Girl in a Cage

Gettin' My Geek On

The boy and I went to see X Men: The Last Stand on Friday. The geek factor was not as high as you might have imagined: only about a third of the audience gave a knowing chuckle at the Stan Lee cameo. A lot has been written about how Brett Ratner is a hack, couldn't possibly do the franchise justice, etc., but I have to say this movie holds its own with the first two, and even, in some respects, surpasses them. This is partly due to the script--stuff happens in this movie that isn't supposed to happen in a big action franchise, and I really appreciate being surprised. But this movie also zips along at a pretty brisk pace, and we were out of there in an hour and a half. Having recently re-watched the first two, the pace of those is somewhat more...shall we say, langorous. I mean, they're great movies, but I guess I just feel like a movie based on a comic book should just take less than two hours. Actually, I feel that pretty much any movie should take less than two hours. Unless Peter Jackson directs it, and even then, I think he could have trimmed Kong by about a third.

I did have a couple of quibbles, though--one is that Jean Grey looked positively skeletal, even when they weren't trying to make her look like scary Phoenix. I mean, I guess I just find it hard to believe that a guy like Wolverine could maintain this animal attraction for someone who looks like they couldn't enjoy a good meal. (I mean, okay, sure, she's a little thin after spending months, or possibly years at the bottom of a lake, but you'd think she'd get back to a normal-ish appearance after a couple of weeks. Not so.) They were running around trying to figure out what to do about Jean Grey, and I wanted to yell out--"Give her a plate of nachos, for God's sake! Fetch her a sandwich!!" Maybe the whole Dark Phoenix thing was just because she was hungry and cranky.

And my biggest quibble--MAJOR SPOILER--is this.

So the freakin' cure cartridges are lying all over the place, and yet instead of just jabbing her with one like Beast JUST DID to Magneto, (and why'd he need all 4 for that anyway?), Wolverine's gotta kill her. It made great dramatic sense, but just not a whole lot of logical sense.

And yeah, I just said "it didn't make logical sense" about a movie with a hairy blue guy and a guy with a skeleton made of imaginary metal and guy who shoots frickin laser beams out of his eyes. Perhaps the geek factor was somewhat higher than I've let on.

The Digital Dilemma

I complained a while back about how rancid the latest Big Star album is. What I haven't complained about is some of the other crap I downloaded in the waning days of my emusic subscription, trying in vain to get my money's worth. Most notably, I got the whole album "Punk Girls" by Thee Headcoatees, thus violating my "no stupid band names" rule yet again, and cluttering up my hard drive with a bunch of cynical, charmless English-speaking would-be Shonen Knife-type songs. So what do I do with these now? If I owned the CDs, I would sell them. But just deleting them forever seems kind of harsh. I wouldn't miss them, and I don't really need the hard drive space (yet), but I'm sick of them coming up on the Party Shuffle. What do people do When Downloads Go Bad?

Title Match

Well, I'm as excited as anybody about the upcoming release of Snakes on a Plane, mostly because I'm in awe of the genius of the title. Surely, I thought, this must be the best, most concise title/tag line for a movie ever. And then I heard about this one, which I don't know how I missed. Sure, it appears from the reviews that it's awful, but still, with a name like that, how bad could it be?

Even in my dreams I'm a dork

Last night I dreamed that Geena Davis was my mom, and she was marrying Viggo Mortenson. In the dream, though I was somewhat embarrassed, I asked my future stepfather Viggo to sign my LOTR Special Editon DVD boxes. Oh yes I did. And my thought in the dream was, "Wow! I wonder if Elijah Wood or Peter Jackson will come to the wedding!" Not, "I wonder if Miranda Otto or Liv Tyler will be there," or even "I wonder if maybe Exene will be there!" Sigh. I told the family about this over breakfast, and the kids said, "how old were you in the dream?"

"Uh," I said, "Thirty-seven."

They didn't even bother to mock me. They just looked sad and shook their heads.

The Touch of the Younger Kind

Whilst at my high school reunion, I talked with a few people about which of our former teachers were appalling pervs who slept with their students. We all agreed that such people were sick and twisted and deserved public humiliation and/or beatings.

And then I heard "My Sharona" on the radio yesterday, and at first I was thinking, "Hey, man, this song kinda rocks!" and then I was like, "Hey, this was a number one single celebrating the very behavior I was condemning so roundly not so very long ago!"

Which led me to wonder why we put up with and even rock out to really horrible sentiments. I think that's something to ponder at greater length later, but first, here's a roundup of the pervy underage songs I could think of.

"My Sharona"--The Knack.
Most appalling moment: "I Always get it up for the touch of the younger kind."
Best moment: da-nana-NANA-nuh-NA-nuhnuh-NA-nuhnuhnuh-NANA-nuh-NAH
The verdict: Catchy riff, pedophile lyrics. In this case, I believe Justice was served--they got a number one single for their boss riff and a quick but merciless career death.

"Hot Blooded"--Foreigner
Most appalling moment: "Are you old enough? Will you be ready when I call your bluff?"
Best moment: "Before we do, we gotta get away from you-know-who?" No, Lou, I don't know who! Is that like your wife? Or the groupie's mom? Still, the only line in the song with a hint of ambiguity.
The verdict: Awful, but still better than "I Wanna Know What Love Is"

"Jailbait"--Motorhead
Most appalling moment: Lemmy introduces the guitar solo with a cry of, "love that young stuff!"
Best moment: see above.
The verdict: Well, are you gonna tell Lemmy he's wrong? Be my guest!

"Christine Sixteen"--Kiss
Most appalling moment: "When I saw you comin' outta school that day I knew, I've got to have ya, I've got to have ya!"
Best moment: Chorus is catchy as all get out.
The Verdict: You were expecting good taste from Kiss?

"Young Girl"--Gary Puckett and the Union Gap
Most appalling moment: "Young girl, get outta my mind, my love for you is way outta line, better run girl...you're much too young girl...."
Best moment: None that I can think of
The verdict: despite the fact that the protagonist expresses some kind of remorse for his pedophilia, this one is the worst of the bunch. For one thing, the remorse seems smarmy and insincere, and for another, this may be the lamest artist of all time.

To Pimp Or Not To Pimp

Now, this is a purely philosophical question, as I have no intention of purchasing and/or pimping a new ride any time soon (well, except for that Toyota Minivan we're gonna rent from friends going to Mexico for a year. Wait'll they see the rims I'm gonna put on that baby! They'll be thrilled!).

Now, I understand and completely support pimping out your Honda Civic, Scion Breadbox, or other low-end basic car that fairly cries out, "I need some rims! And some window tint! And maybe a spoiler! And some light-up door lock knobs! Maybe ones that look like cobras with light-up eyes!" (I actually saw those today. Sweet!).

Why, I myself entertain fantasies of pimping out a Chrysler 300--some new rims, (you know, the kind that spin even when the car isn't moving), some chrome, some window tint, and a subwoofer that takes up the entire trunk, and I'll drive real slow all around the neighborhood, calling out the window, "you can look, but you can't touch, ladies!"

But, I mean, if you're driving, say, a late-model Mercedes or BMW, isn't pimping it out kind of gilding the lily? Your car is making a statement already. And I believe it's, "I'm a late model German Luxury sedan, bitch!" I think adding pimped-out touches--yes, even the decal of Ralph Wiggum with his finger up his nose, which seems to be creeping up on Calvin pissing on something as the window decal of choice--somehow takes away from that impact your car makes all on its own.

So if anybody wants to buy me a Mercedes, I can promise I won't pimp it out.

Much.

Went To a Party Last Saturday Night

I thought I'd wait a few weeks before replacing my Sirius radio receiver that was taken in the smash and grab last week. You know, just to see if maybe I could actually live without it, that it was just a toy I didn't really need.

Well, I had no idea how spoiled I'd become. Sure, there's the issue of the commercials, but the biggest thing was that, as an inveterate channel-switcher, I always end up listening to the song I like the most on Sirius. But now, back to regular radio, I was stuck with listening to the song I hate the least. Which is how I found myself listening to Lita Ford's "Kiss Me Deadly" yesterday. There were commercials on every other preset station, and let me tell you, it was a tough decision. And now I have that horrible song stuck in my brain. Can't wait for the new receiver to arrive.

Nobody's fault but mine

So after I recommended seeing Nanny McPhee to reward people making quality family movies, I went and spent money on what may well be the most cynical piece of crap I have ever seen: Dr. Doolittle 3. I mean, okay, I didn't have high hopes for this, but certain Nickelodeon-addled members of the family thought it might be enjoyable. O, it was painful. Just horribly painful. Can the ragtag band of misfits get together to save the farm? Will the fat guy, the nerd, and the tough girl (who's actually named "Brooklyn")manage to find inner strength to win the rodeo and save the farm? Will John Amos wish he had a bigger cut of the Good Times DVD sales so he wouldn't have to do crap like this? Everything in this movie was by-the-numbers, formulaic, and unfunny. And I rewarded the cynical hacks who made it by buying it. So you can blame the next one like this on me.

And, not to get all vegetarian here (I know I'm in danger of straying into The Land Of Annoying People occupied by prosthelitizing vegetarians, militant athiests, Ayn Rand cultists, and right-wing theocrats here, but just bear with me), but don't you think if animals could talk, and you were at a rodeo, that the bull might say something more along the lines of "Oh For The Love of God Get That Strap Off My Balls!" rather than, "I'm gonna give him the ride of his life." Indeed, I think most rodeo animals might be protesting rather loudly rather than helping a ragtag band of misfits tie them up and/or wrestle them to the ground. I'm just saying.

My City Was Gone

Bump-bump-ba-da-da-Dummmm....

That Pretenders song has been stuck in my head for days, because I went back to Ohio, and my city (Cincinnati, Queen City of the West) was...well, not really gone, but definitely in trouble. Though I had a fantastic time at my high school reunion, I stayed downtown and found it kind of depressing. Empty storefronts, they tore down the skywalk, and freakin' Fountain Square had no fountain. Went to Great American Ballpark and the Underground Railroad Freedom Center, both of which are top-notch tourist attractions, but they are strategically cut off from downtown. Apparently the knuckleheads who run the city think that spending millions of dollars to rip up Fountain Square will bring people back downtown. Because, of course, crime doesn't happen when there's nice landscaping. The other knuckleheaded plan is to build a casino. Because with the addition of a casino, Cincinnati might join the ranks of great cities like Uncasville, Connecticut and Aurora Indiana!

Gathering Moss

I had time to kill in the airport, so I bought the big special edition 1000th issue of Rolling Stone. Wow, does that magazine suck. Most of the issue is devoted to MTV-style self-congratulation, with little essays about covers that the editors have deemed notable, most of which consist of stuff like, "Wow, Keith was really hung over that day," or, "I was so thrilled to be on the cover of Rolling Stone, even if my hair was ridiculous." or "We all ran around the office in a daze, wondering how to face a world without Elvis/John/John/Kurt. We found this old photo that we hadn't used for anything else and saw that the fact that it seemed to reveal a certain sadness, as though he was already detaching from the land of the living." Uggggh... It reminded me of something I thought when reading that oral history of Saturday Night Live book: just because something happened doesn't mean it's interesting. My standards for an airport time-kill read are pretty low, and yet this magazine, cool 3D cover and all, didn't meet 'em.