So being the most visible "Twilight" fan on here is a unique position to be in. It wasn't something I was seeking, I would rather be known for all the madness (and my as yet unproduced scripts) I place here in the blogs, along with some hopefully biting, yet intelligentthoughtful comments on the news and such of the day.
Just as Hanso will always be associated with TDK and now "Avatar," I'll likely always be linked to Stephenie Meyer's sparkly vampire series. Considering my name was put in a Comics 2 Film article about how Robert Pattinson's name was be discussed for the rebooted role of Peter Parker, well it just goes to show unintended enthusiasm coupled with an unwavering defense of a somewhat (but not really) controversial collection of books and movies makes me the Hanso of "Twilight."
(I hope you're reading that last line over and over again Hanso. I wanna hear you cringe.)
I've stated openly that I do try to expand my reach beyond what I normally search through at the local bookshops: Sci-FiFantasy and the New AgeOccultMagickParanormal sections.
Honorable mentions go to the PhilosophyReligion sections (which are usually right next to the New AgeMysticism shelves) and, to a lesser degree, the manga shelves. I look, but I still have no real interest in them.
Then the "T-Word" came along and I found myself checking out new shelves of entirely new material I'd never considered before. I've scanned these shelves, and made mental notes of some things that look interesting to me, plus the fact one article Jarrod published not too terribly long about made me take notice of something in the pipeline called "Wicked Lovely."
This past Christmas I bought "Wicked Lovely" for a female friend of mine. I've also heard a few of my old high school friends talking back and forth about the "T-Word" again, and a series I'd taken notice of called "The Mortal Instruments" by Cassandra Clare.
Then there's another series, by an Alysson Noel, called "The Immortals" I've been keeping my eye on.
Today, with the threat and wicked Arctic weather about to freeze and possibly snap the jaws of life shut on me, I felt I should be prepared to be locked away in this house for a few days, just as it always happens when icy weather heads comes through the hills of Arkansas.
Before stocking up on provisions (read: pizza, chocolate milk, etc.) I visited my favorite second hand book shop and picked up a copy of "Evermore," the first in the "Immortals" series.
I also managed to find a copy of "City of Bones," which is obviously recommended by the author of a series of books featuring sparkly vampires and half naked werewolf guys. Said recommendation did NOT play a part in my interest in this series.
I depend on word of mouth, for the most part, when it comes to my reading activities. But, there are times when I can just look at something (book, movie, etc.) and feel inexplicably drawn to it. This is how it happened with "Immortals" and "Mortal Instruments."
As for "Twilight," it was a sense of "what the hell is all of this about?" That, and the fact I'd seen the teaser trailer and associated teaser poster. It piqued my interest, plain and simple.
The idea of "guilt by association" also doesn't really apply here. I say this as Rob kept calling "Vampire Diaries" a "Twilight" knock off. It's not. And my most recent purchases are not knock offs either.
As of right now, I'm six chapters (eighty-two pages) into "City of Bones." For me to be reading this fast is kind of amazing, as I read much slower than this. "Bones" is compared to "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," Neil Gaiman, and possibly others as I haven't looked at all the reviews.
I must say this -- this is a novel that hits the ground running, which likely explains why I've read so much so fast. There's also a pile of words like "Institute," "Shadowhunters," "mundies," special kinds of demons, "Idris," and other phrases that dominate the story that exists within, and just beyond, the reality of modern New York.
The author Clare is obviously a fan girl. She's mentioned manga once already, and the "Shonen Jump" magazine that Michael Xavier Maelstrom once referenced in the comments of a past blog I entered god only knows how many months ago.
This, already, is a very visual novel and I can see its antics and actions unfolding on a cinema screen. Not "could," not "oh wouldn't it be nice if they made a movie of," no I mean CAN. I can see how the shots would play out as Clary encounters these things only she can see, and other things she thought she saw. Plus that second demon attack (the Ravener) is a monster that reminded me of the mares I describe in my script "Sweet Dreams."
Also, this Ravener is interesting -- think back to "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets," as the basilisk is searching the pipes of Hogwarts and Harry gets snippets of its malevolent thoughts: "let me rip you, let me kill you, die..."
There is a moment where this Ravener demon is preparing to snack on our heroine, thinking "bones, to crunch, to suck out the marrow, to drink the veins..."
Of course, being that there's Jace, our golden haired hero that's described as "damn sexy," we might as well accept the fact that there's going to be some loving going on, which is fine.
But those of us who actually have full and capable use of our intellectual and emotional aspects can appreciate what could likely happen, instead of playing the standard Maniac role of grunting like cavemen which involves hurling clubs at cavegirls to either make them shut up or put out.
Guys, don't get scared of the shirtless dude on the cover of the book. It's obviously Jace, in all his "damn sexy" appeal, but (so far) this isn't playing with skin just to get girls to pick up the book, much like the twenty-five cent romance novels that line the stacks of my second hand book shop are doing.
I say, "so far so good."
And if you're wondering "what about 'Breaking Dawn?,'" well the truth is I haven't gotten to it yet. I'm hesitant to read it yet, as I don't want it to end. As long as the book remains out there untouched, then there's something to look forward to.
But if "Mortal Instruments" is going to be as good as these first several chapters indicate, I'll gladly pick up the final installment of Edward, Bella and Jacob and then get back to the rest of my reading material.
Jarrod, how about some preferential treatment? Turn off that bleeping profanity filter...at least for me. How can I quote Eszterhas if I have to worry about naughty words?
I tried many times and many alterations to this entry. I keep seeing those words in red -- Your entry contains excessive profanity. Please try again.
So go HERE for the blog entry in its original, naughty form.
I'm coming for you Sarafin.
PS - What was I like in high school? Here, see for yourself --
Mika - "We Are Golden"
That, in essence, was me. Only geekier.
Wanted -- J. J. Abrams, Robert Orci, and Alex Kurtzman For Crimes Against "Star Trek."
I've spent a lot of time denouncing Abrams and company without having seen it, and arguably I didn't need to see a spade to call it such.
Well you know what? I bought it. All for you Jarrod, all for you.
I have since decided Jarrod is evil, and is solely intent on delivering lashes of the whip upon me.
(Note -- You will no longer be evil once this is all over. Let's hope it happens sooner than later.)
You know what? This is far worse than I had imagined. A person could actually ATTEMPT to get things right, but such childish and willful destruction of not only the timeline, but the name "Star Trek" itself, indicates this trio of ne'er do wells are tantamount to the Menendez Bros who took it upon themselves to kill their parents for...what, the family fortune?
This is tantamount to holding phasers to Roddenberry's head as he lies on his deathbed and pulling the trigger before he expires, and then again afterwards to desecrate the body.
We've got McCoy acting more like Adrian Monk, and somewhat scatter brained while trying to "cure" Kirk of a disease he gave Kirk in order to get him aboard the Enterprise.
We've got Romulans that look and act more like guys from some bar with the unfortunate need to have a less than inspired name from ancient Rome.
We've even got Spock that...that...well let's just say Nicholas Meyer wrote and directed Spock more admirably than this lot could.
We've got the innards of the Enterprise and the Kelvin looking like that goddamned factory that almost put me in the hospital, only shinier.
And we've got water tubing in Engineering? Really?
Abrams and crew need a good swift kick in the balls for this absolute shit.
I bought the 3'rd Season of Voyager to go along with this...Just In Case. This is the first full season of any Star Trek I've ever had the opportunity to purchase, and all I want to do is get away from Trek. Far, far away -- even Voyager. Even DS9 and everything else.
At the next available instance, I'm headed to Hastings -- reboot in tow. (I must admit I really want to take a hammer to the disc, but that would get me nowhere.)
Jarrod, you are no longer evil -- but the open and bleeding wounds from the lashes remain.
Hello, My Name Is Starlight, And I'm A Loyal Nintendo Geek.
Well, as loyal as one could possibly be, considering I've never touched a Game Cube, but I did manage to play Super Mario Bros. Wii a few weeks ago. I never fondled a DS, nor a Game Boy Advance. A friend of mine did own the very (very) short lived Nintendo Virtual Boy, and it was hell trying to play that, plus it really screwed up your eyes if you played it for, say, more than a few consecutive minutes.
But I was exceptionally devoted to my NES, and then the Super Nintendo which I finally received after years of begging my parents. I also did similar begging for the N64, but ultimately just bought it one year to help me get through the night shift.
And throughout all those years, one thing stood beside me: Nintendo Power magazine. Sure, I also had GamePro, and it did provide a few extras NP didn't, but ultimately Nintendo Power was my holy grail that arrived once a month in my mailbox for years upon end. GamePro was the lesser grail, but it was beneficial as it sometimes arrived the same day as NP did.
And, thanks to these magazines (and the multitude of responses to my several handwritten letters I'd sent out to Nintendo of America up in Redmond, which I still have to this day) I was a legend.
Everyone came to me, saying "hey how do I do this?" or "Got any codes for that?" And the answers were either recited chapter and verse, or went something like this: "let me check. Oh, here we go."
I had Nintendo Power. I had NP Strategy Guides. I am in possession of the fabled Final Fantasy Strategy Guide, and it is in 99% Great Condition. It has only one flaw, and that is one of the middle pages somehow came loose and is gently falling out, which is odd as I never owned Final Fantasy and, therefore, never really had to use said guide.
The Ninja Gaiden 2 strategy guide is in perfect condition, and the Super Mario Bros. 3 guide (the second one I bought) is in about 85% Good Condition. The first one was thumbed through so many times it literally fell to pieces and I had to buy a second.
I have, here not too far from me, a giant orange storage tub (much like the ones you'd buy at Wal-Mart) and it is filled to the brim with NP, GP, SwatPro, and other miscellaneous gaming magazines.
The last Nintendo Power magazine I ever bought was from the fall of 2000, which featured both the Game Cube and a look at Majora's Mask. It is, as those that had come before it, a perfect example of what the magazine's reason for existing was all about: maps, tips, tricks, strategies, passwords, and other such necessities.
And then, last month, I was searching the magazines at one of the local 5 Wal-Mart's in the round and found the most recent edition of Nintendo Power. The cover story was all about Super Mario Bros. Wii, and above that was a declaration of a countdown of the best Zelda games that ever existed.
I bought it instantly.
I took it home, and when a free moment came, I took it up and dove right in.
It didn't take me long to realize that, for some reason, something wasn't right. There's advertisements for various games. That wasn't there before. I could live with that, though...even if they do occur on every other page, which is slightly annoying.
The section on Super Mario Bros. Wii...was just an article. Wait, where's the maps? Where's the basic rundown on how what works and why? The screenshots are nice, but where's the useful information?
I flip through, more advertisements (and it's getting annoying). Where's the foldout map which has a poster on its opposite side? Why is there a Q&A session with this guy, whoever he is?
Where's the bit on Zelda? I flip through a few more pages, and it's a list according to popularity. I must've been expecting more when I bought it, because the spiel on Link and Zelda is...is...just a list.
And, ultimately, why is it my Nintendo Power is now just a commercial for as many games as possible, even when it comes to the far too abundant reviews? There's nothing useful in here -- who sold out my Nintendo Power, and whose ass is it I gotta kick to make it an actually useful publication once more?
The price has practically doubled for this magazine. I paid twice for less. And I'm not going to make that mistake again.
Everything has been downgraded -- first Star Trek via "Enterprise," my once all digital movie theater, the directorial style for New Moon, Nintendo Power...what's next? Maelstrom giving up on his evil intentions and becoming a missionary in Africa?
As someone once said, "I'm baaack."
It's 5:41 PM. I'm fighting like hell to stay awake.
So here's what happened -- I had the opportunity to, once again, enjoy the lifestyle of an air-conditioning factory worker. I was quite happy with this, seeing as how I was revisiting familiar territory.
The first day, though somewhat tiring, was fine. The second day was also fine, up until I lifted something that didn't look that heavy, at the foreman's request, and found that, by the third lifting, I'd screwed up.
Some physiological data is needed here -- my wrists are, approximately, six inches around. My arms, at their "meatiest," is about ten. My 11 year old nephew, who was here a week ago (and who can't shut the hell up) stated he was about 90-95 pounds as he was weighed his last trip to the doctor. I told him "I weighed that when I was 18, my senior year in high school."
Plus, thanks to the wonders of hereditary, my chest in sunk inwards. So Mother Nature decreed a long time ago I would not be of the Tom Welling stock, which is why I complain "he's my age!" and so on.
Back to the story -- so I lifted this not too heavy looking dual assemblage of aluminum fins and such which would soon be cooling coils. With the third lifting, I'd damn near dropped the lot back onto the machine and the lady in charge asked a few times if I needed to see a nurse. I said no, because I hadn't actually physically hurt myself.
But I certainly depleted what little energy I'd conserved.
I do physical work at a moderate pace...at most. I take what time I need, and nothing bad happens. Later that night, I'd sat down my lady boss and explained the situation to her, and though she was concerned for one of her own, she couldn't make promises. That's fine, I've been here before, I know how that goes.
I go home that night, and wake up the next morning barely able to move, and in my share of pain. I spent all that morning debating whether to call in that day or not, as I didn't want to give up on such a relatively easy job which paid quite nicely.
But these things accumulate quickly for me, and it takes longer to recover than it does when I last worked there, in that same department, ten years ago on the night shift.
After conversing with both a friend and my mom, I'd slowly decided on calling in for that day, and I would make a trip to Human Resources the next day for possible relocation. Mom offered me a pain pill when they got back and I slept the rest of the day and all night as well.
The next morning, not in as much pain yet still tired, I studied the legal paperwork and such handed to us at our orientation. I wanted to try to find some other position in the factory, something less intensive, and if need be I'd wave their Equal Opportunity guidelines in their face to justify my case.
I go in early, with my lunchbox all packed up, and sit down in the secretary's office of the HR people. I politely explain my situation, and she goes in the back to where the suits sit and there's a quick back and forth, and I ultimately handed in my badge and left the building.
They didn't even bother to come out and talk to me. They didn't care one way or the other. It was either quit, which I didn't want to do, or continue down this broken path and do god only knows what else to myself.
Never before had I experience such a problem. I didn't even have the strength to fight the bastards. I came home, and went right back to bed. That was December 3'rd.
Only now am I getting back to normal -- as stated earlier, I'm still dead tired. I woke up fine, did some stuff, and I've been fighting the urge to nap ever since. I watched "Broadway Danny Rose" on IFC, and a Daffy Duck rip-off of "A Christmas Carol" on Cartoon Network.
A friend has insisted we go see "The Princess and the Frog" tomorrow, which I'm fine with. She can drive. And, ultimately, she'll give me that standard rant of "you always take me to sad movies."
I took her to see "Up" and "Wall-E." Those were sad movies. (?) She didn't complain about "Nim's Island," "Zack and Miri," or even...uh...well I know there's another I just can't think of it.
What the hell was that other movie? Oh well, my brain's shot tonight.
PS - Dad is doing very well. Too much medication isn't a good thing.
On The Night Shift...
Saturday evening -- one more day left of "freedom" and then I head back into the air conditioning factory where I once worked, a decade ago.
I'll be on 2'nd shift, so that means I'll be sleeping in until probably 10:00 or 11:00 AM, instead of my usual wakeup call that hits me around 6:00 AM. The cats, when it comes to feeding time, are going to be very confused.
So far, it's stated that overtime will be happening -- probably an extra hour or two per night. Saturdays may be thrown in there as well. The extra hour a night I can do, two might be pushing it.
But, thankfully, I am not on one of the production lines. My brother, who has been out of work for damn near a year now, will be also joining me at this factory -- but on 1'st shift. He's none too happy about that, and he's projected as working the next three Saturday's as well.
I've got my stuff together -- safety glasses (which I probably won't need as I already wear glasses), steel toed shoes (which are much more comfortable these days than a decade ago), and my cartons of Ensure to help, well, ensure a boost of strength as I don't know my physical limits these days.
Last time I was there, I worked 3'rd shift, and really despised it. God that was difficult. Then, for two weeks, I was placed in an even worse job. Now That Was A Demoralizing Job. It has to be stated in capital letters, just so you get the idea.
Then I was transferred out of that department for the Easiest Job In The Whole Damned Factory -- it was air conditioned, and I was paid a full 8 hours for only two hours of work and 6 hours of doing whatever the hell I wanted.
I'd easily do that again, but I wasn't that fortunate. But I still came out ahead, I'd say.
Then I got transferred back to The Demoralizing Job...but before they could I abandoned ship. I took my last paycheck and ran. I, physically, couldn't do it. Emotionally, well it was really bad too in that respect.
Now I'm going to have to refrain from asking those around me from referring to me as "Starlight." It's become so familiar (and kinda addictive) that it would be called upon to keep my sanity about me, which actually shouldn't be a problem.
"Girls, Girls, Girls - Have Pity On Me"
I see Jakester's trying to get the new piece of fangirl action from the Movie Maven to wear...less.
At least he came back. Hey Jakester, go pick up a Girls Gone Wild video -- I bought one today called "Best of Girls On Girls."
I thought, "hey, I'd try it." I'd never seen one before this afternoon. It was quasi-hardcore. Actually I was kind of surprised Hastings would have such a thing in stock, especially since they are now stocking full hardcover movies from Nectar.
I wonder if they're aware of what they have. (They may not. Jakester, go pick them up as fast as you can -- "Mystified," "Welcome To The Valley," "Young Blonde Voyeurs," etc. The Digital Playground movies are soft core, so just pass them by.)
Guys Do It, Too
There's a lot of these Girls Gone Wild videos. And there's also those Guys Gone Wild videos, but not as many as the original. I picked up one of the male centered one just to figure out "how the hell can it be wild?"
Well...given the bits that were blacked out...wilder than one might suspect. I guess they do what...well...what it looks like they do. It's probably still not as wild as the Girls GW movie I watched earlier. Not unless the guys are...well...you know. (An unnecessary reference to Hanso's "circle jerk" statement would be placed here, but...oops, too late.)
I may get one of the male centered GGW videos for a female friend who keeps bitching about how she needs a specimen of the male variety. She's going to hit 30 soon, and likes to espouse how she's on her way to becoming "the cat lady," and some bizarre rant about how single women at her age are more likely to be killed by a terrorist than....than....well hell I don't know what it was. She'll latch onto any obscure fact or statement and twist it to her disadvantage.
Middle Of The Night, Hold On Forever...
It's 8:06 PM. I'm training myself to stay awake as long as I can, because I probably won't be leaving for home until 11:00 PM or so starting next week. It's not easy, as for the last several years I've enjoyed the ability to just go to bed at 8 and wake up at 6.
Yes, 8 at night. 8 PM. To hell with the night life, I'm quite content to sleep through it. I've been on the same schedule (with a few minor exceptions) since high school.
This job is temporary...and I stress that because it must be stated so. They like to say all the temp employees could be hired on full time at the start of April, but I know better. The guys running this plant are not the sharpest knives in the drawer. They'll schedule six days of overtime, but send the people home halfway through the day in the middle of the week.
And, by some magic force of happenstance, this plant is better managed than the one in Mexico.
This is a funny story -- the local workforces that were laid off, watched their jobs head south of the border. Then some crazed banditos raided the production lines down there, held up the employees, and took whatever they could. Then the higher ups realized that cheaper labor was more costly than they bargained for.
Is That A Wii-mote In Your Hands, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?
I was snooping about Best Buy last week, staking out all the prices on new computer monitors (this one's dying a pitiful death) and external memory backups. I did my usual walkabout, and decided to torment myself by looking at the Wii again.
Maybe "torment" isn't the proper word as, in theory, I'll be able to buy one soon. It would be the first new system I've taken possession of since my Nintendo 64 precisely one year ago this past summer.
I look through the games, scanned the strategy guides, and came upon a Wii and New Super Mario Bros. Wii in action. No one was playing it. This was my chance...
It took me a moment to figure out how to hold the Wii-mote. And I began to play...
I sucked, big time, but it was sucking me in. I kept looking at the printed instructions next to the high def monitor, and kept trying to figure out just how to play the damned thing. Then a friendly Best Buy associate stepped up, and I heard that voice say "do you need any help?"
I looked up -- he smiled. Thoughts of "Ghost" and the voice of the Righteous Brothers entered my head as I heard "Unchained Melody" in my head.
"I'm fine, thanks."
The Angel of Benevolent Mischief was laughing his ass off. I know this because such things happen often. I go with the afore mentioned female friend into her stupid clothing shops and chances are 6040 I'll be mistaken for female...again. We walked right past two ladies that worked there and one remarked "you ladies have a good afternoon."
I held in statement which basically accused them of having glaucoma.
The monitor has flickered a time or two since I last checked the time. I fix it by turning it off for a moment and it rights itself...temporarily. I swear, ever since Hewlitt Packard bought out Compaq the quality went straight to hell.
I never had these problems (and neither had my friends) when it came to HP or Packard Bell. I've had two modems drop dead, the electrical...something or other was shot and I had to put in a new one. One CD-ROM drive was completely by my computer for unknown reasons (it swears its fine...and missing at the same time.)
As if that's not enough, my friend who bought an identical system, save for the flat screen monitor, hasn't had these problems. The screen has holes in it for unknown reasons...but these last 5 years tell me HP just wasn't built to last like it was in the 90's.
I may buy a Mac just to spite the bastards. Never used one, but HP has seen better days.
So, to recap, I'll be less vocal these days. Hanso, be nice to "Twilight." Jarrod, kick his ass if he gets rowdy.
Tell Maelstrom I'll be back. I'll likely only be able to really put in any time here on the weekends for an indefinite period of time...but I will be back.
And the monitor just flickered again. I am typing this blind.
And remember, whenever you look up at perfectly clear starry nights -- that's where I'll be.
(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.
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."
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
"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!"
* * * * *
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
" Oh, hi Josh. This Igor's project."
"Really, can I see?"
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.
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?"
"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
"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
"Mmmhmm," she stated to herself as she examined the rat recycler's diagrams and
"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
"Momma, where 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
"Go help Igor with Sparky."
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.
"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,
"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?"
"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.
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?)
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.
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.
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!
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.)
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.
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.
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.