I can tell you without a shred of doubt in my mind that the kid who made the drawing can look forward to an illustrious career in corporate logo design*. With a little polishing, this would make an awesome logo for a vasectomy clinic:
*Don't be lazy! Click the link! It's integral to the humor of the post.
Let’s face it: Superhero movies are a dreadfully mixed bag. Most kick all sorts of ass visually, but their plots can vary in quality from superb (Batman Begins, X-Men) to fairly decent (Spider-Man, X-Men 2) to offensively terrible (Fantastic Four, Catwoman). I just took the kids to see Iron Man yesterday – the newest offering from Marvel and Paramount – and as you might expect I have opinions to share.
But first, silly ramblings!
Opening weekend is positively the worst time to see a movie. Every facet of the experience reminds you how contemptible the average Joe really is – from the endless line of people so mottled and moist you wouldn’t touch them with a set of salad tongs to the intermittent, phlegmy rattle of the mouth-breathing TB victim in a nearby seat. The only voluntary events I can think of that are similarly galling are dining out at buffet restaurants and swimming at public water parks.
The line wasn’t that bad, actually, since we showed up a good half-hour before show time, but whatever anguish I avoided by being prompt was duly made up for by my having to surrender the entire contents of my wallet (including my coupon for a free crunchy taco from Taco Bell) and one of my testicles (they let me choose which one; I went with the right).
We didn’t stop by the snack counter because 1) I hate having to visit the restroom halfway through the movie and 2) I really wanted to keep my other nut.
Seating Derangements
There were maybe a dozen or so people in the theater when we sat down and most of them were the odd types who like to sit right smack up against the screen, which is something I have never personally understood; but who am I to judge, especially when it means the best seats in the house – halfway back, dead center – are left available for me and mine?
Now, it's not as if I was expecting to have the whole damn row for just the three of us, this being only the third day of release and all, but I also didn’t think the place would be so crowded as to force me to fight for the armrest. And it really wasn’t that crowded at all; it was just that the pimply guy with the sideways baseball cap and anorexic girlfriend lacked any normal level of social tact and felt it appropriate to drop his bony ass, with a surprising thud, into the seat directly adjacent to mine.
I’d have been alright with the cozy atmosphere Pimples tha Gangsta had just created, except that he smelled like a sweating salami smothered in cigarette butts. What’s more, he had tried to cover over his meaty aroma with a liberal dousing of some musky cologne that I’m guessing was a member of the patchouli family. Had I been blind, I would have figured Death himself had made a quick stop at a delicatessen before coming to the theater to take me to the other side.
I weighed my options: I could let my new movie companion know what I thought of his personal scent by vomiting ramen and iced tea into his lap; I could spend the entire movie covering my nose with one arm and defending my share of the armrest with the other; I could call an usher and ask him to clean up the pile of rancid salami some jerk had left in the seat next to mine; Or I could simply get Zach and Amanda to scooch over a couple seats. Any of the first three options would have been as entertaining as the movie itself, but I decided on the last option because I’m unpredictable like that. Sadly, once we’d scooted over a couple seats, Lanky McLunchmeat and his girl moved over as well. He was able to keep his lap ramen-free, however, by astutely leaving an empty seat between us.
Just before the lights dimmed, a group of Jr. High boys sloughed in and started looking for three seats together in the front section. They were dressed entirely in black, right down to their fingernails, and each had the definitive slab of jet-black hair pasted down over one eye. Bits of metal could be seen glimmering from several points in each of their pale, forlorn faces.
“Look!” said Amanda, “Emos!”
“Wow, how rare to see them in the wild like this,” I replied. Panda burst out laughing. “Shhhh, careful! You’ll spook them!”
The Actual Review
I’m going to go ahead and admit Iron Man has never been one of my favorite superheroes. For me, he’s always had a sort of ho-humness about him. I feel the same way about The Human Torch and Flash. I can’t really quantify it other than to say they just didn’t do enough for my adolescent imagination; didn’t intrigue me the way heroes like Spider-Man and Batman did. Nevertheless, when I heard one of my favorite actors of all time, Robert Downey, Jr., was set to play Tony Stark, I knew I’d be unable to wait for the DVD. Then, when I finally saw a trailer, I actually got excited enough to entertain the idea of seeing the film during opening weekend.
The CGI is, of course, nearly immaculate. The special effects team outdid themselves smoothing the seams between reality and computer-generated imagery. The comic book movements of the characters were, in my view, more realistic than what we’ve seen previously (even if the laws of physics are still more-or-less ignored) and the mechanical functionality of the suit was very believable indeed.
Like any good science fiction story, there are socio-political allegories drawn, but none any more overt than what you’d read in Iron Man comics. The movie has just the right amount of humor delivered at just the right times and, thankfully, neither Stark’s alcoholism nor the romance between Stark and Pepper are played up to any significant degree. It’s mostly just good old punch-em-up, blast-em-down action! I’m trying very hard to avoid giving away any spoilers, so forgive me for the lack of details.
If you dig superhero movies but really felt screwed over by Hulk, I’d encourage you to let that old wound heal and go see Iron Man. It's two full hours of shiny superhero goodness.
Oh, and one last tip: stay in your seat until the lights come back on! You’ll want to know who shows up at Stark’s house after the credits roll.
Zachary and I went out to my parents' house this morning to do a little work on their computers. On the way home, Zach happened to have his laptop running and I was amazed at the number of unsecured networks that started springing up on his screen. As we passed out of range of some, other new ones were quickly located. There were at least a half dozen completely vulnerable networks showing at any given moment.
Ignorance is costly. Secure your networks, kids. You never know how many people with fewer scruples than Zach and myself might be driving by your house armed with a laptop and an unending supply of malicious curiosity.
Great googlie-mooglies! Would you please check out this incredible depiction of Cthulhu? It's by an artist in Finland calling himself ~korintic. Gads what excellent work. Superbly bizarre and definitely frightening. My only criticism is that the Great Old One isn't bloated enough, but that's of little consequence when the rest of the piece is so well executed.
Via: Ectoplasmosis!
More often than not, any decisions I make that directly involve Karin will be determined based on how happy I think the decision will make her. Sometimes, this means the end result is quite different than what I personally wanted and at those times the claim could be (and has been) made that because I am so willing to compromise my own happiness for Karin, I must be pussy-whipped.
Now, I know this assessment is grossly inaccurate, but my protestations to that effect aren’t enough to really convince anyone but myself. What I needed was to determine the differentiating factor between a guy who really is pussy-whipped and a man such as myself.
It turns out the answer is actually quite simple. It’s all in one’s motivations. Put simply:
If you do things for your lady in order to keep her from being angry, you’re pussy-whipped.
If you do things for your lady for the purpose of making her happy, you’re in love with her.
It’s an important distinction. We’re not talking about a mere shift in point-of-view, here. Note that the first example above is selfish and the second is selfless. Sort of makes the term “pussy-whipped” seem rather reasonable: the man with his motivations so far out of whack is being emotionally flogged by his disapproving woman for his selfishness*.
Anyway, you guys out there who aren’t sure if your asshole friends are right when they call you whipped, just ask yourself this one question: do you do what you do for her to create a smile or avoid a scowl?
*There are, of course, many detailed scenarios I've purposely left out.
Yup, working from home again today, aren’t I? I don’t ordinarily get to do it so frequently, but Lowe’s is delivering our new gas range today sometime between 11:30am and 1:30pm which of course means they’ll show up either shortly after 9am or just as we’re sitting down to dinner. But just in case, I need to be on site all day to, you know, quickly herd cats and tell Tosh and Marley not to eat the delivery people.
Bought Zachary a laptop yesterday – this one, to be specific – and I’m proud to report that he is currently upstairs cleaning the living room in preparation for the afore-mentioned stove delivery. He could be hiding in his room playing with his new computer, which I fully expected, but is instead repaying me by allowing me to get my work done without having to stress over all the clutter and dog hair that abounds. He’s a great kid.
Well, much work to do, so here is some more eyecandy for your Hump Day. None of the images are mine; I found them all on the 'net. If you missed them, the other EyeCandy posts are here and here. Have a great day, peeps!
Yeah, that last one got you, didn't it? Heh, heh, heh.
Another way to word the sign at right might have been:
GOD STOLE OUR BRAINS! BLIBBITY BLABBITY BLOOBITY BLUT!
Seriously, how much crack would I have to smoke to get on board with the fucked-up string of logic expressed here? This is such a perfectly accurate example of the thought processes adopted by fundamentalist religionists the world over: backwards, anti-intellectual convictions based on nothing but fear and ignorance. Christians like Roger Byrd – the jackass responsible for the sign’s message – are every bit as hateful and scary as the Muslim extremists they’re so obviously terrified of. It would be funny if it wasn’t so goddamned grievous in its implications.
But enough of my bombastic mud-slinging! Let’s have a more critical look at the issue, shall we?
Putting aside that “Osama” and “Obama” are different names and ignoring the fact that one is a first name and the other a surname, I’d like to look at Byrd’s own words surrounding this controversial sign. Let me show you how his message and the mentality behind it are proof positive that organized religion is often the refuge of insipid, deceitful windbags.
“Byrd said that the message wasn't meant to be racial or political.”
In other words, this Christian pastor is also a blatant liar. The sign’s message is the very epitome of political! How on earth could a sign comparing a known terrorist with a presidential candidate NOT be political? Byrd’s lie is so crystalline his conviction boggles the mind. One starts feeling like a Monty Python sketch is about to transpire:
(knock)
Roger Byrd: Come in!
Reasonable Man: I say, that sign outside is rather political!
Byrd: No it isn’t!
Man: But it is!
Byrd: Is not!
Man: It compares a terrorist to a politician!
Byrd: No it doesn’t!
Man: Oh, I’m sorry. I thought it did.
Byrd: Well, let’s get things clear: it is neither racial nor political.
Man: I believe it is.
Byrd: But you would be mistaken.
Man: Is that all you can do is contradict me?
Byrd: I’m not contradicting you.
Man: Argument is an intellectual process. Contradiction is just the automatic gainsaying of any statement the other person makes.
(short pause)
Byrd: No it isn’t.
I really shouldn’t have to go any further. In a perfect world, I could stop right here and we’d all be in agreement that Byrd and his ilk are completely deluded simpletons who deserve no acknowledgment except maybe from pigeons looking for a toilet. But I sense there are still a few kind people out there who want to give them the benefit of the doubt, so I will struggle on.
"It's simply to cause people to realize and to see what possibly could happen if we were to get someone in there that does not believe in Jesus Christ," he said.
When asked if he believes that Barack Obama is Muslim, Byrd said, "I don't know.”
Catch that? Once again, Byrd’s duplicitous motives become clear. He admittedly doesn’t know if Obama is a Muslim but says the sign’s message is to get people thinking about the consequence of having a non-Christian in the White House. Gah. Does he even listen to himself?
Despite some criticism, Byrd says that the message will stay on the sign.
He took the issue before his congregation Sunday night, and they decided unanimously to keep it.
Unanimously. As in: every single nutjob in the place voted to continue promoting an uneducated, misleading, and unmistakably inflammatory message from the marquee of their “House of God”.
Byrd also said he doesn't want it to look like controversy forced him to take the sign down.
Yeah, wouldn’t want doing the right thing to get in the way of pushing your agenda of ignorance and prejudice. It would truly suck if Byrd actually had to follow the advice given in his Bible.
“If anyone teaches false doctrines… he is conceited and understands nothing. He has an unhealthy interest in controversies and quarrels about words that result in envy, strife, malicious talk, evil suspicions and constant friction…”
1 Timothy 6:3-5
So I got tagged for a meme some time ago and it’s taken me a while to come up with eight different interesting facts about myself. I wish it had been only five or six; the last few were really hard to come up with (so hard, in fact, that I considered making some shit up). I’m putting them all out there randomly, though, so you have to choose the lamest ones on your own. Also, I haven’t bothered to go back and look at previous posts that were similar in nature to this one, so I might very well repeat something I’ve already said before. Life’s cruel in ways we never expect.
1. I voted for George HW Bush in ’88. My vote didn’t really matter, though, since Washington’s ten electoral votes went Blue, so my guilt over it is next to nil.
2. I get very high on nostalgia and just the other day got a major fix by purchasing four old Godzilla movies on DVD, bringing my total Godzilla movie collection up to six. W00T!
3. McDonald’s recently got me to break my five-year boycott of their shitty restaurants by putting four piece Chicken McNuggets on the dollar menu. What can I say? Two bits a nugget is a hell of a deal.
4. I don’t much care for these meme exercises and this will probably be the last one I do.
5. My most perpetual habit is bouncing my left leg. I’ve been hyperactive for all 41 of my years and there is, as of yet, no sign of a cure. It’s a fun little disorder: keeps me thin while giving off the impression I’m about to fly apart at any moment.
6. I once tried to play a cleric in AD&D who, at around 11th level, switched his devotion to Great Cthulhu. Playing the character eventually became impossible. I found it exasperating – continually manipulating my companions to meet my insane, selfish ends – and I imagine for the rest of the adventure party, it was like having one of their best friends suddenly become a Scientologist.
7. I have a tough time following exacting rules if I see no significant purpose to them. To wit, I’m not tagging anyone else for this meme. :-P
My best friend is not feeling well. Poor Marley seems to have acquired some lousy stomach bug. He’s such a trooper; the only indicator that he’s sick is that he isn’t quite as persistent that you throw his hedgehog.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
He came into the bedroom last night as he always does and settled down to sleep on his bed. We’d all been up late watching LOST (which the fuckwit network execs moved to 10pm ostensibly due to all the orgy-sex they’ve added to the plot*) and so I was pretty well crashed out when Marley came to wake me up at around 2am.
Having finally acknowledged that it was my dog and not a Shakira/Karin hybrid that was licking me, I dragged myself out of bed to let Marley out of the bedroom.
My foot found the puddle of poo before my nose did. Of course, each and every toe immediately awakened both members of the slumbering Nostril Guard with cries of “AAAAAH! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK! WHERE WAS OUR OLFACTORY EARLY WARNING!? SOMEONE’S GONNA PAY!”
Of course, once Nasal-L and Nasal-R were aware of the situation, they immediately felt compelled to inform Commander Gag who, being a rather edgy guy anyway, threw a tantrum that pretty much incapacitated me.
So there I am, standing on my one unsoiled foot, convulsing violently, and Marley’s waiting by the door doing the “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet” dance. In between dry heaves, it occurs to me that after I open the bedroom door, I must make a hard decision: Do I hop behind Marley to the back slider and let him outside or do I make a pitstop to boil my toes first?
The thought of Karin finding me at the bottom of the stairs dead, naked, and with shit all over my left foot was enough to steer me toward the bathroom.
Having washed up, I went to check on Marley, fully expecting him to have made even more work for me. Thankfully, he was lying on the couch and I could neither see nor smell evidence of another accident. I asked him if he wanted to go outside, but he only sighed and gave me a forlorn look. I think he felt bad about the revolting manner in which I learned of his offense.
It was easily close to an hour before everything normalized and I found my way back to bed. But as is common after experiencing unexpected and bizarre trauma in the wee hours of the night, it was quite impossible to go back to sleep with any sort of quickness. My mind just bounced around between everything from “Did I get the water hot enough?” to “I really should have taken the recent rise in Marley’s flatulence more seriously”.
Anyway, that was all a very long-winded and disgusting way of informing you that I am hella tired today and having a rough go of it. I could have just said that to begin with, but what kind of blog post would that have been?
*No, not really. SPOILER ALERT! What I meant to say instead of "orgy-sex" was "ruthless killing".
Man, I couldn't stand that sickening image being above the fold any longer. I don't need the first thing people see when they come to CimC to be that hateful crap. So, I had to get another post up with something fun and light.
And after a post about Nazis, even Dubya seems fun and light.
So, anyone got a good caption for this photograph?
I'll start:
Bush ad libs after being asked to be more specific on a question regarding "presidential briefs".
