. I love when he throws out old school songs, books, television. In this one it always seems that he’s trying to show that he’s still hip, that he’s still got it, and it started grating on me after awhile. The main one that got me was the damn fist bump. I don’t know how many times I read where people are fucking fist bumping each other. “’Good luck,” Joe said, and extended his fist through the window. Rusty pounded it lightly, then did the same with Norrie and Benny. Rommie also extended his fist. ‘What’s good for the kids is good enough for me.’” There are other examples: “…’He’s not my biggest fan right now. He’s probably even deleted me from his Facebook page.’” He also, at one point, talks about a show that is a sequel to “Lost,” and about a 2012 BMW. Another part of the book that I didn’t understand came at page 800, or the 16th chapter. He suddenly switches voices. Now I don’t recall if he did this earlier in the book, but if he decided to pull it out that late in the game its rather confusing. Throughout the book he follows certain characters. At chapter 16 he suddenly starts floating, like a narrator, and guides us around the whole town. It was weird.

Prognosis? King is getting back to being King. At least, I hope so. I hope this isn’t just a fluke. Now, this book is definitely not an airplane read, nor is it a toilet read. You’re actually going to have to sit down and invest some time in it. I think its worth it though.