Okay, that’s the funniest DeskCam picture of me ever. I look like Austin Powers just having woken up, all glasses-askew and mouth-breathing. I’m not gonna change that one for a while.

Johnny Depp as Willy Wonka. Speaking as lifelong Roald Dahl fan (and someone who’d happily have Johnny Depp’s baby anytime), this is just wrong, wrong, WRONG. There are so many levels of wrongness I don’t know where to begin. Oh no, wait, I do. What the hell is the point of Wonka finding an heir if he’s only forty years old? He’s supposed to be an old man! Gahhhh. Looking at the cast list only brings up more confusion. Helena Bonham-Carter as Mrs. Bucket? That character is only in the book for, like, five pages. (The musical increased her part by killing off Mr. Bucket.) And that the hell is this: Christopher “Count Dooku” Lee as “Willy Wonka’s Father.” Seriously, what the hell is that? Willy Wonka’s father doesn’t exist! When I spoke to Felicity Dahl about this adaptation three years ago, she stressed repeatedly that they were going to try to be accurate to the book in a way that the musical wasn’t. Looking at it now, I can only surmise that somebody sold out Roald’s legacy in a big way. (Link courtesy of Kevin.)

Carve a jack-o-lantern! As I haven’t been able to locate any orange pumpkins in the city this year – David Jones has them but only for decoration, not for sale – this is as close as I’m going to get! (Link courtesy of Parker.)

Scariness.
It happened last night about 6:30, not long before we started to close up for the night. Becca and I’d been helping a customer down at the knitting counter for some time. Losh was also on the floor, along with about three customers. The first thing I remember is Losh rushing down to us and asking, “Did you let somebody back in the office?” No. “Somebody’s back in the office.” I looked up in time to see Albert dash through the door marked “STAFF ONLY.” Losh was looking at me scared. I grabbed the phone off the counter. “Should I…?” In my panic, I forgot the Australian emergency number. All I could think was “911! No, that’s not right, idiot!” A second later all thought left my head as we could clearly hear Albert fighting with the intruder in the hallway. I put the phone down. What should we do? Should we try to hold the door closed to he can’t get out? What if he’s got a weapon back there and we’d be trapping Albert back in with him? The matter was decided when the door flung open and a crazed skinny shirtless man flew out. I just had time to see his dirty blonde hair and notice that he was hitching up his pants oddly. My first incorrect (albeit funny) thought was that Albert had walked in on him having a wank back there. “Where’s his shirt?” I gasped, wondering if I’d been so blind as to have not noticed a shirtless man enter the shop. “Albert ripped it off,” Losh reported from the hallway. “What’d he get?” “A computer.” We found out afterwards that Albert had entered the office, seen the guy, and asked him what he was doing. He said we’d let him in to wash his hands. Albert stepped back out into the shop to ask if it was true. When we denied it, he headed back in and asked the guy to return whatever was obviously stuffed into his pants. The guy rushed him. They grappled in our extremely cluttered hallway. Albert was twice the size of the guy but quickly realized it was better to let him go. The intruder was crazy and he was pulling things off the shelves, things like customers’ irreplaceable tapestries. The stuff he stole was replaceable; they’re not. So he let him go, but not before tearing off the guy’s shirt. Everyone was fine. We called the cops. I was still shaking ten minutes later. How did I not notice him? Was it me that left the door unlocked? All my way home I entertained vigilante fantasies about noticing a shirtless man at my bus stop and kicking him in the balls so I could steal the computer back. I had dreams about it all night.

The new shop’s going to have security cameras.

Another brilliant example of why most of the the world wants Bush out of office: He’s blocked his website to anybody outside the U.S. Seriously. I just tried it myself and I get “Access Denied.” The man just doesn’t care at all about what anybody outside his circle thinks. And no, I’m not arguing anything silly like that “furriners” should have votes or anything, but would it kill us to at least pretend that we give a shit what our neighbours think? I mean, Australia’s an ally! They’re in the Coalition of the Willing! Yet… “Access denied.” Political friendship with George Bush doesn’t seem to get you very much these days, does it? (Link courtesy of slashdot.)

The Fall Knitty Surprise is up, and it’s a whole mini-issue devoted to breast cancer awareness! Very nice patterns, too.

New word! I am definitely an infracaninophile. (Link courtesy of Casey.)

Even though I’ve pretty much given up on the diet right now (she says while munching Golden Grahams), the Snook and I still are having endless fun threatening to put Dr. Amy Jones on the Catkins Diet. It makes us laugh. In reality, she eats mostly dry food with the occasional supplement of Fancy Feast, a raw chicken wing, or if she’s really good, a bit of fat from a chicken breast. She loves that. (Link courtesy of miftik.)

The Greatest Care Package EVER.
Friday was randomly super-duper busy at work and I was just having a complete crapper of an afternoon. All my customers were rude and stupid and irritating. I was hanging on to the last shred of patience when Losh walked by and announced that I had a package. “Another package for me?” It was, at long last, the mythical Little Debbie Care Package from my cousin Jenny. And just like that, my day turned around. Is this not the best box you’ve ever seen? Boston Creme Pies, Fudge Rounds, Star Crunch, Zebra Cakes, Oatmeal Creme Pies, Swiss Cake Rolls, and two boes of Nutty Bars (my favorite)! Not to mention Golden Grahams, Bisquik, and 500 tablets of ibuprofen. My co-workers couldn’t decide what was more amazing: that I actually wanted this crap; that judging by the price stickers, the whole lot cost about $20; or that Jenny actually spent $70 to ship it airmail. All I can say is thank you. You probably saved more than one life that afternoon. And now I must go eat another Nutty Bar. (Don’t bother asking me about the diet. It’s officially shot.)

This is one of the looniest analyses of Donnie Darko I’ve read. The author somehow argues that really the whole thing is about Donnie’s repressed sexual urges towards his sister. Say what?