i just want to conquer people and their souls

I just thought I would alert you, readers, to my absolute new favorite thing. I have a Google Analytics account which lets  me monitor many interesting facts about ijustwanttoconquerpeopleandtheirsouls . I can tell, for example, that I have a reader in the Faroe Islands (awww yeah!), or exactly how many people navigate away hastily after realizing where they are (answer: a lot). But easily the most entertaining report is the one which lets me see what search items have led people here. What are people trying to find when they inadvertently end up at my virtual doorstep?  It is in this data, friends, that my own psychoticness is laid bare in front of me. For example, these are the top search items from this week: 1. "old man marley" cat poster 1.00 00:00:00 100.00% 100.00% 2. 13th century fighter images 1 3.00 00:00:51 100.00% 0.00% 3. businessman subway 1 1.00 00:00:00 100.00% 100.00% 4. conquer people and their souls 1 2.00 00:00:07 100.00% 0.00% 5. find a mis...

When I first began this blog, I mentioned how under my stoic antipodean exterior lies a ball of sentimental goo waiting to be prodded. While I may not reveal my true emotions very often, there are some things that get me every time, namely in the form of cheesy movie scenes. When I had the inspiration for this post, we were in the midst of the Winter Olympics. Ergo, the instance of "stuff that will make me misty" was at code orange. In fact, it was this very commercial which galvanized me into writing: What?? Are you serious? His daughter... Jane . That. is. too.much. Morgan Freeman, you should hang your head, sir. Using that voice for such shameless tear-jerking. Go World, indeed. Go to Hell World, for using a man's personal tragedy to sell me a Visa card is more like it. More often than not, scenes which make me teary have one of the following elements: a slow clap, the Olympics, an underdog, a family reunion or a parent being proud of their child. Take away from that...

Last night, I lay cuddled in bed in the late stages of an eggnog buzz, idly flipping through the channels waiting for something, anything, to take me away from the plethora of fame-whore reality show contestants and nauseating variants of decoding- the-Bible "documentaries". Suddenly, my glassy eyes locked on a vision of perfection, a scene which transported me back to the halcyon days of a young Montebellucci. It was the church scene of Home Alone in which Old Man Marley, a misunderstood neigbourhood codger discusses the intricacies of love, family, sin and redemption with young Kevin McCallister. One thing that you must know about myself (and any Anglo, really) is that we cannot emote, yet are deeply sensitive. I'm talking ludicrously sensitive and sentimental. This manifests itself in a variety of ways: a propensity for hitting the sauce, crippling politeness, uncontrollable facial tics and a deep river of insecurity which binds us all. Hence, dear reader, I often e...