August 2008 Archives

If instead of Obama doing a regular acceptance speech, he came out onto his Dorically-bedecked stadium stage and launched into Spinal Tap's 'Stonehenge," complete with the dancing dwarves and the twelve-inch-high stonehenge model descending from the ceiling.

And then McCain could respond by doing his acceptance speech in a stadium decked out like a mad scientist's lab slash alien landscape, and he could sing "Rock and Roll Creation" and his VP pick could be stuck in one of the pods, and then revealed right at the end of the song!

Yeah.  That would be cool.  I might even watch a political convention if they did something like that.

For a less crack-addled and more level-headed take on conventions, campaigns, the risks they take and what both parties get wrong, read Peggy Noonan today.

Okay, you know what, driver of that little blue minivan in the next lane?  It may well be true that "If it's yellow, it can mellow."  It may well be true that letting the yellow mellow is a good practice during these drought-ridden times in which we live.

However, I don't believe that EITHER of those facts neccesitates your sporting a bumper sticker with said pithy mellow yellow rhyme on it, with the helpful addition at the bottom explaining that urine doesn't have to be flushed every time you use the toilet.

I mean, really, some of us are trying to enjoy our coffee, okay?

I guess I should just be grateful the bumper sticker didn't include the corollary to the first rhyme...

Fresh off the weekend's Boy-birthday-bash (note - Monkey Joe's?  They run that place like a MACHINE.  It's AWESOME!), I'm a bit too tired for regular blogging, but as I was surfing along today I came across this story from Breitbart:

McCain Camp Lashes 'Outrageous' Madonna.

The story itself is no big deal, just the latest in a string of attention-getting devices from Madonna.  It's like 1982 all over again!  Whatever.

No, the thing that caught my eye was at the bottom of the page - a headline reading:

McCain camp lashes over-the-hill slattern

That links to the same story via Digg.  The "over-the-hill slattern" thing caught my attention in a way that Madonna's latest foray into botox, leotards, and heavy-handed multimedia presentations could not.  First I wondered if a campaign flack had lost his or her mind and actually given that as a quote to the reporter...nope.  No one in the story is credited with that particular turn of phrase, which means that someone out there really, REALLY hates Madonna a lot.

I mean, wow, really?  Slattern?  That's so 19th century!  I think the last time I saw that word in print was when I read my mom's copy of Gone With the Wind in 5th grade, or maybe when I went through my early teen historical romance novel reading phase, when I was inordinately fond of pirate-themed books.

Maybe next time the headline can refer to a "timeworn harlot" or a "hoary strumpet."

Hublet, as I have probably mentioned before, is a random cat magnet.  That's how we ended up with the murderous little mini-lion who now lives with us, and cats in general tend to gravitate to him.

I, on the other hand, am a random child magnet, and this has been the case for as long as I can remember. Children tend to single me out in a crowd and present me with either items or personal information.  I've been offered half-chewed lollipops, well-loved stuffed critters, and more TMI moments than you can shake a stick at. 

On Monday, I had my latest in a string of random child encounters as I stood at the bakery counter of the local Harris Teeter, intent on ordering a Wal-E cake for The Boy's birthday party.  As I stood there, patiently waiting for the baker to get the order booklet, I noticed that I wasn't alone.  A small girl in a pink dress who looked to be four or five was standing right next to me, leaning on the display case.  When she noticed that she had gotten my attention, she pointed at the fruit tarts in the case.

"Those are so good I can taste them in my BONES!"  she said, and smacked her lips for emphasis.

"Really?"

"Yes!"

She kept staring at me expectantly, and I saw no hint of nearby parental figure, so I decided to try and make conversation.

"So what do you think would be the yummiest thing in there?"

"That big pink one!" she pointed at a giant cupcake that was decorated with a large pink icing flower and a yellow and black icing bee.

"Yep, that would probably be a good cupcake."

"And do you know what else?"

"What?"

"It would make your poop pink!"

And with that pronouncement, she wandered away.

Would you hear a department head describe a faculty member thus:

"Well, we all think he's delusional, but he's really good on (obscure specialized subject matter redacted just in case)."

But Captain Delusion is also tenured, so good luck with getting him out of the department...

Winnie the Pooh, that is.  Because apparently the silly old bear has a temper when he feels that he's being stared at:

"Japanese police have arrested a 20-year-old man who attacked and robbed two people after they stared at his Winnie-the-Pooh costume, officials said on Tuesday."

Okay!

And why was he wearing the Pooh costume?  Because it was laundry day, sillies!

I'm jotting this down while it's still relatively fresh in my mind - I'm not sure if I'll still be blogging in nine years, or if blogging as we know it will even still exist then:  in fact, it's more likely we'll all have cerebral shunts that will broadcast our every thought to those on our RSS feeds by then, but hey!  You do what you can.  Anyway, here's my thought/warning to The Boy:

If you ever decide that wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with "Rock her with the Shocker" and the accompanying hand sign is a good sartorial choice, I will have no recourse but to set said article of clothing ablaze.  I will allow you to remove the offending garment first.  You're welcome.

The same thing goes for any t-shirt that makes a veiled or not-so-veiled reference to "muff diving," "beer goggles," or farting.

Hopefully I have done a good job of teaching you what, exactly, women are looking for in a man, and hopefully I have mentioned somewhere along the way that broadcasting the fact that you have the mentality of a twelve-year-old via vulgar cotton t-shirts is pretty much number one on the list of things that women consider deal-breakers.

Just think for a moment, son - have you ever seen a guy in one of these shirts anywhere near an actual female?  No, no you haven't.  So I guess you could make the argument that these shirts do serve a valuable purpose in that they help women weed out the losers more efficiently, but that's not really my point.

My point is this - I did not spend nine months gestating you and then a decade and change raising you to have you turn out to be a raging dumbass with no taste.

And do I even have to warn you against inappropriate sixteen-year-old facial hair and mullets?  God, I hope not.

So, I'm kicking back and enjoying the latest online chapter of "N", an experimental Stephen King short story being serialized, internet-graphic-novel style, throughout August, when there's a knock on my door.

BAW:  "Lo and behold, it's my old friend Irony!  Where have you been, woman?"

Irony:  "It's a long story.  Let's just say that this campaign cycle has been keeping me really busy--and that I'm EXTREMELY pleased that Congress is out of session and leave it at that, shall we?"

BAW:  "Fair enough.  Want a beer?"

Irony:  "You have to ask me that question?"

BAW:  "Right.  So what brings you by the casa de brazos grandes today?"

Irony:  "A quote from an academic that I thought might amuse you."

BAW:  "Amuse, as in make me giggle, or amuse, as in..."

Irony:  "You'll want another beer."

BAW:  "Ah.  So lay it on me, then."

Irony:  "So there's a kerfluffle a-brewin' about the scuttling of a novel concerning Mohammed's marriage to a 9-year-old..."

BAW:  "EWWWWW!  Seriously?  Because, EWWWWWWW!"

Irony:  "Yeah, okay.  Can I get through this?"

BAW:  "I'm sorry, it's just - I mean, EWWWWWW!"

Irony: ...

BAW:  "Right.  Sorry.  Continue.  I'll confine my shuddering horror to the corner over here."

Irony:  "ANYWAY, one of the main players in the entire mess is an academic who read the novel, freaked the hell out, and alerted Islam at large to the fact that there was a book out there depicting Mohammed consummating his marriage to a 9-year-old."

BAW:  "But, that happened, right?"

Irony:  "Yes - could you hold off on the 'ewwww,' here?"

BAW:  "I'm on it."

Irony:  "Long story short, when asked what, exactly, got her panties in a wad - "

BAW:  "Aside from the pedo?"

Irony:  "Yes.  Here was her reply:

"Says Ms. Spellberg: 'I walked through a metal detector to see 'Last Temptation of Christ,'" the controversial 1980s film adaptation of a novel that depicted a relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene. "I don't have a problem with historical fiction. I do have a problem with the deliberate misinterpretation of history. You can't play with a sacred history and turn it into soft core pornography.'"

BAW:  "Wait, what?"

Irony:  "I KNOW, right?"

BAW:  "Is this the part where I'm supposed to go into a long rant pointing out what, exactly, the criticisms of that movie were, and then wonder aloud if perhaps this Spellberg woman might be slightly, erm, oblivious? Because of the glaring -

Irony:  "Irony of that statement?  Yeah."

BAW:  "Sorry.  I still can't get past my shuddering EWWWWW phase."

Irony:  "It's okay.  You've been out of the game for a while."

BAW:  "More beer?"

Irony:  "Make it a case and we're on." 

Hublet and I, late as always to the party, watched No Country for Old Men last weekend.

Do you know what that movie is?  It's the dark version of Raising Arizona.  You've got the beleaugered protagonist sort-of-accidentally-but-not on the wrong side of the law and the lawless because he wants to do something for his family, the dark force of mayhem that comes out of nowhere and is seemingly unstoppable, largely ineffective lawmen, boisterous flim-flam guys and bounty hunters--and in this case, both of those character types rolled into one and embodied by Woody Harrelson--talk of dreams and portents, and that curious streak of unflappable Southwestern straightforwardness in the face of whatever weirdness is going on.

Except, in the case of No Country for Old Men, the protagonist and his family die, the force of mayhem survives, and the dreams and portents, instead of projecting a happy future, point to death.

So.  There's my blinding insight into the latest Cohen brothers' film.  Full disclosure:  Raising Arizona is one of my favorite movies of all time.  I love that movie to pieces.  No Country for Old Men, on the other hand, merely provoked my "eh" response.

Perhaps if they'd gotten Holly Hunter to call Anton Chigurh a "warthog from hell," I'd have enjoyed it more.  Although realistically Chigurh probably would've just shot her.  A lot.

Well, the Olympics aren't quite underway, but the fun has already started.

"As tens of thousands of foreign journalists arrive to test China's pledges to respect media freedom during the Olympic Games, the nation offered apologies Tuesday for the beatings that police gave two Japanese journalists who were covering a deadly assault by Muslim separatists.

Paramilitary police kicked and beat the journalists, throwing one to the ground, putting boots to his head and body, and damaging his photo gear.

In a separate incident, police entered the hotel room of an Agence France Presse photographer and forced him to delete photos of the attack scene, the French agency said."

Good grief.

Yeah, I've been AWOL, and I apologize.  This summer has been the scheduling equivalent of hell for me.  'Nuff said.

So, when Hublet and I went to see The Dark Knight, we were treated to a preview of the upcoming film Watchmen.  Which, okay, I knew it was based on a graphic novel that I hadn't read, and the preview looked interesting.  So a friend of ours lent us his copy of the book and I read it.

Note to readers - I'm not going to insert actual plot spoilers, so if you've never read the book you may be confused by the rest of this post.  Sorry about that.  If you're not currently undergoing treatment for depression, you might want to read the graphic novel yourself.  Otherwise, come back tomorrow.

Dear God.  That is the bleakest graphic novel I've ever read, and I've read quite a few.  I mean, it was kind of interesting coming to it twenty-odd years later, and looking back at all the 80's "NUCLEAR WAR IS IMMINENT!" hysteria, but I'm wondering who exactly the filmmakers want the audience to be? 

I know the fanboys will go, but the budget looks to be somewhat excessive, and fanboys alone won't be able to recoup the costs. And based on the trailer, I don't know how many folks will go expecting to see a big budget "dark" costumed caper and end up going, "WTF?  That's IT?  I hate you people!" Because there's "dark," and then there's Watchmen. 

Of course, I could just be projecting, because that was totally my reaction to the book...And it's not because I want everything to end up all hearts and rainbows, either, but a little bit of freaking ACCOUNTABILITY on the parts of the main characters beyond 5 panels of hand-wringing, some blonde hair dye and a trip to Venus would have been nice.  I'm just saying. Yes, I am bitter about Rorschach.  Deal with it.

If they're hoping to play into the mainstream American audience's recent taste for darker fare, they may have overshot it. The ending of Watchmen makes The Dark Knight look like a romantic comedy caper about a billionaire playboy and his wacky college pals Joker and Two-Face.

So now I'm left wondering - are they going to stay true to the original?  If they do, I'll be curious to see more of the marketing campaign.