Superman II: the Donner cut

I warn you now- there are some minor spoilers and then some even bigger spoilers throughout.  If you're one of those whinny movie goers that can't bear to know a single thing, let alone the ending, stop now.  Know this before departing- the Donner version is three times better than the theatrical release.

Now that we've gotten rid of the panty-waists, onward!

In 1981, Superman II was unleashed upon an unsuspecting America.  This movie was so terrible, I swore off hero movies in the theater until the first Burton Batman years later (I saw III on rental and still haven't seen IV).  And, this movie has always occupied a special benchmark in my heart.  Superman II is the movie I compare all terrible comic movies to- in terms of departure from themes, cannon, and concepts.

And, the only movie to actually be worse is the Dolph Lundgren Punisher.  I mean, riding a Harley in the sewers while fighting Ninjas.  Seriously?!? 

But, I digress. 

One of the reasons this movie blows chunks- the producers fired Richard Donner 75% of the way through filming and replaced him with Richard Lester.   And, Lester himself stated that he had no idea who or what Superman was when he took over the job after Donner was fired.

You know, I have to wonder about the wisdom of hiring a guy that knows zero about the main character.  Not what I would call an A-list move.

Then a friend of mine mentioned that Superman II had been recut, and restored using the unfinished Donner footage to complete the movie the way it had been originally intended- a direct sequel to the original.  And, I was not exactly sure why I should care about it. 

Let's not discuss how I got to watching this movie.  Let's just discuss that after viewing it I can tell you that this movie is vastly superior to the theatrical release in exactly three ways.

1. No taffy-pull S shield move in the Fortress.
2. No “here I am!  Tee-hee, no I'm not!” illusion moves. 
3. No Super Kiss.

And, those three things make this movie astronomically better than what was originally released, and even take it out of the “eh” range and into the “not too bad!”  range. 

Don't get me wrong, there are still some unanswered questions like how do the three Kryptonians understand and speak English, exactly how did human Clark and Lois leave the Fortress since they flew there, and why did Superman kill the last three Kryptonians (keep in mind part of the cannon is the Big Blue doesn't kill) instead of saving their lives. And, frankly, I could go on.   So, there are a lot of things about this movie that are still really sloppy, and it could have used a few re-writes to clean them up. 

Which is why it's “not too bad” and not higher up on the chain. 

Oh- and a bit of a spoiler ahead so stop reading now if you don't want to know more:
Lois figures out Clark is Superman in the first 5 minutes of the film.  Which, I feel is a lot better.  How they deal with it is good, and makes sense.  Also, did I mention no Super Kiss that makes her forget?

Well, they still have to separate at the end, and while there is no Super Kiss the resolution isn't all that much better.  Supes does the lame time rewind thing again and resets the world.  Although, it doesn't show what he does different to save the world, only that he rewound it to before Zod and minions show up.   

So, there's that too. 

But, in comparison to what came before? 

At least three times better.

What I miss

You know what I miss?

Dirty truckstops.

I mean the kind with bathrooms so foul you wonder if you’ll get a venereal disease just walking through it.  The kind with the novelty condom dispensers.   The sort of truck stops that have glory holes carved through the wood dividers for the stalls.

If you don’t know what a glory hole is, I am not going to be the one to tell you about it.

Anyway, I kinda miss them.  Not the glory holes, but the dirty truck stops.  Over this last year and some I have had the opportunity to drive a lot between Dallas, Austin and San Antonio.  And, in the back-and-forth between those cities I have topped at just about every place you can stop.

They’re all very clean and neat.

It’s quite the let down, really.  As a kid my mother hauled us back and forth between Minneapolis and Peoria.  So much so, that to this day I have that route memorized.  And, let me tell you, some of those stops were barely more than a shack with a pit dug out to store the gas in the middle of a flat spot covered in gravel.  They were the sort of places where you wondered if the 18 wheeler idling on the edge of the lot had a dismembered hooker in the sleeper or if the driver was just tweeking on meth; and the dishwater blonde behind the counter that was missing half her teeth and called everyone Hon.

I mean, those road trips had character.  They had danger!  You had to gauge if you could hold it a little while longer, or if thought of peeing your pants had finally become a fate worse than death.   Those Truck Stops had racks and racks of porn mags with unshaven men with intense and downcast eyes that jingled the change in their pockets at a furious pace.  And, you had to guess how long you could tarry over the covers before mom caught you.    And the food?  Yeah, you didn’t want that burrito.  Under any circumstances.  But, damn, if it didn’t look like the best thing you could ever have at 2 in the morning.

That’s excitement you just can’t find in the brightly lit Loves Truck Stops, Shell, Chevron, Exxon, or other Road Super Stops.  Now they sell family friendly dvd’s, energy drinks, and franchised fast food.  The porn mags are safely wrapped in their blue bags and behind the counter.  The Novelty condom dispensers have been replaced by Koala Diaper stations.

The mystique of the Road Trip has been well lit, neatly packaged, and sanitized for your satisfaction.  We have lost something, I think, in the corporatization of America.  In the endless asphalt ribbon one place has become just like any other.   There is less of a reason to stop and look around because the Racetrack in Texas will be like the Loves in Kansas and like the Super America in Minnesota.

So, in the journey of your life if you find one of those dying breeds of truck stops, one of these pearls in the slop, stop and check out the porn. Maybe buy the burrito.

But, I still wouldn’t eat it.

The End

So, the end of the year is rapidly approaching and I'm feeling a lot better.  Normally I despise the holiday seasons.  For personal and other reasons- mostly my outrage at our societies preoccupation with the acquisition of things we neither want or need.

I don't mean in my usual “I'm awesome” way, but that I can get back to writing seriously again.  Well, by writing I mean that I will be able write and not delete it, or sit in front of a pc and stare at the white page for three hours.  I have the need to write again, that itchy sort of angst that puts me in front of a pc for hours until my fingers burn and I need to go to sleep. 

And, that is good. 

I just picked up a gig as a restaurant critic for a website, which is another nice professional reference.  Of course they can't pay, they're a humble start up blah blah blah, but they're willing to print me out some business cards.  I figure going out to eat once a week and talking smack about the place is worth some free business cards.

My wife it feeling better, which is great.  And, we're going to put together a webcomic to shop around at the various publishers.  Which is in my typical Awesome category. 

Oh, and I found a place that will hand roll cigars, and put my label on them.  So, I can have my own private brand of cigars.  How cool is that?  Pretty cool, I think.  Now I just need to take up smoking cigars as a hobby, and I'll be set!

So, yeah!  The upcoming new year looks like it's going to be a good one. 

Hit Me Baby, Two More Times

So, my wife's grandfather died at the beginning of the week.  It's been
five years coming due to a blockage in his heart.  He was 91 years
old.  So, there is much sadness in my wife's family and at our house
again. 



It has been the reoccurring theme of 08.



But, the 1st was my birthday and my wife and I decided to make the best
of it.  The last few years or so I have made a point of not making a
deal out of my birthday.  And, really it comes down to me not wanting a
fuss made over me.  I like a nice dinner at a restaurant with some
friends.  This year, with my mother-in-law's death, the miscarriage, my
father's stroke, and her grandfather's death we just wanted to be alone
so it was just the two of us.  And, as we got out of the car my sister
in law called.  It was not to wish me a happy birthday.  Her father in
law had just died.



His name was Gerry.



Now, he was more than just the father of my brother in law.  He was
someone I had known since I was in high school.  He was a father figure
for me.  His son and I have been friends for longer than we have known
our wives (they are sisters).  When things were at their worst way back
when, Gerry's house was a safe place for me to go.  My wife and I met
in their basement. 



I took a lot of what it is to be a man from him.  A man should be able
to hold an informed conversation with anyone, to be able to fix just
about anything, or know who to go to if he can't do it.  He should be
able to cook an excellent meal, mix a martini, or tell a joke in polite
or impolite company.  He should be ready with a pithy piece of advice
when asked, and keep it to himself until then. 



And, in that way I will always have him with me through the things that I learned, but right now it doesn't  help.



I have always worked to find the bright side.  Looked for a way to say,
"hey, this isn't so bad."  To look for a way to make it better.



And I can't do that anymore. 



It's just become too much.  There has been too much loss.  Too much pain.



I'm done.

Why 08 Sucks Yet More

Well, I can say in the last month things have not improved.  At all.

Apparently, after hearing the news of my wife's miscarriage my father went on a drinking binge.   And, for those of you playing the home game, my father is an alcoholic.  I say alcoholic because he does go to meetings and still drinks. 

Except this time, he drank so much is damaged his brain even further and has developed stroke-like symptoms.  Yay!  And, lucky me, he had no clear memory of the events of the last month.  So, when he asked how the baby was doing I got to tell him about it all over again. 

Wait, it gets better.  I know, right, how can it possibly get better?

WELL, as it turns out what he's really suffering from is Alcoholic Psychosis.  Which is a really fancy way of saying that when he drinks, he passes out and hurts himself, and then when he wakes up he has no memory of drinking so invents something to explain why he's been hurt. I know, fun!  So, let's play a game I'll call real/not real.  See if you can keep up.

Food poisoning he had at the beginning of the year?  Not Real!

Torn rotator cuff?  Not Real!

Surgery for rotator cuff?  Not Real!

Arterial disease?  Real!

Surgery to deal with it?  Not Real!

Depression?  Real!

Medication for depression? Not Real!

Oh, and here's a tip kids: Real/Not Real! Is even more fun over the phone.  It's especially good if you wait until the end of the phone call to say, “no, I spoke with your nurse and your doctor.  I know everything.”  Yeah, extra fun right there.  Fun with, like, sugar on it.

So, as you can see it's been fun times around my place.  I'd ask for a majority vote to call an end to 2008 so we can just move on to 09 but there's more yet to come! 

Tune in next time for “Final trip to Iowa!” as my wife's grandfather leaves Hospice. 
And, there's only one way to leave Hospice.  I'll let you guess which way that is.

The Olympics

I love the Olympics. Seriously, I do. If you put Olympic in front of any sport, and I will watch it. No joke. I watched Boxing, BMX, Men's Gymnastics, and even swimming. I mean, we get to watch a bunch of people splash up and down a pool for a minute or so. Wow. But you put put the rings on it or the world Olympic and I am a sucker for it. There are no greater miracles or greater heartbreak than the ones that happen in the Olympics.

And, sometimes I think as Americans we're a little spoiled. As a nation, we are hyper-competitive. I mean, we expect to take home gold. Expect it. And, more often than not we get it. And, when our athletes don't stand on the highest podium when the national anthem plays, we dismiss them. Off the top of your head how many bronze medalists can you name? How many make it onto a Wheaties box?

It's about the same number, isn't it?

Pierre de Coubertin, considered the founder of the Modern Olympics, said "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."

As Americans with our 'Winning isn't everything but it's the only thing” attitude we forget about this- that it is not important who won but who took part. Consider Rohullah Nikpai. You probably don't know who he is but he won a medal in Beijing in the 2008 Olympics for his country, Afghanistan. In the 112 year history of the modern Olympics it was their first medal. Ever.

Do you think everyone in Afghanistan knows his name by now? I bet they do. I bet they fired guns into the air. I bet that warlords have proclaimed him to be a shinning jewel. There are even reports that the Taliban held feasts in his honor. President Karzai has offered him a house and a car. He will be a national hero. He is a poster boy for achievement. He took up his sport as a child when he was living in a refugee camp.

He won a bronze medal.

If Rohullah were from the States he might get an interview with his local city paper. You know, the free one nobody reads. Might.

However, in his homeland Rohullah will be a figure of inspiration. People will look up to him. They will ask themselves, if he can compete against the rest of the world and win- what am I capable of? And that's what the Olympics are meant to do. They aren't supposed to be a minute to minute medal count. They aren't meant to be a political statement. They are meant to inspire us! They show the world that we can exist together in peace. The games are a time when we can send our young men and women to another country to compete and not to kill each other.

And that's why I love the Olympics. It's a time of competition and peace. So, when you watch the Olympics don't watch the medal counts. Look for the miracle of the games. Look for the Rohullah's, the Hesham Mesbah's, Anh Tuan Hoang's, Benjamin Boukpetti and Abhinav Bindra's.

Said and Done

I heartily recommend that you never go
through a miscarriage. Ever.

Let me put this into perspective for
you.

When I was 9 years old, and my mother
sat me down one day in the summer and said, “Son, I am taking your
sister and we are moving out. You are going to stay here with Daddy.
We're getting a divorce. That means we're not going to live
together anymore. Your sister and I are leaving.” I sat there at
the kitchen table and thought, “Well, at least all the shouting and
throwing things will stop.” And I felt that having your mother
leaving you was as bad as it could get.

And, a year later during the divorce
proceedings as I sat in the courtroom listening to my parents scream
out every slight and sin that passed between them as they fought for
custody of my sister I thought things had made it to a new low. But,
when the judge announced he would not separate the children the
argument changed from who got my sister to who had to take me I knew
I'd made it to the lowest point life would get.

Then when I watched a woman who was
more of a mother to me than mine die by inches over the course of a
year, I figured I had it whipped. That this was as bad as it was
going to get.

Then the miscarriage started on Monday.
And I knew I was wrong. It can always get worse. You don't think
it will mean much to you, a little bump of flesh. It didn't even
have a name.

But it does matter.

It does mean something. And you feel
so helpless and guilty all at once. That maybe there was something
you could have done. Something you should have thought of. That secretly, this was all your fault. But there isn't. Isn't anything you can do. Nothing you can say.
Except hold your wife while she fountains out blood for seven hours,
and listen to the doctor say, “Yeah, that's normal.” and “Oh,
yeah! Make sure you catch her when she faints.”

It rips you up inside like some tired
old napkin that's been used too much and just flakes away. And no
matter how much you dab at the stain on your shirt, it just leaves
small pieces like a trail across the landscape and doesn't take care
of what you needed it to do. Until, too quickly, you're left with a
useless mass of wet that can't do anything.

But sit on the edge of the bed and
silently cry. Because it's 5 in the morning and the pills have cut
the pain enough that she can sleep and you don't want to wake her up. And you do your damnedest to not think about what you pulled out of her and flushed away.

So, when I tell you this is the worst
thing- believe me.

It is.

Never Was?

So, as most of you know my wife reported she was pregnant about two months ago. We have been trying for kids for some time now. And, by trying I pretty much mean we stopped using birth control awhile ago and didn’t worry about it.

And, after the better part of a decade we thought it was never going to happen. All the women of her generation on both sides of her family have had trouble conceiving. We had even started to look at adoption. Until recently. With the pee stick giving us the good news, we have been smiling and happy in a way we didn’t know we could be happy. I pride myself on always being able to find the words for things. To be able to say, ‘it was like eating the best meal your mother ever made.’ or ‘it was like being told you were not only the great at your job, but the very best at what you do’ or 'congratulations, you have achieved the highest score in the history of mankind. You are the smartest person ever.’ It was a sense of accomplishment. But it was more than that. It was exciting, exhilarating, and any other ex word you want to use. All that and more.
And, it was one of the few times in my life my father was actively engaged in what was going on. He called every few days to see how we are doing. He actually called my wife’s phone after we were supposed to be out of a doctor’s appointment. He’s never called her before. Ever.
I had a sublime sense of completion while at the same time being dizzyingly overwhelmed.
Have you noticed I’m using the past tense yet?
Because this week we got some bad news from the doctor. My wife’s progesterone levels are falling. Not low, but falling. And that more than likely means it is a non-viable pregnancy. Which is not to say she’s had a miscarriage. Not yet anyway. But her levels are falling, when they should be rising. But she's still getting morning sickness. She's not having any cramping. Or any of the other signs of a miscarriage. So, we still have hope.
But then, hope was one of the things inside Pandora's Box, wasn't it? You know, the thing that contained all the evils that prey upon mankind. That box. Hope is just the paper mâché mask of despair. You hope tomorrow will change because today is terrible. You hope that things will be different because you do not know how much more you can bear. Yeah, that hope.

We tell ourselves that it's nature taking care of things. That if this is happening so early, it was never meant to be. That it doesn't have eyes. Or a brain. That it will never have a broken heart. Or fall in love. You tell each other that it is for the best. That there is always tomorrow. That things can change.

But it doesn't help.

Not one bit.

Oslo People

MySpace.com Blogs - whistlelock MySpace Blog

So, I heard back from the Oslo people.

They're not interested in my anymore. I guess I don't jive with what they want. Which is cool, I guess. I appreciated the time they spent with me. Whatever, I am awesome and they're missing out, the fools!

And, secretly, I am relieved.

I didn't really want to move to Oslo. Although, I would have if I'd gotten the job. But the logistics of it would have been crazy. I mean, there's only so much shit you can take over with you. And, a house is definitely not on that list. Nor is a washer and dryer or a fridge.

Normally, I'm all for purging junk and things from your life but this would have been tough. Not because I'm attached to it, but because of the sheer magnitude of selling everything you own to move to another country.

I don't know how my sister does it all the time.

Maybe the key is never to have more than what can fill a studio apartment. I've got a three bedroom house full of crap. And a kid on the way.

I mean, think about that. If the kid had been born in Oslo, they never could have been President. And that's a career that is on the list for "daddy's little retirement plan".

Which is the middle name I am shooting for since I can't have Ator the Fighting Eagle as a first name. Although that would make for a heck of a name plaque "President Ator the Fighting Eagle Daddy's Little Retirement Plan Goodson".

Maybe I should pitch it like that?

Anyway, no moving to Oslo and I can confess I wasn't too enamored with the idea now that my wife is Preggo. (Thanks Jackie).

Missing the Point

So, the other day I was logging into Myspace to check out this and that and to deny the latest sex trade Spam invite that has graced my inbox when I see something new. Something that quite frankly stuns me.

An ad for Fight Club T-shirts.

And then I thought, “No, that can't be right. Oh yeah, I saw someone with one on the other day and I thought they sorta forgot the first two rules.” I don't have to repeat those two rules to you here. However, I went on to think how can you make a t-shirt about a movie that cried out against relentless consumerism and then sell it on the Internet? I know they made a video game, but a t-shirt?

Well, apparently someone did, and you know me, I had to check it out.

There were, in fact, over 175 different items of apparel or dinnerware available. All covered in pithy slogans from the movie. All the best lines were there, neatly printed across the chest or around a Paper Street Soap Co logo. You are not your day job. You are not your khakis. You are not a unique and beautiful snowflake. I am the all singing, all dancing crap of the world.

I want to say I was Jack's Complete Lack of Surprise. But I can't. I was shocked.

This book and movie had a profound effect on me. I re-read the book yearly, and watch the movie soon after. Did they miss the point? The things we own end up owning us. That we can't be IEA slaves that look for that perfect couch. And if we ever do wonder what sort of dining set defines us as a person, we must buy it and then smash the glass blown plates from wherever to tiny bits and grind them back into sand.

Nihilism is not selling a fucking t-shirt on the Internet!

And then I thought what the hell would Tyler do?

Well, he'd punch someone, that's for sure. Then he'd probably laugh, do the Brad Pitt hand pointy thing and say, “That's what I'm fucking talking about. Wear your fucking slogans, pretend like you're doing something when all you're really doing is keeping the system going. Keep polishing the brass on the Titanic.”

And then he'd launch a DOS attack on the EPA's website, and hack it's data base to show that used tires make excellent shingles for the home. And how car exhaust was a great aerosol fertilizer for your house plants. Anything to get you to destroy the things you love the most. Love more than people.

Because that's what happens when you get stuff. You live in fear someone else will take it from you. And then it owns you. You sit in your house and wait to go to a crappy day job you hate to get more stuff you don't want.

So, maybe they missed the point. Or maybe they get it. Maybe the pithy slogans neatly printed on a heather grey hoody are really here to tell us to let go. That nothing really is something worthwhile. That what matters isn't our cars, but our relationships with other people.

So heed the warning. Our lives are ending one breath at a time. Go do what you've always wanted to do. Have something to say for your life. Don't go into the grave a perfectly preserved corpse, but come in with a screaming skid and yell, “That was one hell of a ride!”

And buy me the Day Job coffee mug.

Was I too honest?

So, I had an interview at a local video game developer- not bioware
unfortunately- for a QA position on Friday. Which, is low level play
the game all day long looking for bugs position. Not a lot of bank,
but potentially more than I'm making now and a better future fur shure.


And,
the team lead that I would have been working for and whom was
conducting the interview asked, "so, why this company?" he leaned
back, and grinned like he wanted me to blow him right then.

And,
what flashed through my head was, "this guy wants to hear that this
company is the coolest. it's the best place to work at, and gosh how i
feel so lucky blah blah blah. screw that, I'm telling the truth for
once." and I said,

"Because you're a means to an end. Once I'm
in the industry, I'll spend a year doing this job and work my writing
skills even more and begin submitting material to other developers for
a staff writing position. It's a personal point of pride that I do the
best job I can no matter where I'm at, and if there's someone better
than me I'll work tirelessly to be better than them. I'll be the best
on the team within 2 months, and within 6 I'll be the best in the
company."

I mean, why shouldn't I be honest? Isn't that better
than feeding him a line of horse shit about how much I care about this,
and how I'm so passionate about that? no, I care about a few things
and in this context it's playing a fun game and writing, and not in
that order.

And then there was silence.



He looked like someone just walked in and said, "You're dog's outside,
and it's dead." It was that kind of shocked and dazed expression.

After a moment of me staring at him, intensely, he followed that with, "um. Okay. Do you have any questions for me?"

and
I said, "Nope. I've researched this job thoroughly, and I know it in
detail from an outsiders perspective. I know I can do it. Here's how
much money I want for it. And thanks for the water." I shook his
hand and held the door open for him so he could walk me out.

after I got home I sent out a some thank you emails to everyone I encountered and wished them all a good day.

So, was I too honest or just honest enough?

Seeker: The Dark is Rising

I am a fan of the series, and of that
particular book. And, when I heard there was a movie adaptation out
for release I was kinda scared. But, I reminded myself about the
care the Potter and Tolkien series had received and that maybe this
children's adventure story will receive the same treatment.

Wow, was I wrong.

The Dark is Rising is not a terribly
complex book. It's standard fantasy fodder- magic powers, quest to
find a thing, got to stop the dark evil people from destroying the
world. And there's like two plots through the whole book.

Yet, the producers felt it necessary to
juice it up. Now the boy has “great strength”. And it an
annoying American actor instead of a humble English kid. And somehow
they turned the light plot into a sketch of itself. Rushing through
points that should have been lingered over to retread scenes from the
Matrix and Commando. Dad isn't a simple jeweler anymore, now he's a
physicist writing about “light and darkness” and talking about
how it's best not to know! Best not to know!

And they added a twin brother. Added a
twin! With a lame kidnap story. One that the whole family sorta,
kinda forgot to tell the main character about for 14 years! In 14
years no one let slip, “oh, Will, by the way. You had a twin
brother that was kidnapped out of your crib when you were but months
old. Did anyone mention that to you, at all?”

And the scenes in the books that would
have been great set pieces were dumbed down. I tried not to judge
this film as a fan of the book. I don't think I did too good of a
job because it departs unnecessarily from the source material. I
could tell they did it to differentiate from Potter, and they didn't
need to.

This movie is terrible because of the
decisions made by the producers.

Shun it. Make it sit in the corner to
think about what its done.

Flyboys: a review

Put out way back in 06, I totally meant
to go see this in the theaters because it was the first serious film
to deal with WWI in over 40 years. Also, it's based on the true
events of the Americans that volunteered to go to France and learn to
fly- before the US entered the war.

But I completely missed it until last
week via Netflix.

However, it was just the right mix of
interesting flying dogfight scenes, and boring cliché ridden
war movie scenes. They had a rich guy, a poor guy, a rich racist
guy, a black guy, and an old veteran that didn't want to be their
friend. Oh, and then they had some other guys that showed up after
15 minutes to round out the set- you know, religious guy, and might
be a spy but really isn't guy.

And, like Saving Private Ryan, or any
other cliché ridden war movie, you can tell the order these
guys are going to die in. You know, first they won't talk about
themselves but then 10 minutes later they have a quiet moment and
reveal something personal and touching about themselves to another
character.

And 5 minutes later they're dead.

It also has some completely over the
top moments that are so unbelievable they must be true. I won't
spoil that for you so you can see it for yourselves.

This movie does it all: it conquerors
racism, social class, post traumatic stress disorder, and strained
international relationships between the United States and France.
And not in that order. Of course there are some raging historical
inaccuracies, but if you're not a WWI plane geek you'll never know.

But, the flying scenes are top notch.
Except the one where the pilot uses his “airbrakes” to take out a
German plan. No, those plans did not have airbrakes. Just some
wheels, canvas wings, guns, and an engine.

Overall, if I had seen this in the
theater, I'd be mad. But, since I got it through Netflix it wasn't
so bad at all. So, ultimately I give it a rating of: m'eh.

Strange Brew

So, I'm watching Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead when I realize something: Strange Brew is a remake of Hamlet told from the perspective of Rosencrantz and Guildinstern! Yah I know, no way, eh?

The brewery is a dead giveaway- Elsinore. Murdered father. Brother that marries his sister in law. Treachery. Blood! Beer.

It's all there you hosers, it's all there.

In wich I review Dragonlance the Movie

Short Review: Oh, fuck my eyes!

Long Review: What a giant turd. The animation was so sub-par for an 80's kids show it was laughable. For a animated movie done with Flash Animation on a PC this was a
travesty. The mix of computer generated 3d animation, and“traditional” 2d was so miss-matched it called attention to itself taking you out of what little story there was. The fight
scenes were literally bloodless- except for one that had some blood spray- which is absurd since everyone had bladed weapons and used them. It was like the kids of the animators that tried to get a job working for He-Man but couldn't because they sucked got hired to do this movie.

The 3d animation was eh. Not bad, but certainly not Pixar level or even Dreamworks. It was too clear there was only one Draconian model skinned, and one Dragon model that had three different skins. I never thought I'd say this, but the animation was worse than the Lord of the Rings animated movie from 1978- you know the one that was never finished. Yeah, worse.

The voice acting, well some of it, was schlock while others were quite good. Specifically Lucy Lawless as Goldmoon. Sutherland's portrayal of Raistlin was done as if he had never read any of the source material. He shouted all the time, and had one or two hacking cough scenes. And no tea.

The written dialog was heavy handed and expository. But I didn't notice since I was too shocked by the poor quality animation.

So, in summation: avoid this one at allcosts.

Sex Tape

So, a friend tells me that he's heard there's a Jessica Simpson sex
tape about to be released. apparently it's from when she was still
married to Nick Simpson and was taken while they were staying in a
hotel.

so, of course I've got to google that. 'cause she's hot. And I suffer from the curse of extreme curiosity. But it's not available for free yet, and I refuse to pay for porn. and, then I run across all these other celebrity sex tapes. So many

that I had never heard of. Like Ashley Simpson's sex tape. Gena
Nolan's sex tape. Kevin Smith sex tape. And what's-her-name from the
High School Musical. Britney Spears (she has two) and on and on.

and I had to wonder- why hadn't they even shown up on the news gossip radar?have we grown so jaded about celebrities fucking on camera we don't even care anymore?which I think is a good thing, I think there should be more sex on tv and less murder. but that's just me, I guess.

or is it we've become wise to the gimmick? we know it's there to
jump up media attention now, we know it's just there to titillate us a
little bit more about one more person we shouldn't care about?

I"m thinking so. I mean, that nerdy dood from Saved by the Bell had a sex tape for chrissake!

We should stop paying attention to these people for being who they
are, sure they entertain us but we shouldn't be bound up in their
lives. We shouldn't be worried about who they are or are not fucking.
Or if they're having sex on camera. We should be worried about who
we're having sex with.

I mean, I don't worry too much about it. I know who I'm having sex with.

But the point still remains, we shouldn't care about who is fucking
whom. As long as it's consenting adults without any previous binding
legal and moral agreements with other adults about exclusivity.

I meant, if you're in a relationship and your partner isn't cool with the extra circular stuff don't fuck around.

And, at this point I am compelled to add, if you do have the full version of the Simpson sex tape, lemme know.

In Which I review Dragon Wars or why it sucked.

So, my wife and I are big fans of surreal, specifically fantasy. Good stuff. And we reeally meant to go see this one in the theater. To be frank, we were a little disappointed that we didn't go see it on the big screen. But, having caught it on Netflix I'm glad we missed it. I would have been pissed if I'd seen that on the big screen.

It's not often I say this, but it would have been better in the original Korean, in subtitles. Instead they opted to do, what I can only guess to be a shot for shot remake for American audiences.

What I would have accepted from Korean characters, I find hardly plausible from Caucasians. Could you believe an older white guy, a young white guy and woman deeply conversant in Korean culture and mythos? So much so they can whip out prayer scrolls and think nothing of it? Or the FBI being prepared for a Dragon Invasion?

yeah, me neither.

But I could if they'd been Korean. Or at least have one Korean character explain it to the dumb round-eyes.

But, the dragon shots were nice. the battle through downtown was great. The end fight was cool.

But not enough to save the whole movie.

All in all, it sucked. I say avoid it. Or if there's a Korean version out there, watch that one.

Facebook

My sister, who is currently living in Vietnam, has convinced me to open a facebook account. I did it to see the pictures she took recently. And, honestly, I'm not that impressed. It's a passive system rather than an active one.

Well, at least it seems that way to me.

And where's the blogging software?

2008

2008 is gonna be my year, I can feel it. I'll have some screenplays to send out, a book ready to be shopped around for publication, and hopefully pick up a day job at Bioware.

Mark this whole year on your calender, kids, it's gonna be renamed Year of the whistlelock.

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February 1st

February 1st, 2008 at 11:00 am, my mother-in-law died. She had been diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer in September of 2006. When diagnosed she was told she would not live to see that Christmas. She battled cancer for sixteen months. On Monday the 28th she had less than 15% of her liver functioning. The doctors say that you cannot live with less than 20%. But she willed herself to live for three more days, long enough to hold the hands of each of her three children one last time before dieing. She could not speak, the struggle to stay alive consumed all of her remaining energy, but could only lay there squeezing their hands in hers. She cried, not for her own impending death but for the pain it would cause.

She was a light in this world, and I do not say that in a casual way. Every life she touched, she touched deeply. She helped me believe in myself, that I could be more than a ditch-digger. She pushed me to go to college, to finish with an English degree. She told her daughter, my wife, that she could be anything she wanted. But, most importantly, she said it was okay for her to be an artist. We burried her in Iowa, during a snowstorm that dropped 14 inches of snow on the state. And people still drove for hours to show their respect for this woman. People came from Virginia, from North Dakota, and from Texas. People left work early, took time off, drove for 19 hours with no break, and braved dangerous weather to remember the life of this woman.

She was a nurse, a lover, a wife, a mother, a sister, and a daughter, but the most accurate description of her is the simplest: she was the best.

And I love her dearly. The world is a darker and more terrible place without her.

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Cloverfield- spoilers

Hopefully, by now anyway, you've heard of the movie Cloverfield. It was introduced to us by a brilliant viral marketing campaign that didn't even tell us the name of the move, just gave us the severed head of the Statue of Liberty crashing through downtown New York.

As the months went by more but not much was revealed to us. But it all came down to this; a giant monster tears the hell outta New York and some twenty-somethings have to survive it. And I know what your thinking, " Oh. A monster movie set in New York? Clearly this is an allegory for the terrorist attacks on 9-11."

And you'd be right.

This wasn't a monster movie, even though there's one in it and you get to see it, it is a survival horror/drama movie. The monster is the inciting incident in the lives of these young adults. It changes their lives in an instant. It forces them to re-asses what is truly important to them; the relationships they have and those they want to form. This is a character driven piece that explores the effects of random terror and tragedy on the human condition. It's intercut with excerpts from a happy day the main protagonist of the story spend with a young woman. The conceit is the film is real and was filmed on a digital camera owned by the central character. There was a tape already in the camera, this tape was one he used to film the day he fell in love with a young woman.

So, if you want to see a squad of plucky pretty people come together to save the city don't go see this one.

But if you want to see a movie about people having to deal with terrible events, random and senseless death, and after its over has the audience quietly shuffling out wondering what it was they just saw then go see this one.

I would say I loved this film, except that I literally had to grit my teeth to keep from vomiting on the people in front of me. The shakie-cam was that bad. My wife was so motion sick she had to close her eyes and look away from the screen for long periods of time. So, for her it was more of an interesting radio drama with a lot of heavy breathing, running noises, and screaming.

As it stands, I like it. I think it's a great allegory for the terror attacks on New York and is the first in what I think will be a long line of Monster Movies that are set in New York.

I recommend it, but honestly it can wait until you can get it through Netflix.

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In which I review the movie Stay Alive

Short review: It should have been named Stay Away.
In all honesty, it's not that bad. I've seen far worse "horror" films that
should be re-classed as a "borrer" film. You know, horror movies that
are actually quite boring.

I thought it was clever.

Anyway.

Stay Alive ain't bad, but it's not good either.

Longer review:

So, my wife loves horror films. Just loves'em. And I get to watch them with her. I can't stand horror films, but whaddya gonna do? So, we get this one in, and I expect complete and utter garbage. It starts with a guy playing a video game. Then we have a young couple having sex while wearing pig masks.

No, they don't explain that.

Then those three die.

Then some new people show up. And they play the game together. Then they start to die. And they discover that how you die in the game is how you die in real life. The survivors find out the game is based on Elizabeth Bathory.

Not to be confused with the historical serial killing Elizabeth Bathory from Hungry that lived in the late 1600's. No, this woman ran a boarding house/finishing school for young women in pre-civial war South.

We learn this from a "local" woman who has an "authentic" Cajun accent that makes her sound an awful lot like Elmer Fudd. Apparently, everyone who lives in town knows about it. Except the people who are playing the game. Even though they have lived in the town their whole lives.

They invent some crap about witches not being able to cross the path of a rose.

Then they come up with "we gotta put a nail in her head, her throat, and her heart. Then we gotta burn her blood!" Burn her blood?!?

Keep in mind that this villian died before the Civil War. and they're gonna burn her blood.

so, of course they get closer and closer to the witch. Yes, more and more of them get killed along the way. At this point they discover that playing the game can effect reality. What they do in the game effects what happens in a corresponding real world location. Since one guy is still playing, and he drops things for the other characters to find while they're hunting through the house for the witch. Which, is honestly, an interesting concept that plays with levels of reality and perception. But the movie ignores this idea and drives on with the kill the evil witch thing.

Then they find out she's not in the house at all. I know, I was completely shocked too.

She's in the Black Tower that is in the middle of the extensive necropolis out behind the house. Which they had missed up to this point. Because the only gateway to it was covered in wild roses.

I guess wild roses also stop believability. whatever.

Somehow they decide they have to go into the tunnels under the necropolis to get to the Black Tower. Of course they get chased by some ghosts of tortured young women. And they find her. Surprise, surprise, she's been perfectly preserved all these years. And the one guy who gets there to stop her has a lame phobia with fire.

But he's completely cool driving nails into her body. He just can't bring himself to set her on fire.

Then he sets her on fire after all. They get away. Then the end shot, the game has shipped mass market. Now 1000's of people will be playing the game, oh gawd no!

Which makes me think the ghost/witch/bathory woman didn't really think this out.

The horror survival genre has a small, but dedicated audience. They will play the crap outta that game. They won't stop just because they died once. They'll immediatly hit reload and start all over again. She's gonna have scores and scores of game nerds whooping her in the
game, then discovering that they have to find her in real life.

Do you wanna tell these people their chosen escape from reality is reality now?

She's gonna have 100's of gameboi's running all over her black tower,creaming their jeans because the game is real! THE GAME IS REAL!!11!!1

Just imagine this: You're a mass murdering villain out for souls, blood, or whatever. You're chilling in your Black tower, reaping the harvest of your nefarious game plot. When, all of a sudden your corpse is getting burned.

Every 15 minutes.

The "easy prey" you had been stalking are now on your lawn growing rose's like mad, they've herded your ghosty minions into easy killzones. And you've got people "camping" in your tower waiting for you to respawn. They're demanding that you drop better loot.

You dont' even know what loot is.

See? she just didn't think this out.

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oh no!

somehow I sprained the middle knuckle on my left hand!

No, I have no idea how I did either. But it is rather painful to type anything involving a d, e, or c. The Doc ordered 7 days of joint rest, so no typing for me.

Well, maybe some typing. But not much.

I just don't get not being able to type. At all. All of my hobbies and my job all involve typing. It's not like you can get away from it in the modern world. I mean, this is the 21st century, even our cars run windows!

Go google ford trucks if you don't believe me about the Windows thing. Gives a new meaning to BSOD, doesn't it?

So, yeah. I'm gonna stop typing now, because I've lost more movement in my finger. And it's starting to swell.

and that's not very swell at all.