Cheer Up, Freddy. You're Actually a Very Popular Guy

  I'd really, really like to see the new Nightmare on Elm Street film, but Dad won't let me right now, craaap.....
  Anyway, I'm interested in the whole Elm Street lexicon (and because I am, I finally noticed on my bus ride home that there's an Elm in my little town, and yes, I wanna move there) and so I spend my free time learning generally anything I can about it, and there was a section on Krueger's Wikipedia page about how he was mentioned and stuff in other media, and there was a whole section about the K-Man in music, which surprised me. I mean, the obvious name-checkers were there, like Stormtroopers of Death, but then I found Eminem had referenced him in not one but two songs, "Insane" and "Underground," and then, scrolling down a little more, I found somebody had made a song about Nightmare, somebody who surprised me:
  The. Fresh. Prince. Of. Freaking. Bel. Air. 
  The song is called "Nightmare on My Street," and I'm listening to it for the second time RIGHT NOW. No, I actually am. Never mind that the K-Man gets Jeff in the end, it's a good song. I have no emotional attachment to him, anyway. But, really. The FRESH PRINCE?
  I don't see why he has to go after all those kids, then, if everybody writes all these songs and everything about him. Shouldn't he just settle for that and go on vacation or something? If anybody's an advertisement for anti-psycho meds, it's that guy. Heck, if I were him, I'd be satisfied with being on South Park and go to bed already.  
  Imaginationland Pt. 2, anybody? 

  ***

  After this entry was written, the author, NiteOwl, moved to a nice little house in the middle of Elm Street in her small, quiet town. After her family couldn't get through to her for a week, somebody was sent to investigate and NiteOwl was found dead in her bed. Suspicious claw marks were found on her wall and on her sheets. No suspect has, as of yet, been named.

  Just kidding. I'll be back soon. Freddy can't stop my blog. 

  Hey, what's that sound?  

I Know It's February, but for Me it's December

  My English teacher--who is awesome, by the way, and who I wish I could have as a teacher every year--plays music in the morning, on his stereo or from his iPod, and he loves this band called the Decemberists. I had heard of them before, but never one of their songs, and then I heard one one morning. It was called "The Mariner's Revenge Song." It was awesome. I love them now. That song inspired me for the story where my main character's mother is killed by a psychopathic dude who was posing as a PI to find victims. And another song by them, "This is Why We Fight," is on the inspiration playlist for another story I'm working on about a bunch of mutant freaks. 
  So, you know, if you have the time, check them out. Especially The Hazards of Love. 

Everything Zen? I Don't Think So

  I refuse to write the name of my brother's blog because I don't sponsor idiocy (actually, that's a medical disease. It should have a capital "I." "Idiocy."). But I feel the need, just in case some of you out there have stumbled upon it, to debunk some things he said so you're not going around with a bunch of lies about me floating around your head like those turds in the toilet that won't go down no matter how many times you flush. 
  I did not, when my brother screamed "FLOOR IT!" at a red light, think he said "Florist." I said it sounded like he did, and then I tied it off into a neat little joke about Emma Barnes, Pizzarino (that's my brother)'s little snuggle bunny. I knew what he said. I just remarked what it sounded like he said. 
  I do not say "muh book!" in this funny accent. I don't. Sorry. Go snort some oatmeal, Pizzarino, or get a life or something. And yes, I deny saying "vensday" because I didn't say it! It's like with the whole florist thing, except he was stupid enough to actually think I said it. And then he has the jerichos to write about it on his blog! Again. Get a life.
  I do not love Mark Valley. I do not like the "Corner Man" episode because he has his shirt off almost the whole time. It also has people punching the utter crap out of each other, and you know how I feel about that (in case you don't, it's hard for me to watch sometimes, when there's blood or whatever. But there were no leaking bodily fluids in this one, which made it easier for me to watch). 
  Yeah, you knew what was in my old stories, the ones I wrote when I was like, ten. That was before I got better. And so far, everyone who has read my stuff has found it "enjoyable" and "very good" and all that crap. So there. Well, they've all moved, but still. They still liked it. 
  News flash: I know what's in yours, too, Rookie.
  I am not obsessed with the "peccalin" scene in Patriot Games, you jerk. I think it's cute. Forgive me for, you know, having a soul. And I'm not the only one who reads, does, or says things over and over again. At the risk of Dad shooting me for saying it, remember "ostronata," or whatever the freak you were saying? 
  You spelled "Christensen" wrong, you twit.  

Some Loose Ends I Wanna Tie Up

  Well, Valentine's freaking Day is over and I survived (I came pretty close to punching out someone in school, though, or at least popping all those giant freaking balloons that were crowding up my hallway--turf war!). Did you? And if not, how are you reading this right now?
  Besides, who needs Cupid anyway? That stupid mutant baby. And where's his mother? Who lets their baby fly all over shooting love arrows into mostly everybody's arses wearing only a diaper? It gets cold in February, you know! Plus, arrows would hurt, wouldn't they? Not exactly conducive to love. I mean, if I got shot in the butt, I'd be pretty dang cranky. And my friend went to an archery range with her family, and she shot off arrows like a little freaking Cupid for a couple hours, and the tip of her finger went numb from pulling the arrow and string back, and it's five or so months later and she still can't feel anything in it, even when we smash it with a textbook or bang it on the lunch table or anything (we're great friends, I promise, and we're really nice, too), because she permanently damaged the nerves in it. So arrows are bad. Especially in the butt.
  Also, a very happy, happy, happy late birthday to my friends Michelle (February first) and Deanna (February seventh). I don't even think they have time to read this, but still, I think it's nice to shout it out, you know? Give some props to the peeps, yo.
  NiteOwl out.  

It's Just a "Reflex"

  And no, I'm not talking about my inhuman urge to punch people in the face. Over Christmas, I got the chance to read a book, the sequel to the original Jumper, and it was called Reflex. And I found it to be really good. It takes place several years later, and it's not told in first person like the first one was, but it was very good anyway. In it, David and Millie--real Millie, not the yuppie thing they turned her into, the one that you'll actually like--have gotten married, and Millie wants to have a kid, but David keeps saying no, and he doesn't actually say why, but it's because he's afraid that he'll be like his dad, who was an alcoholic who beat him with a belt. And then David gets kidnapped. It's a fine book, to sound all British about it. Pick it up, if you get the chance. And if you don't? Pick it up anyway. Or I'll find you and, you know...pull a Miss Pope. 

  Read the book. You'll find out what I mean. 

  But not if you're squeamish. You might throw up. A little. And maybe pass out. Or die.

  Read it.

Not-So-Super Bowl

  You know I had to get to this eventually, didn't you? I just had...some other stuff to get done first. Namely, biology homework. But I'm done that now--thank God, because if I had to see the word "ribosome" or "mRNA" one more time, my head was going to freaking explode--, so I've gotta sink my fangs--ha ha, vampire joke!--into the mind-numbing train wreck that was Super Bowl Forty-Five.
  Usually I only watch it for the funny commercials--except for last year, where I was emotionally attached to the Saints (and I still am, haters--yeah, I'm looking at you, jerk. Quit drinking the Haterade and read this). I think that's what I'm going to have to do from now on, because this one sucked. Utter football crap. And it wasn't just the teams' faults.
  First came Christina Aguilera, who I hated anyway and just hate even more now. How do you mess up your own country's national anthem? Can someone tell me? God. I'd rather hug Ilsa Pucci than go through that again. And you all know how I feel about her. I'm sorry, but I drink the Haterade to her. But I digress. Don't you, like, look over the words before you sing the song? Even just once? And didn't you have to sing it every freaking day in grade school like I did? My Canadian friends know it better than she did! What the f, Christina? You not yourself that night? 
  Ha ha. Christina Aguilera song title joke. Or is that a pun? Truth be told, I don't care. Just know I hate her. 
  Second, the Steelers sucked the first half. They couldn't get going. And that was what killed them. They were shaky, and butterfingers, and it hurt to watch (love you guys anyway! In my opinion, you weren't half bad--and yes, I just quoted Sublime. I'm listening to it right now. Random? Maybe). They could have come back, too, and they didn't, which just brought me back from the dead and killed me again.
  And then the halftime show.
  Looking like something from Tron: Legacy, hundreds of light-up alien-looking bodysuit-wearing people writhed on the field--and I found them more entertaining than the BEPs. I mean, at least they were flashing and shiny and glowing, and to someone like me who has shiny-thing ADD, it was heaven. But the act themselves? My only consolation was that it wasn't the Jonas Brothers or--God forbid--Justin freaking Beiber, although I'm sure that's coming soon. Their mikes weren't even on half the time, and when they were they kind of made you wish they weren't. I mean, I like the Black-Eyed Peas usually, just not with my dinner, and I think their music is fun and upbeat, just not when it's being played too much on the radio, the same song over and over again, know what I'm sayin', but I just don't think they're that good live. Without the studio, and functional AutoTune, who are they? The best part was when Fergie sang "Sweet Child O' Mine" with Slash...and sounded exactly like Axl Rose. I was confused, and I still don't know if it was in a good or bad way yet. 
  Plus, my team lost. So I plain hated it anyway.  

Jackie Earle Haley, Part Deux

  I know I've blogged about this before, but I've got more. I know, fun, right? 
  Anyway, I got a Google Alert--nice plug right there, right? Or is that a sponsor shout-out? And do I give a crap?--about Human Target, and it redirected me to an article about Jackie Earle Haley's possible new gig (since, you know, Human Target...Oh, the pain...), and I found out who's going to be directing it...TIM FREAKING BURTON! Because that man's a big happy ball of sunshine, I had to do some digging.
  It's a movie version of the old soap opera called Dark Shadows. Which involves a vampire. And that's all you need to know before you understand why these two are working together. Hey, with their resumés, you know it had to happen eventually, right? Or is that just a geek dream? 
  Anyway, Jackie, if it's true, won't be playing the vampire (sorry to all you people out there who...actually, I don't think I'm even going to bother to go there), but the guy who unleahes the vampire, Richard Loomis (that's they guy's name, not the vampire, and coincidentally enough, he played a man named Adore Loomis--same last name, any relation?--in 1975's The Day of the Locust). And that's possibly even creepier. 
  And that got me thinking. What other creepy stuff has Jackie Earle Haley been involved in, besides the shiitake that I know about? So I did some more digging--yes, with a shovel, in a graveyard, in the middle of the night, wearing tattered overall, and eyepatch, and a peg leg, with a hook thrown in for good measure. No, not really. Sickos. Maybe JEH isn't the only creep around here, is he? 
  But he comes pretty darn close. 
  He was in the aforementioned movie The Day of the Locust. Something tells me it wasn't a nature film.
  (Actually, as a note, it's "A cynical and gothic look at Hollywood during the late 1930s" and "tells the tales of residents of the dilapidated San Bernardino Arms", as well as containing "unusual and bizarrely disturbing images," according to Wikipedia, my friend. Sounds fun!)
  He was in the film Damnation Alley, which, surprisingly, wasn't a priest-gone-bad movie. It's a nukes-gone-bad movie, in which some army dudes, after the earth was knocked off its axis by the nuclear war or something, go on a long, strange trip, during which they "pick up two survivors, fight a band of crazed, savage shotgun-toting mountain men who have been reduced to barbaric cruelty, and encounter voracious, mutated 'flesh stripping Madagascar  hissing cockroaches' before reaching their destination." (Wiki)
  God. Could this list be any more cheery? 
  Nemesis, a futuristic creepy movie. And the man's name was Einstein. What else do you want from me, people? All right, fine. How about...
  Maniac Cop III: Badge of Silence, which I already wrote about extensively. Check out "It's All in the Name" if you missed that.
  All the King's Men which, I admit, is a politician movie, and while some politicians can be darn creepy, that's not why I'm writing this. I'm writing this because the man's name was SUGAR BOY. Sugar freaking Boy. And if that doesn't make you stop and go "hmm" (besides there being something seriously wrong with you), there's...
  The Bad News Bears, The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training, and The Bad News Bears Go to Japan! Ahh! The horror! Make it stop! Turn the creepy down, man! I just crapped myself from the sheer terror that made me experience! 
  Now, where are my fangs, again?
 
     

Happy Freaking Valentine's Day

  I'm in a very cheery, lovey-dovey, Valentine's-Day mood, as you can tell from the artful barbed-wire background I've changed my blog to have. (If you're reading this after I've changed it again, check back next February. You'll see what I mean.) 
  Truth? You want the truth?
  I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. I celebrate Anti-Valentine's Day. 
  Think about it. It's a holiday designed to boost flower, chocolate, jewelry, and teddy bear sales all across the globe. Yeah, yeah, all the lovebirds and commercials out there'll tell ya that it's in honor of Saint Valentine, whoever the heck they were, but I don't like to swallow crap, and they're just spoon-feeding it to all you out there. After all, there's a million saints out there, and we don't have a Saint Whoever Day for the patron saint of shipwrecked sailors, and we don't even have a Saint Mary day for Jesus's mom. Why is Valentine so special? Plus, if you love someone, you shouldn't wait for February fourteenth to come along so you can show it; you do it whenever and wherever you want to, a little bit each day. Valentine's Day is for the sales department at Vermont Teddy Bear and Pro Flowers, as well as for sitcoms who need a clever plot device to get the stupid husband/father/boyfriend in the doghouse with the main woman on the show. Grow up, people, and stop doing this to yourselves! You're smarter than that! I know you are, because you read this blog! Like I said before, you love someone, you show it every day, not just on a teddy-bear holiday! Like I do when I post here for you! I love you guys! 
  But, you know, if you happen to have a spare Vermont Teddy Bear or box of chocolates hanging around--nothing with coconut in it, please--, and you want to show some love to your favorite blogger in the world...You know. Send it on over, wouldja? 
  Love y'all!  
                                                                          Love-love-love, NiteOwl

Blogsten Legal

  In one of my posts, I spoofed up a fight song for the Steelers. Well, my dad had a statement about that. In case you missed it, here it is:
Hi, NiteOwl's Dad here.
I feel compelled to point out that Miss NiteOwl may be a little slow in posting over the next few weeks as she recovers from a severe ankle sprain that she suffered from jumping on the Pittsburgh Steelers bandwagon.
Allow Dad to explain:
See, NiteOwl's favorite NFL team is the New Orleans Saints. And in her defense, she has been a Saints fan for many years, stretching back to when she first learned that one of her snuggle bunnies, the range-challenged actor Hayden Christensen filmed a movie in Shreveport, Louisiana and that the Saints were Louisiana's NFL rep.
However, this season, after the aforementioned Saints were humiliated in the playoffs by the 7-9 Seattle Seahawks, she has latched onto the Steelers like Shia Lebeouf grabbing hold of his severed fingers after flipping his SUV.
This I found most curious, as she has never before stated any affection for the Black and Gold; indeed, two years ago when the Steelers beat the Arizona Cardinals in the Super Bowl, her brother and I rooted for Pittsburgh while she openly and emotionally screamed for the Cardinals.
HMMMMM
Also, about 5 years ago, when the Steelers beat the Seahawks in the Big Game, she was a vocal and proud member of Seahawk Nation.
HMMMMMMMMMM
Finally, Miss NiteOwl has expressed love and affection for the following NFL teams over the years, aside from the Seahawks and the Cardinals:
*Washington Redskins
*Green Bay Packers (OK, she was about 5 at the time, but still it makes the point)
*New York Giants
*Dallas Cowboys
*Indianapolis Colts and the Denver Broncos (the "girls love horses thing", I guess)
*Miami Dolphins (the "girls love fuzzy marine mammals thing", I guess)
And, also, any team that plays the Philadelphia Eagles which would include the Steelers, of course, but that was only to annoy me, the recovering Eagles fan.
Now, NiteOwl never does anything without a reason.
Her affection for the Saints began with the Hayden filming a movie in Louisiana thing as I mentioned earlier; she loves the Vancouver Canucks (?????) NHL team because, well, it has to do with a certain Canadian-born actor who looks and sounds chronically constipated; and truth be told, she loves all Canadian teams because of this morose-looking tall drink of water.
See a pattern here?
It is my contention, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that Miss NiteOwl has grabbed onto the Steeler bandwagon because of some as yet unknown connection/correlation with one of her fav Hollywood types.
And as I have in the past (and you know I have, NiteOwl) I will deduce this connection and post it for all the world to see.
I know she has friends that are from Pittsburgh and/or are Steelers fans, but it goes beyond that.
On a related note, the Seahawks and the Cardinals are filing suit against NiteOwl as we speak, citing alienation of affection.
Dad out, yo.

  Pretty long, but you get the point. I needed to defend myself from these horrible charges, but because anyone who is their own lawyer has a fool for a client, and I'm not fool, I hired the brightest legal mind of the twenty-first century, Brad Chase. 
  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client has been accused of being a bandwagon fan. This is simply not true. Each accusation is false. 
  ACCUSATION ONE: DROPPING THE SAINTS
  NiteOwl clearly stated in the beginning of the Steelers post that she is a Saints fan. She continues to be one, but it's hard to root for a team that isn't in the game. It's like rooting for the Jets after they lost for the Packers. You're still a  fan, but you can't watch them play in the Superbowl this year, anyway. She did not switch teams. She was with them when they were the "Ain'ts" people! Why give up now?
  ACCUSATION TWO: ROOTING FOR THE SEAHAWKS AND CARDINALS
  They are from Seattle and Arizona, respectively. My client is an avid Twilight fan and they were playing at the peak of her mania. Plus she hates the Seahawks now for beating her team, the Saints, in the playoffs this year. Anything else?
  ACCUSATION THREE: LIKING OTHER TEAMS
  My client has legitimate reasons for liking the teams mentioned above by her father: 
*The Redskins because her stories center around a Washington, D.C., cop, and also because Unnatural History took place there, and also because she was, what, thirteen? That was a few years ago, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Dismiss that...
*The Packers because she was five, and going to school for the first time, and didn't hate it yet, and she packed her lunch and brought it to school with her, and they were called packers. It was cute, and she dropped them years ago once it wasn't as cute. Anything else? 
*The Giants and Cowboys because her father is an Eagles fan, and she wanted to annoy him; they were never up there in her favorites; she just rooted for them when they were playing the Eagles. More? Oh, fun...
*The Colts because she was five and liked horses. Also, when she was younger, she didn't care about football, and just like teams because of their names, which accounts for several of the teams listed above. 
*The Broncos because she's from Denver, and what's wrong with reppin' for the home team and showing some team spirrizle, yo? Word out. 
* The Dolphins because she went through a dolphin phase when she was, like, ten. And because she still didn't like football yet. 
  Also, Hayden Christensen is not morose-looking, and he does not look or sound chronically constipated. That would be YOU, Mr. Shore, YOU! (And if you don't know what the freak I'm talking about, I suggest you watch the first few seasons of Boston Legal, or at least look it up or something.) 
  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client NiteOwl is not claiming that the Steelers are her favorite team or that they always were. She chose to support them in the Super Bowl and there was nothing Hollywood-related about it, like the prosecution says there is. She is, and always will be, a Saints fan. They just happened to lose to the Seahawks in a--rather strange--twist of events, but that is all right because they'll do it next year, won't you, guys? 
  And may it please the court, I have a small piece of evidence that the jury may be interested in:
  WHILE MY CLIENT ROOTED FOR THE STEELERS IN THE PLAYOFFS, NITEOWL'S BROTHER AND FATHER--HER VERY ACCUSER, NO LESS!--ROOTED AGAINST THE STEELERS IN THE PLAYOFF GAME AGAINST THE JETS! AS IN, THEY HOPED THEY LOST! AND WHEN THEY DIDN'T, THE TWO OF THEM ROOTED FOR THE STEELERS IN THE SUPER BOWL! WTF, PEOPLE, INDEED!
  Thank you.  

  Thank you, Mr. Chase. Give Brad a hand, everybody! All right...The jury's coming out...The verdict is in...and I'm...
  NOT GUILTY!!!!! 
Thank you, thank you. I'm so proud to have won this case--NiteOwl v. Dad, in case you wanted to know--, making a huge step forward for people accused of being bandwagon fans everywhere. I'd like to thank God, my family--except Dad, who is the reason I'm here--, Brad Chase, who took time out of his busy schedule to defend me, and the Academy. And Chad Lowe, because I've always felt bad that Hilary Swank never thanked him at the Oscars or wherever it was. So, yeah. I'd like to thank the Academy, Brad Chase, and Chad Lowe. 
  And go Saints!