Geek Joy

The Playstation Network has finally made Final Fantasy VII and IX available on Playstation Classics. I am in complete geek love.

The FairyGodboyfriend wonders if me killing bad guys all weekend constitutes me being technically “off the grid.”

You think about that a minute. I have some Materia to collect.

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Hatchet II Pulled from AMC

If you haven’t heard the news by now: the press release is out and slasher movie Hatchet II has been yanked from theatres after only three days of its release.The uproar prior to this was director Adam Green’s big fight with the MPAA, because they maintained that the film should have an NC-17 rating.

In a nutshell, it went like this:
Adam Green: Watch this, suckas!
Adam Green: Okaaaaay, I cut a bunch of stuff out.
MPAA: You just can’t kill people like that.
Adam Green: But it’s over the top and totally unbelievable!
Adam Green: You’re evil.

AMC made some kind of deal and, based on reactions from the trailer, agreed to have a special release on the unrated movie in their theatres. After three days — citing horrible box office numbers as a reason — the film was pulled from the US and Canada. (Details here, and all over the rest of the internet.)

Now, I don’t have a dog in this fight — I like making slasher movies far more than I like watching them. I’m not a fan of the film and have no desire to watch it. But I did work in a movie theatre for 7 years, and my big sister is still in the biz. I know how booking movies works, and if we had to pull a film, we didn’t exactly have extra movies lying around that we had the ability — or permission — to play in its place. (Perhaps things have changed since digital projection, but I’m still waiting to get a tour of the 21st century projection booth.)

What I can tell you is this: there is definitely some other reason they’re yanking this film. You don’t just pull a film after three days. You book movies for at least a week, so whatever the reason is, no matter how poor the box office is, even $50K is better than nothing, which is all you have to play if you’re not playing the film you booked.

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Speed Limit

While I was doing my impromptu pre-summer tour up and down the East Coast and Tennnessee, I was thinking about math. (Yes, I’m a geek even when I’m driving.)

So you’re on an interstate for, say, eight hours (give or take pit-stops for gas). The speed limit on said interstate is 70. (Unless you’re on I-81 along the ass-edge of Virginia where they’re speeding-ticket happy for no good reason, and then it’s 65. But I digress.) So you’re trucking along for the good part of the day, until you hit that last hour of your trip, where your destination is so close you can taste it on the wind.

That last hour is always hell. You suddenly have to pee like your life depends on it, but you’re determined to hold it so you can just GET THERE. You probably should have stopped for gas at that last exit, but your dash swears you have enough to coast into the driveway on fumes. You’re stomach is rumbling like its just eaten a maniac (or his hands). You’re sick of your iPod, your books-on-tape, your mixed CD collection, and there’s nothing but God and jazz and hip-hop on the radio so you’ve started scanning for car commercials.

As if that all wasn’t enough–to make matters worse, the closer you get to your destination, the lower the speed limit becomes. 70 turns to 65. 65 turns to 55. 55 turns to 45…and sometimes less if there’s construction. Once you hit the neighborhood it’s 30, or even 25. 15 if it’s a school zone and classes just let out. You begin to feel like the closer you get to your destination the slower you’ll have to go, until you’re stopped right there in front of your sister’s driveway: you can see the house, but you can’t go in. You will never go in. The Speed Limit won’t let you.

There’s a mathematical concept very much like this dilemma that’s called–appropriately enough–a limit. In layman’s terms, it’s one of those numbers that goes on forever, like 1.99999999999999…etc. 1.99999999 approaches 2, but it never really ever gets there. In some circles, it’s decided that eventually 1.99999999999 gets SO close to 2 that it better be using contraception, so for all intents and purposes, 1.9999999999999 = 2.

I think about this as I slowly walk up the steps to my sister’s house, as x (essentially the number of 9s) becomes infinitely large, and I am thankful to those mathematicians who have decided that my limit is infinity enough to bridge that increasingly small gap and ring the doorbell.

My hat’s off to you, sirs and madams. Safe journeys to you all.

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The Princess and the Dragon*Con (3 of 10)

Number Three of my Dragon*Con Top Ten:
Meeting Paul McGillion
(or: Earth to Atlantis; come in Atlantis)

I mentioned earlier that due to my busy schedule I didn’t have many celebrity sightings this year – celebrity, of course, being someone of esteem that I don’t already have in my phone or on my Christmas card list. The two folks I caught a glimpse of who qualified were Anthony Daniels (C3PO from Star Wars) and Paul McGillion (from Stargate: Atlantis).

Now, there’s a whole story that revolves around the crew of Stargate: Atlantis, a story I promise to tell on the day I meet Jason Momoa and not before. Suffice it to say that it culminated in Janet’s and my hard & fast goal to introduce ourselves to every celebrity within arm’s length, no matter how intimidated, scared, or fangirl we might be.

So there we were in the Green Room. It was late. I was getting punchy. Everyone else was well on their way to being several sheets into the wind. Carl–the Green Room’s very tall bouncer whose job it is to bellow “Last call!” to no objections—offered me some high-octane vanilla cognac from his private flask. Not sure what Mike Lee was drinking, but he was loving the world and tipping well, so it must have been good…but not so good he wasn’t jealous of Carl’s favoritism toward women in low-cut dresses.

I had befriended a fabulous artist named Marrus (pictured right), whose friend explained how creeped out he was that I looked just like Marrus twenty years ago…and still looked quite a bit like her now, plus a few pounds and inches, and minus the frosted hair. We laughed and joked and carried on and yelled plans for the future in each other’s ears. See, once it gets packed and the evening wears on, the Green Room isn’t so much a haven as it is a really crowded bar with great snacks and free drinks. At first you only have to talk above the background music, the beer pong game, and the masquerade…later you have to yell above all the other people trying to be heard above all those other things too.

I followed Mike to the bar the first time as an excuse to walk by Paul McGillion. After like the sixth or seventh time, as folks were starting to head to other parties in anticipation of getting kicked out, I hooked Mike’s arm and dragged him slowly toward the door. I swear he said goodbye to everyone—which included bestowing a giant hug on Paul McGillion. Now, I had no idea Mike knew Paul. For all I know he probably doesn’t. But I stood there and smiled, and courteously after Mike said goodbye, Paul turned to me. And this is what happened.

Lee: (sticks out her hand & shouts) I’m Alethea Kontis! It’s nice to meet you!
Paul: (cups his ear) What!?
Lee: (leans in) ALETHEA KONTIS!
Paul: (smiles) Thank you! Thank you very much!

I tried to say something else just as he tried to say something else, and we both leaned in to scream it again in each other’s ears only to stand there in awkward silence. Paul then kissed me on both cheeks and said, “Have a good night!” Embarrassed, and feeling like I had just had a conversation with someone via tin can and string, I dragged Mike out the door after Janet, Leanna, and Chris.

WHAT had just happened? I touched my cheek. Paul McGillion had kissed me. Does it matter what happened?

The next day I stopped by the Sherrilyn Kenyon booth to tell my story to Eddie and Erin. They were just as confused as I was abou8t what had transpired. “What exactly did you say again?” Eddie asked.

“I just introduced myself,” I said, “and he said ‘Thank you.’”

“What exactly did you say?” said Eddie.

“I’m Alethea Kontis,” I said slowly, enunciating every syllable. There was a pause, and then we all started laughing. My cheeks flushed all over again. “He thought I was saying, ‘I love you,’ didn’t he?”

“That, and he probably thought you were very drunk,” said Erin.

I sighed. Not exactly that ‘meeting of soul mates’ moment that everyone wishes to have when introducing themselves to celebrities they admire. Then again—what is it I say?—some things are meant to be, and some things are meant to be great stories.

The next time we meet, I have a feeling Paul will get a kick out of this one.

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Discovery Night Launch

Yesterday morning on the radio I heard that the Discovery shuttle launch had been postponed until 11pm or midnight that night, and I seriously debated getting online to see if I could book a quick ticket to see my folks in Titusville. I’ve seen a shuttle launch live now so it’s officially crossed off my list, but a night launch is something special to experience.

Happily, my parents (who now get ringside seats to all the launches) experienced it first hand for those of us who could not be there, and Dad snapped a few great pics.

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Be Afraid.

Artificial Lifeform Engineered for Thorough Harm and Efficient Assassination

Get Your Cyborg Name

(courtesy of  )

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Tell me, did Venus blow your mind?

I present to you a Geek girl’s brief review of Star Trek 2009:

I cried at the beginning. I cried at the end. Hell, I almost cried when I heard the voice of the computer. I smiled when Grunny yelled at his "stepson," and when Amanda showed up on the bridge. For all my schoolgirl crush on Zachary Quinto, I absolutely wanted to kiss Simon Pegg. And Karl Urban…damn. I clapped and cheered into my empty theater when the credits hit the screen, and stayed in my seat long enough to blow the Roddenberrys a kiss.

Solo or not, I am *so* very glad I saw Star Trek today. I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed that.

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Testing from my iPhone

Yup, I said iPhone. Got any good suggestions for free apps?


Posted via

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I am NOT a Cylon. I swear.

The subject of my next piece of artwork is a Brazilian witch named Bruxa Evora. My goal was to make her look a little like Morena Baccarin. NOT Tricia Helfer.  I think it’s the eyes.  And the chin. And…everything. Did some paint-overs last night. Got to love acrylics.

Now if I could just get this stupid Bob Dylan song out of my head…

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Five for Writing

An interview in which Rich Dansky calls me a really cool person, and I proceed to act like a Geek Extraordinaire.
[Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, Lee? Really?!? *smacks forehead*]

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