(I'm gonna ramble for a bit -- if you want to avoid the holiday rush and just see what the hell I think of it, scroll down. Then you can come back and read the rambling if you wish.)
Damn near a year later to the day of stumbling upon "Twilight" in my local movie theater, plus having read three of the four installments of the series, it would be appropriate to say that, yes, I've been waiting for "New Moon" to shine down upon in the stadium seating in which I rested and waited for the magic to happen yet again.
I always love going to a movie theater -- doesn't matter what is showing, when I go, the electric tingle of excitement is there. Even during the under performing "Beowulf." Having absolutely known nothing of "Twilight," just that it was "that vampire movie" as I once referred to it upon seeing the teaser trailer one day upon Reelz Channel, and then the teaser poster in the middle of the summer last year, I was a blank slate for incantations to be written upon.
Once the trailers went past and the hi-def equipment kicked in, the magic began. It sucked me in, and to this day there is still less than 5% I would change of the original film.
Last year I also under estimated the draw this movie would have upon it's mostly teenaged female audience. I made sure to NOT make that mistake again, but for my plotting and planning, I only barely escaped the same mistake with only the skin of my teeth keeping me from failing.
Determined to avoid the crowds THIS TIME, I arrived two hours early, at roughly 2:00 PM local time. I was the third parked vehicle there. Some came and went, most checked the locked doors and the show times, then they'd make a call on their cell phones, get back in their respective cars, and drive away.
After 30 minutes of this madness, I get my ass out and just wait outside the doors, making myself first in line. The line forms behind Starlight, boys and girls.
Yes, I'm very proud of that.
Sad thing is there's two sets of double doors, and though I was the shepherd of the larger flock that had gathered behind me, an ever increasing horde of teenage girls waited at the opposite side of the building. You could almost hear them thinking "he'd better not get the last ticket," but only with more venom in their words.
I waited for an hour and a half all told, and the doors finally opened at 3:30 -- my side first. BUWAHAHAHA! I half expected to get stampeded, but it never happened. I let a mother and daughter team pass me, but only because they were standing by my side and had no respect for my line forming capabilities. That, and the fact that the manager had stepped out thirty minutes earlier stating that there were only 40 tickets available for the 4:20 showing, and only 100 for the 7:20 showing. I knew I'd be fine.
The mother and daughter get their two tickets, and I step up to the counter, make my request, plop down the $6.50, and the girl behind the counter tells me "we've only got about ten tickets left, and there's a lot more people out there behind you."
"I don't envy you tonight," I replied.
She said "well you made it. Congratulations."
I smiled, took my ticket, and left what would likely have become a site of unspeakable carnage. Teenaged girls would have no mercy upon my soul, especially if I waved it around in front of them.
I waited yet another hour, and watched guys and girls of differing ages, from kids on up through to their parents and entire families.
And then the lights go down...for good. There's a Rob Pattinson movie trailer, a vampire movie trailer called "Daybreakers" I believe, another movie musical which could entice me back to the theater ("Nine" I think it was called) and then yet another way of cashing in on "Romeo and Juliet" with something called "Letters From Juliet." I'm not the least bit interested in it.
Also...one final though before I actually get to my review (which I know you're dying for -- seeing as how I am intentionally stalling.) I hate the management of this theater -- it was state of the art, complete with DLP digital projection systems and a sound system that kept my brain reverberating long after the show had ended. About a year ago they pulled all the digital equipment out and replaced it with standard film. I know have to look at "cigarette burns" in my movies again, and that pisses me off.
THE REVIEW!!!
I love cats.
(No, I am not stalling again. It'll make sense in a moment.)
One thing I will never do to a cat is have it de-clawed. So why do I feel as if I've just been de-clawed by Weitz and Summit?
Stupid executives -- you just had to go and shoot yourselves in the foot in order to rush "New Moon" out as fast as you could. Not that they'll care, because the box office tally from a single night is more than enough to rush said injured foot to the hospital, have it operated on, placed in a cast, mended, put through rehab, and have it make a full recovery ALL IN ONE NIGHT!
The evidence of the money will be as if there was never a bullet fired, and then comes the danger of aiming a nine millimeter at the opposite foot, because that's what has happened.
Long gone is the atmosphere and the honesty Hardwicke created in the first installment. The fog, the dampness, and the vibrancy of the evergreens have been traded in that is about as visually bland (cinematographically speaking) as Jason Biggs' bedroom in "American Pie." How appropriate it is, seeing as how Weitz was one of the forces behind said naughty comedy.
This telling of "New Moon" feels more like recitation than a true adaptation. It lacks the dedication it should have to capturing the moments. It is, in essence, a cat that has been de-clawed.
There were brief moments it felt as if it was, yes, it was going to be better than how it's been presented -- the wolves chasing Victoria through the woods, for instance. Another moment was when watch as time passes while Bella sits motionless, staring into absolutely nothing, while the world passes her by. Whatever that song was, I need it.
And after those moments when it promised to be more...it went right back to what it had been like -- recitation.
The gags were spot on -- actually more so than the first installment. Plus the sequence of Bella, Mike Newton, and Jacob sitting in an action movie ("Face Punch") which is hilariously bad, and is a nice glimpse into how some girls likely perceive said types of film.
The wolves, as its been pointed out, look like CGI wolves. This is a shame, especially when you consider FX wizard Phil Tippet is the man (and power) behind the wolves. They could've been better but there were brief moments when they had no flaws, at least in my opinion. Those moments are, of course, too far and few between.
Said wolves would look great in a pure CGI movie, but they just don't cut it in a live action presentation. It feels like that, yes, Tippet's team could've done more, but it also feels like the question would be raised "what more do you want? We've done all we can." It's like "good enough" is the best they could do.
Speaking of "good enough," somewhere in filming and due to possible time restrictions, this notion of "good enough" is evident throughout the movie -- again, as recitation. The vitality isn't here, the passion isn't here.
And that is a shame -- there's more that could've been accomplished with "New Moon" the novel. Sometimes it felt as if the movie was "just happening." It didn't suck me in the way the novels and the first movie has.
I feel as if I've been de-clawed.
I should want to shout and scream at both Weitz and Summit, but something keeps me numb and I'm unable to raise my voice the way I have at Abrams.
This is an opportunity missed.
To be honest, I think the fact that it is still "New Moon," albeit recitation of certain portions of the book, is what keeps me numb. It keeps me from treating the offenders as terrorists, but it certainly doesn't raise my passions, nor does it electrify my soul.
Weitz is a fine director, but not here. He's only captured what was written on the page, and nothing more.
Let us hope that the next installment is in much better, and capable, hands.
PS -- Taylor Lautner, when you hit 18, if this Hollywood thing doesn't work out, I'd recommend becoming a porn star. The boy is...well...let's put it like this -- in the very first sequence in which he goes shirtless, a rippling wave of orgasmic delight grabbed every female in the studio and a collective intake of breath was followed by giggles of desire.
And that was before he gained the 30 pounds of muscle.
Maniac Grade? C (unfortunately)
In the coming weeks of November, I'm sad to say, I may not be around as much as I have been in the past.
As things have slowed lately, and given the fact I'm not as productive recently as I should be, I've taken up the familiar chance to go work in the local heatingair factory where my mom works.
I've done it before, I can do it again. I spent three summers there, one of which was on the graveyard shift. It was in that final summer a creepy old guy hit on me. He's probably dead by now, so I'm not worried about him.
Next week the drug screenings take place, and then we'll go from there.
Also, if you remember my usual efforts at getting "The Life and Times of Igor" produced as a movie, comic, or other means, then you should be made aware the attempt at a novel is going slowly. I'm going to post a first draft sample on here below.
If I do end up rejoining the old workforce again, I'll likely be heard only on weekends, so Jarrod it's going to be up to you to defend "Twilight," not to mention my honor. :)
So, here goes what constitutes Chapter 4 -- the overall book won't be very long, as one scripted page equals about two pages of fleshed out narrative. Probably 120 pages approx. It won't be anything special (or so I feel) but I'm putting this up here because the material is all too familiar to me, so I'll give you Maniacs a chance to say "hey, keep doing it" or "this sucks Hanso balls."
Enjoy.
Those that have lived through the years of adolescence, should they remember
such blurry, emotional times, would probably retell to their kids going through the same
times of life that, when they were kids, they felt they had no privacy at all as they
attempted to maintain whatever deep, personal secrets they felt they had to harbor in
themselves and, should it be necessary, with the few select friends that they could trust
with such private, personal information.
What they wouldn't share with their children would be, most likely, the nature of
said secrets, which is why parents get upset at teenagers and, when necessary, discipline
them accordingly. The sad fact of this is because of one simple thing: everything a parent
warns his children about is a precise laundry list of activities they got up to when they
were kids, and sure such activities were fun back then, but looking upon their own spawn
engaging in such behavior they begin to realize that they are, in fact, the very same people
that their parents had warned them about back when they were teens.
And the cycle of exploration, experimentation, secret keeping, and kicking the
canes out from underneath old people would most likely continue until the end of times,
when some deity will likely part the clouds and then trip up all those that did or didn't
worship them. The secrets Poppa Igor kept from revealing really weren't that interesting
(so he claimed), and even less so for his son. Igor's biggest secret came in the form of
entering the high school science fair, knowing full well his father would raise hell over
such an overt act of teenaged rebellion.
At least it wasn't as bad as Poppa Igor's secret -- rhythm electric accordion in a
band called "Toe Fungus" back in the 1960's which specialized in acid polkas and
psychedelic waltzes. Wild times, baby. Wild times.
The science fair was to take place in the gymnasium of Transylvania High School.
Morning came with an understated sense of beauty and, Igor felt, only good things could
happen on such a picture perfect morning. Momma Igor took the news of Igor's entry into
the science fair as expected, with a smile that had the wattage of a hundred watt bulb.
Unfortunately, Poppa Igor's response was equally predictable.
The von Igor family hybrid came to a stop in the expansive parking lot, and Igor
climbed out of the back seat to claim his experiment from the rear hatch as Poppa Igor
grumbled to himself while feeling around for the trunk release. The catch released, and
Igor leaned in for the blanket covered box which contained his secret project.
"Science dumb. Why you want to be in science fair?" Poppa Igor asked as he
closed the driver's side door.
Igor was headed for the building before he had to hear any more complaints.
Momma Igor retrieved the pet carrier from the back seat, and nudged the open
door back into place with a swish of the hip. Her purse, however, was held tightly in her
free hand should it become necessary to whack her husband upside the head.
"Igor have big brain."
"He got big hump! He no use it!" This was directed less at his wife, as if to prove
a point. Momma Igor, however, had her own points to prove. The resounding WHACK of
leather against leathery skin brought a guilty smile to Igor's face.
"Show support for your son!"
Igor forced the smile away, and stopped mid step to face his constantly
disapproving father. "Poppa, Igor like science."
"You should like girls! Not science! Why can't you be like Grandpa Igor? Huh? Grandpa Igor didn't like science!"
Igor shook his head, and continued onwards towards the gym. Momma Igor, as
usual, came to the defense of her son as Igor sometimes chose to believe arguing wasn't
good for either of them.
"Grandpa Igor stupid. Small brain."
"Grandpa made Igor's wealthy. Famous. He big Hollywood star." He then raised
his voice for the point he was constantly trying to make. "You could be Hollywood star!
Lots of pretty girls in Hollywood! Rich too! Most of them easy! They'd rub your hump!"
Halfway through this latest taunt, Igor had made it through the double doors and
the inevitable whack against Poppa Igor's head was softened by the panes of glass put
between the two of them.
"Why you do that?"
"I check to if head on straight."
"It is. Good stitching. See?"
And it was. Poppa Igor had anticipated many beatings to the back of his head. The
only variable would be if Momma Igor had placed a brick in her handbag this morning
like she threatened the previous night. Considering these last few instances of impact,
yeah, Momma Igor had made good on her threat.
The distinct purr of a red convertible took Poppa Igor's attention of the lumps
threatening to blossom upon his head, and he turned to see what was causing the
mechanical equivalent of a well tuned voice box resonating by means of repeating Zen
mantras. What silenced the harmonious machine had obviously been blessed by the gods.
Dr. Sunny Jameson was comprised of long legs, long blond hair, an impossibly white smile, green eyes with enough voltage to stun large farm animals, a teenager's waist
and, this was important, huge, luscious chest humps. A short black dress and long white
lab coat, it seemed, was all that she wore. It was enough to steam up the secret family
recipe of formaldehyde and other illegally obtained chemicals that coursed through their
bodies which, now, was starting to bubble. This encounter would likely end in
embarrassment, with the secret blend of chemicals dissolving the stitches while Poppa
Igor's head would go falling towards the ground.
Sunny stepped up to the now sweating form of Poppa Igor, and offered her hand
as a courtesy. A quick look to the side indicated Momma Igor would be placing two
bricks in her handbag should the delicate touch of Miss Jameson be taken into her
husband's grasp.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Jameson, from the local aviations lab." Her voice was like music.
Her scent, like flowers. Her chest humps should've come with a sign that said "Bouncy
Curves Ahead -- Delightfully Slippery When Wet."
"Could you tell me where I can find the other science fair judges?"
"You judge science fair?"
"Well, I'm one of them."
Momma Igor, sensing her husband might explode or, at the very least, dissolve
before the radiance of Dr. Jameson, interjected to steer this conversation away from the
direction it was currently headed.
"Our son in science fair. He's smart."
"Well, I look forward to his entry. See you soon." Each soft step away was
accompanied by the pendulum like swish of her hips.
"Maybe science not so bad."
"Here, you're going to need this." Momma Igor handed a sewing kit to Poppa Igor
as he settled into his trance like state. The thought of using a bad pun like "hip-nosis" to
describe Sunny's way of walking was currently being considered for future use around the
water cooler where Poppa Igor worked.
And then there was darkness.
Well, not darkness per se. It started out as darkness, but quickly evolved into a
spinning of reality that came to an eventual stop. Poppa Igor's head was now fifteen feet
away from his feet.
"Now look what you do!"
"Humph!"
* * * * *
There was an active hum of activity and noise inside the gymnasium as entrants
went about setting up their projects on the tables momentarily shifted from the cafeteria.
In Igor's predetermined location rested the still hidden contraption. From the way the
blanket rested upon it, folds of cloth held in the mystery of something resembling a large
switch while a few stray wires curled their way out of their cover and around to the back
of the display.
Some of the students had taken it upon themselves to mill about the setups to see
just how badly they were going to be outshone by the smarter of their ranks. A floppy
haired, blue eyed guy named Josh was searching for his hunchbacked friend, eager to
see what his mind had cooked up. Josh stepped up behind him as Igor scanned the crowd
for Momma Igor, who currently held the whole reason for this scientific dance.
"Hey Iggy, whatcha got there?"
Josh, one of Igor's few friends, was a friendly individual who, Igor had to remind
himself, was not interested in a life of a science. He hoped to become a male stripper one
day, and Igor knew Josh entered only because his parents weren't too keen on his
prospective career.
" Oh, hi Josh. This Igor's project."
"Really, can I see?"
"Well...Igor guess."
"Cool."
After a conspiratorial look around to make sure no one was paying any attention
to he and his friend, Igor quietly beckoned Josh towards the display and lifted the blanket.
There was a large switch, as one might have guessed. There were also other
electric...things. It looked both modern and ancient at the same time, as it was a
hodgepodge of found items from the last century and a half. Duct tape held bits of it
together, and a few flashing lights had been added both for aesthetic taste and the fact all
manner of technology has one thing in common: flashing lights. Igor was proud to note
that it made absolutely no sense to Josh at all.
"So...what does it do?"
* * * * *
Inside the school cafeteria sat Momma Igor who was chatting amongst the other
mothers. The pet carrier rested at her side and, though it was covered in towels to ensure
its contents remained a mystery, the smell that broke through the plastic threatened to
reveal the secret of Igor's project.
* * * * *
Outside, Poppa Igor had managed to get his head back onto his aimless wandering
torso and was finishing up the stitching that should hold this time, no matter how many
bricks Momma Igor had sealed up in her handbag. This repair job had been accomplished
in record time, too, as Poppa Igor needed the extra time to return home, retrieve a dusty
old bag he kept in the basement, and his favorite bowler hat and matching tie which,
truthfully, didn't match at all. The hat was black, the tie was an ugly faded yellow. After a
quick application of a rather masculine aftershave had been properly applied (as in, he
opened the bottle and poured it out on his head) Poppa Igor took the dusty old bag and
returned to the high school.
* * * * *
The look on Josh's face said it all: sympathetic, confused, and above all else,
totally weirded out.
"So...this machine...does that?"
Igor nodded and whispered into Josh's ear.
"Really? Why?"
More nodding, more whispering. Josh looked as if his friend just admitted to
being a professional child molester and part time chicken rapist.
"Your entire family? Including you?"
Igor nodded one final time.
"Oh, I'm sorry Iggy."
"Josh not be sorry. It just how Igor's family survive."
"Well, okay. So how will you...demonstrate...this?"
"Demonstrate?"
"Yeah. What, or who, will you use it on?"
A final moment of whispering threatened to shake Josh's soul from him.
"Oh," was all he could say.
* * * * *
Poppa Igor stepped into the gymnasium just as the judges began making their
rounds through the assorted experiments. The pungent aftershave he wore reached out to
Momma Igor, who looked up to see her husband in what he considered to be his finest
clothes. The dusty bag that was slung around his shoulder only confirmed what Momma
Igor felt he was up to.
"Poppa, get over here! Science fair has begun!"
Poppa Igor smiled his deviant smile at Momma that stated in no uncertain terms
"I'm leaving you." He then looked and found Dr. Sunny making her way down the nearest
aisle, and he immediately unzipped the bag that contained his old accordion. Once he had
Sunny's attention, the mating dance would begin. He then set his plan in motion as she
took a few more steps in his direction.
Aftershave, normally, is a male's secret weapon when it comes to attracting
females or, if necessary, other males. Many over priced designer brands had spent a
fortune in advertising and another on their kamikaze sale representatives that leaped out
at you in the mall, spritzed you with some ungodly scent, and quickly retreated before an
angry hand reached out for them and slammed them into the nearest display counter.
The scent of aftershave, including this particular musty scent ("Cowboy's
Delight"), when applied to the skin of a von Igor usually had the opposite effect as the regenerative fluids that often oozed through to the top layer of their skin would set of a
chemical reaction and transform said liquid aromatic from something laughably seductive
into something much, much worse. Poppa Igor's preferred scent was one that evoked
thoughts of horseback riding and leather. When it collided with his unique body
chemistry, the only images it brought to mind were of cats vomiting and the unclean
bowels of a chicken.
Sunny was examining an experiment that set out to explain the uses of
decomposing rats as a viable alternative to fossil fuels when Poppa Igor made his move.
Even in the face of rat recycling and aftershave gone bad, Sunny was able to maintain her
composure.
"You know, Igor get smarts from family. Big brains run in family." Poppa Igor
had removed his bowler and was smoothing back what little hair he had. The Fonz, he
wasn't.
"Mmmhmm," she stated to herself as she examined the rat recycler's diagrams and
calculations.
"Big humps run in family, too."
"Mmmhmm." Now she considered how cheese came into the equation of
lowering energy prices.
Josh was currently being grilled on his science project, "Why Algae Is A Great
Lubricant," and the judges were almost finished with him. Igor's project would soon come
under observation, and it was missing a vital component. To think that Igor would have to
rely on his father for the final component pretty much concluded that Igor would be
passed over by the judging committee. Igor stepped and dragged his way to where Poppa Igor was now preparing to serenade Sunny, hoping he'd know the location of his
experiment's most crucial element.
"Poppa, Igor need Sparky. Where Sparky?"
"Not now. Poppa trying to score. Tell your momma I never loved her." He then
swung his battered squeezebox to his chest and began fingering the keyboard as Igor then
bounced away from his father like a pinball headed towards the only reliable force in his
family.
"Momma, where Sparky?"
"Here Sparky."
Momma Igor opened the pet carrier and dumped the stiff and oddly bent corpse of
Sparky out onto the gymnasium floor. The flies that followed had a hum that rivaled
Sunny's sports car.
Sunny had left the moderately gruesome experiment and was headed for one even
more disturbing. Poppa Igor, all smiles, was preparing a medley of his greatest waltzes
and wore a smile that should've remained hidden.
"Dear god, what's that smell?" Sunny was now two experiments away from Igor's
display. He hurriedly continued his final preparations as Poppa Igor followed behind her.
"It my cologne. You like? It bring all the bitches, yo."
Sunny, obviously used to ugly, incompetent men trying desperately for, at the very
least attention from her, never even noticed Poppa Igor's attempt at modernizing his lack
of sexual appeal by means of referring to her as "yo." It didn't go unnoticed by Momma
Igor, though, who was tapping a foot impatiently. Any second now, the purse would take
flight.
"Go help Igor with Sparky."
"Yes momma."
There are times when a person's future is, seemingly, laid out at their feet via their
simplest accomplishments. For some, it's the applause of a crowd. For others, it's casual
happenstance that leads them to greatness. For Igor, it would be an old family secret for
which he displayed his curious natural talents involving electricity.
Poppa Igor had placed the stiffened form of Sparky down on the wooden block off
to the side of the machine. Igor himself made a few calculations, adjust some dials,
connected two metal spatulas up to the main electrical probes by means of jumper cables,
and stood back for dramatic effect.
"Good luck, Iggy." Josh gave his friend a quick pat on the back and got the hell
out of there, knowing full well what was about to happen.
"Thank you, Josh." With that, Igor turned his attention to the approaching form of
Dr. Sunny Jameson.
"And Mr. Igor, what do you have to show me today?"
"Ladies, gentlemen. Igor present to you great scientific device." A quick imitation
of Vanna White was attempted, as Igor walked up and down the length of his display with
arms outstretched and a disfigured smile upon his face.
"Very impressive, young man. What does it do?"
"Igor show you, but with help of important assistant: Sparky.
"And where is this Sparky?"
Brilliant as he was, Igor couldn't comprehend how someone could miss the fact
that a dead dog was laying upon the display table, hooked up to two kitchen spatulas and
a device that looked like a defibrillator from Hell.
"Here Sparky. He Igor’s beloved dog. He get ran over last week."
That got Sunny's attention.
"What...did...you...say?!"
"Sparky Igor's dog. He dead. Igor bring Sparky back to life."
Igor pushed several buttons in a particular sequence, grabbed the spatula
terminals, rubbed them together, and sparks begin to fly.
"These electrodes of Igor’s own design. Power channeled through spatulas. And
this..." Igor hobbled back over to the main unit of his experiment. He reached out for the
large, somewhat rusty switch with his left hand, and smiled."
"...THIS POWER OF GOD!"
Igor, having practiced this particular motion many times in front of the mirror,
was as horrified as the surrounding throngs when Igor completely failed to move the
switch, and in fact tore the stitches that held his arm to his torso causing the whole
appendage to fall towards the floor. It was a gruesome display, to say the least, but at least
Igor's firm grip had held onto the switch tightly, causing the sickly limb to wave slightly
as it dangled freely above the floor.
With a shrill "Oh my god in heaven,!" Sunny fainted. Momma Igor was the only
one who remained somewhat calm.
"It okay! It okay! Stitching just come loose. Momma fix it!"
"Sunny faint! Need mouth to mouth!" Poppa Igor thought back to the lifesaving
techniques he learned from "Baywatch," and prepared to administer the kiss of life,
tongue included.
"Stay back. Sunny need air. I know mouth to mouth."
A random voice offered "But she didn't drown!"
"So? Mouth to mouth always work for me!"
Momma Igor, in a heightened state of awareness, had finished re-stitching Igor's
arm before he was fully aware of it. Time was a valuable commodity, and her husband
was about to attempt to betray his vows to her.
"There you go." She then turned to see Poppa Igor munching on a breath mint,
making his final preparation to ensure Sunny enjoyed her life granting experience.
"Momma need to borrow Sparky. Is that okay?"
"Igor guess."
"Momma take good care of him. I promise."
Quickly, Momma Igor disconnected the electrodes running into Sparky's dead,
curved boy. She then grabbed him by the hind legs, leaned back, and hurled the poor dead
thing towards her husband. The broken form of Sparky connected with Poppa Igor,
throwing him backwards as Sunny began to regain consciousness. Her virtue, plus
Momma Igor's marriage, had been defended.
"What the hell happened?" Sunny struggled to get to her feet as Momma Igor
helped her up.
"Nothing. Igor ready to do science fair project." She then turned to her husband
and ordered "Bring Sparky over here!"
"Yes, momma." Poppa Igor picked the dog up, and walked behind Momma as she
helped Sunny back to Igor's display. He considered dropping Momma Igor with a well
timed dead dog to the back of the head, but figured there'd be too many witnesses.
Bleach
So I'm doing my usual anime hunt in Best Buy, Hastings and now Wal-Mart at times.
"Bleach" is a show I keep coming across, and it's one I've kept in mind for some time because it was mbeckham, I believe, who recommended it to me. And I keep coming across entire sets, not to mention individual "volumes" that have something like four episodes per disc.
I haven't yet found Volume 1, as I'd like to watch it and see if I can get into it. In short, I want to avoid the confusion I encountered with "Godannar," as it wasn't what I'd expected.
In short, I didn't know what to expect from "Godannar," but took a flying leap of faith, and I plan on not doing that again.
So, who likes it and why?
Geek Shopping Adventures
I was doing my geek rounds today, soaking up the sunshine in 50 degree weather (IT'S COLD!) heading all to my usual haunts: Hastings, Best Buy, Books A Million, X-Mart (rhymes with 'corn,') that which what we laughingly call a mall, Target (just for the hell of it) and Wal-Mart because, well, there's six of them in a 25 mile radius, and they're all Super Center's.
I'm conducting further research into the world of anime, and the "other" stuff Hastings has to offer (read: "Girls Gone Wild.") Oddly enough, both viewing activities are in the same aisle, and all you have to do is turn 180 degrees, depending on what you want to view.
Think of it this way -- if you're thumbing through copies of "Girls Gone Wild," soft core versions of Jesse Jane's movies (why?), soft core movies featuring Jenna Jameson (why again?) and, yes ladies, the female aimed (ha!) "Guys Gone Wild." I laugh because I haven't yet encountered a female that partakes of the male equivalent of GGW.
Now while you're intently staring (and likely drooling) at whatever floats your boat, an associate or random customer will walk by and CATCH YOU IN THE ACT, YOU SMUT LOVING PERVERT! PUT DOWN THE STROKE MATERIAL AND WALK AWAY!
It's funny as hell to see guys always have that "hand in the cookie jar" look. Yes, I am one of those individuals who have been seen red faced.
When someone does come along, the jerky 180 degree turn is attempted and guys find themselves staring into the anime section which, for some of these guys, is embarrassing.
(Side Note -- I'm watching the new "Girls Next Door." Why the hell did these bimbo's dye their white dogs hot pink?)
Any ways...
The guys jump and turn to avoid being caught looking jiggly videos, and others jump and turn to avoid the anime as if it's "immature."
(Second Side Note -- These twins are...god...as intellectually gifted as a brick. Hot, yes, but brick smarts won't pay the plastic surgery bills when Hef's outgrown them.)
Guys come and go in the Hastings animeadult aisle. I make a few mental notes, and I head to Best Buy. Leave the building, get "that look" from the girl behind the cash register that says "he never buys anything," head out to my truck, get in, turn the key...
...and it won't start.
Merde!
Get out, lift the hood, and wonder why it is the woman in the car two parking spaces over starts her car, and begins to take off. Look, I'm not very imposing looking lady. Stephen Hawking could take me down easily.
(Third Side Note -- It's like the lady a decade ago (approximately) who saw me walking along a sidewalk in a parking lot and she triggers the automatic lock on her car from the dinosaur era. Auto locks were new when this car was old, because you could hear the CLUNK CHUNK echoing from the car.
I get ten feet away and hear the CLUNK CHUNK again as she unlocked her car. I almost turned around to go "really? You're bigger than me, you look like a dairy cow, 100 percent undesirable, and I'm a threat to you?")
Back to present tense -- I wiggle the battery cable, it starts up, and as expected, the lady reverses, and parks her car again where it was, just facing the opposite way from earlier.
Off to Best Buy, where the guys both like (and miss) me. Anime section, no thanks I don't need help. I know this store better than you do. Thank you, though.
Odd...the section has shrank. Apparently it will remain in its reduced state until Halloween is over, as part of it was overtaken by bad horror movies. Keep searching, more searching, ah hell with it.
Off to find the Wii. Damn I want it. And now the Metroid trilogy is on the Wii.
Whimper, whine, whimper.
Oh look, "Zelda- Twilight Princess."
Now I'm near openly sobbing. Retreat to Blu-Ray.
More searching, more finding, less and less money I seem to have.
Sigh.
Off to X-Mart! That'll cheer me up!
Love that X-Mart smell -- it's both stale and life affirming. No clue why. Yes, I'm over 18. I know I don't look it, thank you.
Ooh, "Island Fever 4" on Blu-Ray!
Then I remember why I try not to come here often. I now seem to have even less cash. I make those with Spartan accommodations look like Hugh Hefner.
More searching, more whining, couldn't find precisely what I was looking for (not that it mattered cause I always find something interesting, if not repeatable).
Back to Books A Million!
Fangirls
I open the doors to BAM, and I'm immediately faced with more copies of Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn than I can shake a teenaged girl at. Plus there's the illustrated movie companions (which I also want), bookmarks (which would be nice), tote bags (which I'm not interested in), and bumper stickers that read "Team Edward" and "Caution: I Drive Like A Cullen."
(Another Side Note -- Most of the girls I know do, in fact, drive like the Cullens. One of them was my cousin, she ran me off the road. I'll never let her forget it.)
I head to the anime section first and, oh my god, there's a girl there! She was a little shorter than I and looked like Velma from Scooby Doo. She had the appearance of someone who came from the 60's, but wore muted colors and had the aura that stated "I know everything there is to know about coffee, art, and why guys are jerks and the other girls are prissy bitches. You'll walk right past me even if I tried to flirt with you. I don't wear makeup, screw you. Hand me my copy of "The Feminine Mystique" and don't let the doorknob hit you in the ass on your way out."
But still.....there's a girl in there! They do exist!
I wanted to ask what she was reading, as I'm always curious as to what others are looking at. I always seem to sneak peeks at those next to me in the aisles of any store to see what piques their interest.
Never had the chance.
But still, it's true! Fangirls do exist! They're not mythical creatures like unicorns or leprechauns! They do exist!
(Hey fangirls, if any are reading this collection of nonsense, what is it you're interested in and why? I'm always willing to broaden my horizons.)
Mind Games
Now this is fun -- I love screwing with people.
Not like what you're thinking. It's all about mind games, people.
In order to break up the monotony (or perceived monotony) of my life, not to mention others, I like to do bizarre things in public. Life is a great big practical joke we've played on ourselves, it's just very few of us realize that. You gotta throw punch lines in for the jaded community every so often to make them go "what the hell was that about?"
For instance, I'm headed to a bookshop in the mall, but I walk past this clothing store that has very, very shapely mannequins that have no heads. Instead, a baseball cap rests where their necks would be.
And I always want to run up to these fake statues and go OH MY GOD! CALL A DOCTOR! THIS LADY'S GOT NO HEAD! POLICE! POLICE! SOMEONE WENT AND STOLE THIS POOR LADY'S HEAD! DON'T YOU WORRY, MISS, WE'LL GET THOSE CRANIUM SNATCHING BANDITS!
I'd get thrown out of the mall for that.
It'd still be funny as hell, though.
(making mental note to pull that joke when I'm in a foreign town)
Later, I'm leaving and this one guy walks up next to me with his clipboard and asks "sir, would you mind taking a movie survey?"
Now here's where my mind locks up and I have to think which is the most appropriate response:
1. Yes, as I'm a geek and love the movies.
2. No, and get your fat hands off me.
3. Give a witty answer that leaves them confounded.
I entertained option 3, and it certainly would've raised eyebrows. The first thing that came to my mind went something like this -- "I'm looking forward to New Moon, the recent Star Trek movie was terrible, and the best thing about gay "rhymes with corn" is that there's no sheep involved."
...and I would've just kept walking, waving goodbye as I went. If I had said that, the poor guy with the clipboard might've just looked at me speechless.
(making mental note to pull that kind of stunt on a busy day, as loud as I can)
Oh look what's on the horizon, stuff you've seen before.
Maybe we should protest Hollywood this Christmas. Now I, like you, love nothing more than heading straight for the video section when it comes to Midwinter holiday celebrations. Every time the date of Jimmy Buffett's birthday arrives, I get my Best Buy gift cards and go hog wild purchasing movies left and right.
But what if we should stage a protest?
I was at Best Buy the other day, and picked up a copy of Star Trek: Wrath of Khan on Blu-Ray. It had, I believe, a quote of admiration from, of all places, Ain't It Cool.
And somewhere in Arkansas, a Trek Fan Wept.
Really? It's now at the point where long established movies are relying on such a website to help promote it?
Yes, it's just another example of Trek Gone Bad, which is just another example of Hollywood eating and regurgitating itself over and over again.
And, of course, in the future Jarrod has seen more remakes, sequels, and other projects that play on same familiar lands. Frankly, we oughta toss 'em all into the nearest quantum singularity. I'm sick to death of this manure fest.
So, why don't we have a No Hollywood Christmas? No, it won't be easy, even for me.
Master Starlight wants Twilight on Blu-Ray. Master Starlight want Blu-Ray player. Think of it, Master, Edward and Bella in Blu.
Stop that.
Jesse Jane in Blu. Star Trek movies in Blu. James Bond. Austin Powers. Dare Igor say it?
Don't say it.
Final Fantasy Advent Children -- IN BLU! BUWAHAHAHA! WANT THEM MASTER! WANT THEM!
I'm filling your hump with kerosene tonight Igor. And we oughta put a new tongue in you. You're beginning to sound a lot like Gollum.
Any ways...yes, I'm a movie and tech fan. But Hollywood needs new chefs in their kitchens, and until that happens we oughta tell the lot of 'em to go to Hell.
There's lots of viable alternatives to movies. There's books! There's music! There's video games!
There's movies that rhyme with "corn!"
Yes, that's true, and Jesse Jane isn't exactly mainstream Hollywood. Maybe we could make an exception in her case. I really, really want to see "Cheerleaders."
This may be the Christmas of "no movies." I'm sadly behind in my CD purchasing activities, as well as my book acquiring adventures. Enya has possibly half a dozen more albums that I am currently not in possession of. There's two more books in "The Twilight Saga." There's the "Mortal Instruments" trilogy, along with "Wicked Lovely" on which Jarrod mentioned not too long ago.
Then there's the notion of SAVING (gasp!) the gift cards and such in order to get a Wii, or I could just go ahead and get the games I'd like, namely "LOZ: Twilight Princess," "Metroid," "Ghostbusters," "Mario Kart," "Super Mario Galaxy," plus however many others that are out there. I haven't really checked.
I always end up looking like that sad little kitten with its paws on the windows of the pet store just waiting to be adopted. The games just never manage to come home with me.
And then there's all the audio releases to be had -- I still don't have the live DVD of Elton John's "Red Piano" performance from Vegas. There's many Jimmy Buffett albums that I need to place next to their siblings in my audio shelf. (And on top of, and next to. I need new shelving, badly.)
Or I could buy new shelves!
Nah, that's boring. I secretly like watching movies, books, and CD's spill over their set boundaries. It makes me feel like I own more than I do. It's Leonine ego, that's all it is.
But music, oddly enough, seems to have a longer shelf life in my world. The "Boats, Beaches, Bars, and Ballads" collection of Buffett's is still going strong, long after the movies I also bought with it this past December lost their shine. The same can be said for the "Live in Anguilla" set from the previous year. Ditto for the "Meet Me In Margaritaville" twin disc set, as it has "Last Mango In Paris," "Fruitcakes," and a few others that the other collections don't feature.
But there are other possibilities -- a Blu-Ray player, for example, but that could just lead to the violation of the 'no movies' policy.
Unless...
Yes...my mind is thinking the most awesome, wonderful things, he said in the style of King Julian.
(God I love "Penguins of Madagascar.")
There's the wonderful "Haunted Histories" collections, "The Color of Magic" and "Hogfather" which are from jolly old Angleterre, there's FullMetal Alchemist, which isn't from around here, and so on.
Yes...I am thinking a lot of loveliness could take place without bending over for the Hollywood studios.
That could also be cheating, splitting hairs, other arguments, and so on.
But if we want to form a resistance, to give glorious structure and voice to a revolution, tell Hollywood to stick it this Christmas -- take your DVD's and possibly even your first run movies and shove them somewhere that's likely physically impossible.
I'll do the same.
But only after I've seen "New Moon." Then begins the revolution.
In my brief life, on certain occasions, the opportunity to further enrich myself by means of placing myself in the hands of a foreign land, be it Texas or Paris, has presented itself.
Once, as a child, I headed west to California and developed a severe allergy to airplanes. I set foot in Tulsa late one night and swore to myself I would never step on another airplane.
That was the 80's.
Approximately ten years later the notion of traveling through Jarrod's native land presented itself and, slowly, I warmed up to that notion. It had the major advantage of not being associated with flight.
But between these two instances, my old high school teacher put forth ideas like visiting whatever museums and galleries there are in Tulsa. She and my friends never could convince me, and never could figure out why.
The answer is simple -- I hate travel. I only started venturing out this past summer because I'd seen all there was to see in my very small, immediate area.
But every year in high school, the question would come up "do you want to go? Come, go with us, it'll be fun."
The response was simple -- no.
Then I left high school and, eventually, started taking French lessons around the turn of the millennium and, though I was average at best in learning the language of love, I kept advancing though I rightly should've stayed in the beginner's course.
In the midst of my second semester of learning how to parlez vous Francais, the opportunity arose to visit the homeland of this wonderful language I had absolutely no grasp of.
"Come, see the Louvre with us" was the general statement.
Well, besides having no real cash to speak of at that time, and my severe allergy to airplanes, I had to turn Monsieur Carty down. I did manage to get two rolls of film dedicated to Versailles out of the experience, though. They even caught spectral evidence on my rolls of film, as Versailles is a pretty haunted place.
There was that, and a picture postcard of the Eiffel Tower.
There was France, a place Louis called home, and ghostly lights no one (but I) could explain.
And I missed it all.
I keep those photos locked away for safe keeping, partially so I don't have to look at them to remind myself of where I could've been.
From high school, I have a friend who was a foreign exchange student from Germany. She's the most innocent (or so I once thought) individual who also happens to be the happiest person alive in the entire world.
She asked me to prom...but I politely turned her down simply because I simply had no interest in going. She quickly found someone else to go with and, as she put it, her date's mom drove them and they talked about Jesus a lot.
Only in Arkansas.
She's made possibly half a dozen return trips to this state, and I've been here to greet her every time. I even offered her the chance to sleep at my place for her next stay, because I know she'd love nothing more than to spend time with my cats.
But she's stated repeatedly I, and a friend of mine, have to come to Germany. I say I will...and I mean it. But there's also the allergy to planes. Money is the other issue, but the notion of breaking my sacred vow to Mother Earth that I'd never leave her again is one I can't make, no matter how much money I do or don't have.
She insists we visit, and I'll insist on visiting all the haunted castles and other notable sites. She wants to scare me doing 90 on the Autobahn, and I'd rather just sit medicated in the backseat taking great care in ensuring I don't see the German countryside zipping by at Warp 6.
She drives like a maniac, and punches the break like David Beckham kicking a football. (European, not American. I do know some things about sports, no matter how much I don't pay attention.)
Frankly, her automobile activities scare the hell out of me.
But the open invitation will stay open until my friend and I get our collective asses into the European Union, and then she won't want us to leave. Under her observation, we'll see an entire country and half of Paris is one month or less.
The girl never stops moving. My friend knows this because he experienced the same treatment and insists that, when the stars align, I better get my ass over there so I can see and hear it just like he has.
Castles are on the itinerary, at my request. Paris is a must.
And, apparently, so is the techno playing gay bar she dragged my very heterosexual friend off to. She said "let's go to this great bar I know" and off they went. Never described what type of bar it was, and he didn't figure it out until he looked over to the side and saw two guys in a ferocious lip lock right there at the bar.
He turns to her and says "where the hell are we?"
Apparently, she's been visiting this bar for several years and has a lot of fun with it. The first time she told me about it, I asked if she was there for the boys or the fashion tips. She laughed, in her usual style, and stated Germany isn't as uptight about these things as America is.
I just couldn't figure out why she was there...but where she's concerned, if there's something she'd consider fun and exciting to do, she's there. Everything as mundane as autumn in America to driving to Graceland so her father can have a picture of his daughter in front of Chez Elvis, then she'll do it.
And she wants to take me to this same bar as well. I've already had visions of what could happen, and my friend has stated "I can see you now, you'll be drinking your Pepsi and end up staring open mouthed at all the things around you that you've never seen before in your life and I'm going to be there with a camera to capture it all."
Well, he's experienced these things with her, and I haven't. He even applied for citizenship to stay there with her. That's true love, baby. They haven't seen each other since, unfortunately, but they've been able to share phone conversations for about a year now, so it's all good -- not as good as it once was, but it's better.
As for me, well I like my movies that "rhyme with corn," but other than that I'm pretty straight laced. Remember the Adam Ant song "Goodie Two Shoes?" That's me. Don't drink, don't smoke, etc.
Never even set foot in a bar of any kind. Only visited a bowling alley maybe three or four times in my entire life (Almost killed a few friends when the ball damn near left my hands in a Galveston dive back in 96.)
But my friend has it right -- right down to the Pepsi. I'll just crack the lid and god only knows what will unfold before me. I've also had visions of singing "Last Mango In Paris" and "Garden Party" in some German karaoke bar. She likes the way I sing, even though it's absolutely dreadful. I could just look at her and she'll break down laughing.
It's great to be around her. The energy of an entire state changes when she's in town. She's happy 247 and her good mood spreads faster than H1N1.
Now I'm again faced with the prospect of traveling abroad -- as a final blowout, my former art teacher is taken students with her and headed to Germany and Paris. And, even though the offer hasn't been made officially, I know it exists in the lower levels of my reality waiting to bubble up.
My former art teacher will be leaving for Louisiana this December. There's a chance for one big blowout and its destination is to the East. My German friend will hear of this and ask if I'm able to go, and again I'll have to say no.
Friends, instructors, and mentors have all laid the path to Europe. From the coast of Spain, up to Scotland and back down along Hadrian's wall through Egypt while swinging back around through Roma and Napoli in old Italy on their way home again.
There are no yellow brick roads to walk along, from this continent to the next. The Emerald Island I wish to visit and the Renaissance masters that call out from their graves and chapels in an effort to be seen in person know my name by heart.
It's a long way to Tipperary...
If you're one of the three or four Maniacs that "listen" to Jarrod's ramblings on FacebookTwitter, then you'd be one of the other three or four people in the world who knows he's dealing with insomnia.
Well, them and "those" spammers. (Give in to online You Know What Jarrod. Give In. Jesse Jane has a new movie coming out soon -- it's called "Teachers." Have you been a bad student?)
So, being the sporting Maniac that I am, I thought we oughta chip in and give Jarrod some nice ways and means of getting him to sleep.
Step 1 - Love The Hammer
Take a large hammer...wait...
Igor! We're trying to achieve peaceful unconsciousness, not permanent catatonic behavior! Take the hammer away!
Whatever, Master.
Geez...now where were we?
How about a bottle of Dreamy Sleepy Nighty Snoozy Snooze? It's banned in most European countries, which means its very good.
Alcoholic based chocolate sedatives only work on Father Jack Hackett. (See "Escape From Victory," Father Ted, Season 3. Be sure to enjoy Mrs. Doyle's romantic take on football.)
Fine. Master Starlight no want help, then Igor go wash Vanessa Hudgens doll.
But seriously folks, Jarrod's not sleeping, and he'll probably turn to a life of zombie crime if this continues.
So, here goes the "Jarrod Needs Sleep" list of recommendations.
1. A Hammer.
(Igor!)
1. No Caffeine after 4 PM. (Although 3 would be better.)
Learn to love Root Beer, Jarrod. It has no caffeine, and it won't keep you up at night.
2. Tune In Sirius XM's "Spa" Network.
Let's face it -- when XM and Sirius merged, the New Age music channel suffered greatly (for those of us who enjoyed XM's "Audio Visions" channel.)
Audio Visions had poetry, oriental voices saying "This...is Audio Visions." Plus there was the lady named Garnett, and so on. Now that it's the badly named "Spa," we get this one voice over and over again who needs a lesson in inflection and other speech patterns.
But, when you get past all this, you get good, soothing music (most of the time) which is great in the early morning hours (it doesn't shock you awake) and lulls you into unconsciousness.
Think of it as meditation without attempting to get into those awkward positions. I just lay in my darkened bedroom, with the receiver on, and I give it about 20 - 30 minutes. That's really all you need.
Enya CD's work well, too.
3. No TV or work before bed.
'nuff said...unfortunately, You Know What viewing must also be canceled in this instance...
4. A Hammer.
(Igor, make that suggestion again and I'm going to straighten out your spine!)
4. "My Dinner With Andre"
Okay, so this is somewhat contradictory as I just said "no tv." "Andre" is a movie featuring Wallace Shawn and his friend Andre...uh....well I can't recall his last name, but this is a movie based on an existential conversation that covers Andre's life outside of the New York city streets Wallace Shawn (aka "Zek" from DS9) has been living as he attempts to ignite his acting career.
I had one hell of a hard time watching this movie in my Philosophy of Film class years ago. I also own it. It's interesting...and can be boring as hell. I threaten my niece and nephew with it when they've been bad. Sometimes I make them watch ten minutes of it.
5. Liquor
I'm actually not an expert on the drink, but considering my Bible thumping Southern Baptist cousins would chug Jack Daniels whenever they had the common cold...well..."only in Arkansas," is the statement that best fits here.
6. Lavender
There's various folk remedies involving Lavender -- some of it's for magical purposes. Burningsmoldering Lavender is undertaken to induce sleep. It has other intentions, but you can read about those in Scott Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs.
(Think of it this way -- Lavender smells a lot better than...say...Jarrod soused. Not as much fun, possibly, but certainly much more pleasant when it comes to scent.)
7. A Ham...
(Igor!)
Igor not finished. Wait for it...
7. A Ham, canned.
(A canned ham?)
Yes. Igor take canned ham...and hit Jarrod over head with it.
(You mean like this?)
WHAM!
THUD!
thunk thunk thunk thunk thump!
And that's why blunt weapons stay down in the lab.
SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!
Damn it Igor, that better not be my Jesse Jane movie collection!
It not -- it your Twilight movie poster collection. Shirtless Jacob now in fifty pieces!
IGOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
PS - Apparently this entry contains "excessive profanity."
Really, "excessive?" You boys are just afraid of the word that begins with "P" and rhymes with corn.
I applaud the anti spam efforts...but Maelstrom may not come home if this is what will greet his first blog back from the depths of Maelstrom HQ.
PPS - I see blog archiving is hiding our entries away again after a few days. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I'm not that interesting (and I'm likely being hidden away for the good of the community) but it would be nice to get that slight bit of archiving fixed.
Also, when we edit blogs, we have a lot of unnecessary back slashes in and around the words that make use of contractions (don't, won't, can't) and also where quotations are used ("jarrod, stop hitting me!")
Matador's made a suggestion in knocking the Texan unconscious, but it's an odd one to me -- Nyquil just keeps me awake and makes my brain spin at Mach Two which means I not only do not sleep, I also cannot sit still in bed.
It actually encourages insomnia in me. Go figure.
Tags: igor
Note -- I'm going to try to go a whole blog entry without mentioning the "T word." You people have driven me crazy -- the more I had to defend it against you, the deeper it had to drive me into a defensive position, and now I'm dangerously close to being a loony.
You know, last week I did a somewhat brief rundown of the pilot episode of "Diaries," and was willing to give it the benefit of a doubt.
It wasn't a bad first step last week. This week?
Well...
I'm not going to bother to review it this time -- Liana did it so well last week, so she can handle this task.
Only in its second episode, it's starting to wear a little on me. In fact, I'm not even going to bother to look up (or remember) their names this go around.
The girl who proclaimed her psychic abilities last week, along with her dubious relation to Salem Witches (honestly, couldn't they have come up with something more intriguing) is becoming somewhat flat and uninteresting, sort of like those diet rice cakes my mom used to eat in the 80's. The abilities are for real (she's psychometric -- think Johnny Smith from Dead Zone), but all the fluff that surrounds it should be burned away.
So far our bad vampire is the most interesting part of the show, and currently he's not enough reason for me to tune in weekly if the show was centered entirely around his drinking habits.
The prologue has been the most striking moment in this episode, and the most "CW moment" (as they should be called) involved the girls sitting around a table with the "boy likes girl, girl likes boy = sex" equation.
Now I've nothing against that equation. It's just that it was stated pretty much like I wrote it in the sentence above, only without the equal sign. It's this boy girl = sex and the one dude's drug abuse which is slowly making this slip into everything else which the CW is known for. It could be more than it sets out to be, this is my point. There's room to evolve...I just don't think it will.
Meanwhile, our good vampire is...actually it's more what he isn't -- so far he hasn't stood out as if there's something to write about. Both guys have but the ability to whammy on unsuspecting people, but our bad vampire is better at it since he actually saddles up to the bar for Blood Mary's, Johnny's, Becky's, and Jarrod's.
This episode isn't instilling faith in me for future episodes, but I'm also still willing to give it a chance -- for now. It took some time for me to become truly interested in Warehouse 13, as it struggled to find its footing. Let's hope the same is true here.
Also, a note on the diary entry voiceovers: the first time around it was a nice touch that the two monologues overlapped, but it's not going to remain interesting for much longer.
I don't know what Liana will grade it as, but I'd give it a C.
Less Melrose Place90210One Tree HillDawson's CreekGossip GirlOther Shows I Haven't seen and more...well let's ditch the comparisons above first and see what happens.
PS - I did watch Gossip Girl one night. I will never be that desperate for entertainment again.
Okay, so we know Jarrod (All Hail Jarrod!) is fighting the evil spammers, as usual.
But (and I don't know this for certain) would it be right up his alley to also DELETE the users from Mania who post these stupid entries?
You oughta make it Mania policy Sarafin -- abuse the blogs (or anything else), and out you go.
Entrance Denied, fellas.
Sic 'em, Jarrod.
Meanwhile, I'll have to either repost The Reading List or update it later.
Tags: spam
Before I dig into this latest mad adventure, I'd just like to reference something I saw quite by accident here.
The article Latest NEW MOON Trailer is the third most popular article under the Movies heading with a total of 5,858 views as of 5:14 PM CST Tuesday, 15'th September.
I've never really paid any attention to the popularity or, more appropriately, how many times X article has been viewed. Said article has only been up two days, and the comments are sparse. I check in a few times, as do a few others to continue this stupid cat fight.
But there's an enormous silent majority on here that check in...but for what reason? The fireworks? Honestly, I hope not -- these mute viewers are more likely just checking in to view the trailer as they anxiously await for New Moon to drop in November.
Sometimes, I silently admit to myself I'd like to be in Jarrod's position, if only to see the behind the scenes numbers on how many times one article or another is viewed. The same goes for our blogs.
A few entries ago, Maelstrom had pointed out what I'd either ignored or simply not recognized about the Twilight novels, and other such related books -- it's part of the "young adult" genre.
It's hard to know what I will be interested in, be it music, movies or books. I tend to be sadly deficient when it comes to recognizing novels that I'd be greatly interested in -- I never would've found Douglas Adams if a teacher hadn't pointed him out. Discworld wouldn't have made its way to my bookshelf if someone else hadn't declared his love for it. The same goes for Neil Gaiman, Dave Barry, Carl Hiassen, Dan Brown and, of course, Twilight.
Sometimes I do find books on my own: The Historian was one I found...but only because people were calling it The Dracula Code, in a sense. Then there's a book called Through Violet Eyes that I only became aware of it because it was being advertised regularly here on Mania way back in 2004. I distinctly remember clicking on those adverts, which lead me to the site, and then I found myself at Walmart one day five years ago and bought the book.
Sometimes (but all too rarely) I can lay my eyes upon a book and be snared by it for some reason or another. Labyrinthe, from 2005, caught my eye in paperback form and I set aside the spare cash I had then to buy it...and promptly failed to read it.
I've got it sitting right here next to me -- it still captivates me for unknown reasons, I just haven't sat down with it yet.
Then there's Isaac Asimov's Foundation series I came across, but only because he was the only science fiction author on the high school reading list. A similar argument has been made for Doyle's Sherlock Holmes.
But sometimes its movies that lead me to books. The Golden Compass is a perfect example of this. Pete Jackson's LOTR trilogy lead me to Tolkien himself. I'd never heard of him. I likely passed over his books while searching out the numerous Star Trek books I was constantly buying.
And I've never defined anything as young adult. Harry Potter is called a kid's book, but that's just an over simplification of the Potter series. Twilight was called a romance, and I was hesitant to buy it at all because I like picking up the real romance novels simply because I want a good laugh -- a laugh at the expense of how bad such things are written.
Now, with Vampire Diaries on my digital converter, I find something else I'd never heard of.
I won't say I actively investigated the Young AdultTeen sections, but I also won't say I actively avoided it either. I was, arguably, unaware it existed, save for a few Buffy the Vampire Slayer novels. I was only looking for Buffy, I was briefly amused that there were Charmed novels, but never really went any further than that.
So now the young adult section has magically appeared in front of me. I now find myself investigating it nearly as much as I check out the New Age sections in my ongoing hunts for new books on magick, ghosts, and so on.
And sometimes I don't even have to traipse down those aisles -- Walmart is doing it for me these days.
There's another series of books that seem to be of the romantic supernatural genre.
A quick note here -- in my uninformed opinion, there ought to be two categories when dealing with "romance" in its more general form: 1. Drama, and 2. Soap Opera.
Drama is the more honorable, honest and genuine of the two. The latter is...is...well it's rubbish, as the Brits might say. Twilight would be drama, and Gossip Girl would be soap opera. I'll make time for the drama aspect if I'm interested, and I'll make no time at all for the soap opera aspects of the genre.
This "new" series (and I say that loosely because it's obviously been around for awhile and I just didn't notice until very recently) is called "City of Bones - The Mortal Instruments."
It has a somewhat flashy cover by having an obviously shirtless guy seen over a city skyline. There also is something resembling golden light swirling about the cover in mid action.
And...for reasons unknown to me, I keep picking it up to read its synopsis to see if its worthy of my time. Since it is an apparent trilogy of books (also are City of Glass and City of Ashes with differing covers of their own) it has my interest.
One of the driving forces behind my curiosity is I'm always strangely drawn to something that goes beyond one simple novel, like Harry Potter did when I was first trying to figure out if I wanted to read it or not. Same for Discworld. Same for Hitchhiker. Same for Tolkien.
See a pattern here?
Back when I made my very first steps into the teen aisle to look for Buffy novels, I found what is called The Gatekeeper Trilogy. It consists of the following entries: Out of the Madhouse, Ghost Roads, and Sons of Entropy.
There were plenty of self contained, one volume novels I could've chosen, and it would've made more sense to buy one of those in case I didn't like the novel versions of Buffy, but I went for the trilogy and ate it up as fast as I could.
In fact, that's probably why I go for the bigger series -- I know when this book ends, it's not the end of the story, and there'll be even more to take in when this book is over with.
At least that's the theory.
Back to the Mortal Instruments novels -- if it's drama (as stated above) then I'll likely read all three books. If it's a soap opera, then I'll probably hate myself for showing interest in the series.
From what very little I know, there's some hot guy in the books called "Jace," and I'm assuming that he's the dude modeling skin from the neck down to the city skyline. I don't know this for certain, but my reasoning if this is a book for blossoming chicks, and there's a hot guy in it to fantasize over, then placing some buff bod on the front cover is the way of ensnaring the chicks to say "here's a taste of things to come, girls."
Okay, fine. I get it, shirtless guy on the cover -- it's marketing, sex sells, and all that crap.
Interestingly enough, the two follow up novels do not have half naked guys on the cover. One appears to be some kind of archer and the other I think is a girl with long, red hair.
So this series is the latest I'm considering. What it's like I have no idea...well except for the brief synopsis offered at Amazon.com. Apparently, it contains nice werewolves and friendly vampires....along with the hot dude.
Hey, don't look at me -- I haven't read it. I know the boys will be upset if this series comes to the forefront like Twilight has, and with that anger will come the knee jerk reactions, as always.
Personally, I wonder if the True Blood lovers are reading the novels its based upon. I pick those up as well to examine. I've encountered a lot of girls reading that series, and it makes me wonder if it's a "girl book" as well, and that HBO just "manned it up" for broadcast.
I must admit, it'd be funny as hell if that was the case.
But, again, that's just speculation as I haven't read those either.
PS - If anyone has read those books, feel free to enlighten me one way or the other. I just know from my limited experience all the girls that are reading Twilight are also reading the Sookie novels as well.
(Note - This was being written in between commercial breaks. If it qualifies as a review, I'm not sure. It always takes me awhile to settle into "new things," and then (should I keep doing) the "reviews" will become less recitation of what happened and more of an analysis and reflection of what transpired.)
Earlier in the week, way back in the TV Wasteland, the assumptions were made towards what exactly The Vampire Diaries would likely be. Predictions involved the text speak of OMG! and other typical high school drama and delight.
Rob, I'm going to say such a thing was spoken too soon. The inevitable comparisons to Twilight were made here, as they have been made everywhere else. Those, too, have likely been made prematurely as well.
But, so far...so far I'm not fully certain.
There's a certain amount of sharpness to this, albeit possibly some lacking in originality. But more on that later.
Our lead benevolent vampire, Stefan, introduces himself by means of voice over as he expresses his reasons for returning to Mystic Falls, while another unseen force makes its presence known by hiding amongst the fog on a lonely, empty road that sees the first victims have their lives taken away with the snap of thirty jaws.
Meanwhile Lena, our female protagonist, has suffered an as yet unexplained family tragedy some months earlier. She attempts to reassure herself in her own personal diary before school. This seems to be her means to recover herself, while her brother has taken the less glamorous road of dealing in his own addictions while likewise selling to his clients.
Lena has turned a blind eye to her brother's drug abuse, but now that school has started she confronts him in the men's room as he covers up the evidence with eye drops and less than believable lies.
Lena's friend, Bonnie, laughingly proclaims her faux psychic powers, but it's the psychometric touch from a bottle of beer that puts the fear of black birds and fog into Bonnie's mind.
Meanwhile, our vamp Stefan introduces himself to Lena as she sits writing in her diary in the local cemetery next to the graves of her decomposing parents. His companions, or should we say those that foreshadow his arrival, are ravens and fogs that appear out of nowhere, even in the middle of the day.
Stefan has his powers -- he puts the whammy on a school administrator with his eyes when she requests immunization records, plus transcripts from his past scholarly establishments. He's endowed with amplified hearing, and much like a Joss Whedon vamp, seems unable to enter into a home without some type of invitation.
If that wasn't enough for accidental lack of imagination, Lena's friend takes up her cellular phone, texts Lena during class to state that a certain vampiric "hawt-e" is staring at her, Edward style, though Stefan hasn't revealed to the human population he's of the undead sort.
He also hasn't burst into flames while standing in the sunlight, but this is accomplished much the same way it happened in the first season of Angel: by means of a rather unique ring that keeps him from turning to dust in the sunlight. And, so far, Stefan hasn't displayed any certain of luminescence in the same way Meyer's vamps do.
I seriously doubt he'll display that characteristic as well.
He does have a unique characteristic when it comes to the scent of blood -- his eyes change, involuntarily, to a shade of black. I'm not expert in the use of this term, nor do I really know of how its used in popular culture, but I'd say Stefan goes "emo" when it comes to blood.
And no teenaged drama would be complete without the all too often repeated of youths partying out in the middle of nowhere where any evil force could descend upon them, such as underage drinking, possible pre martial sexual encounters and, of course, the possible death by blood sucker.
After scoring a drink, Stefan's brother Damon makes his presence known to Stefan, as he wonders why his brother has returned. Damon makes comparisons to another young woman, Katherine, and how they were similar in nature. Plus Damon reveals Stefan's dietary habits, which also consist of eating animals, and when he suggests going out for the kill on a few girls, or even Lena herself, Stefan loses his composure.
Both Lena and Stefan are troubled souls in their own right, both are looking for ways to leave their pasts behind, and both express their fears and emotions in their respective journals which, in this age of blogs and Twitter, is somewhat refreshing. Pens hold their perspectives, not pixels and virtual notifications.
For me, it'll be interesting to see how this unfolds through this season, especially when the further comparisons are made to New Moon and Eclipse as they appear in theaters. The tone is a darker one that we have in the first Twilight movie, but I will not make comparisons to the source materials as I (so far) have no interest in reading the original novels where this gets its inspiration.
Next week, Damon intends to start wreaking havoc.
This show could easily have legs to stand upon -- it's not Buffy, it's not Angel, and it's not Twilight. Yes there are comparisons from Stephenie Meyer all the way to Smallville, but accidental similarities have happened before and will happen again, so there's no sense getting hung up on that.
If a grade was to be applied here, I'd probably say "B." We've established our characters, we've left dramatic doors wide open for the back story to hang on, and it's darker with more sophistication than might've been originally assumed by certain Maniacs.
And, like always, we'll just have to wait and see what becomes of it.
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