Totally Biased Book and Movie Review

My New HOME

2009-11-08T20:58:00.000-08:00

Come visit me at my new home on the web!

Coming Soon... the new House of Kaat

2009-09-30T07:10:00.000-07:00

I have been wanting to put all my internet crap into one site for a long time. I am known in different corners of the www by different names, and it's about time they all moved in together to see if there's a chance of getting along. I'm not saying I'm going to combine them ALL together.. I might leave "SuxDirtyShortsOnCam"and "LuvsFootMassagers" right where there are... but the majority of them could at least try to get together under one roof...er... domain name.
So they're gonna.
Here's my New Home. It's not done... the going's slow, because my site is low on the list of things-to-do for my talented husband... of course.
But eventually, this here blog will move over there.

The Amazon Kindle Review

2009-09-13T15:58:00.000-07:00

Kindle: Amazon's 6" Wireless Reading Device

Price: $299.00

The Amazon Kindle... also known as :"The device I didn't realize I couldn't live without until I got one and loved it beyond anything other than my children and cold gin...but that's a really long name, so let's just stick with the original, if boring, Amazon Kindle."

I resisted buying one because of the price tag. Hello, I have SO many things on the list of stuff I could use $300 for, it's not even funny... (and I mean that. I have an actual LIST of things that I could spend $300 on, and it doesn't make you laugh.
At all.
I know, I've tried it on several people.)

...but then my BFF, who is a truly awesome gift-giver, gave me one for my birthday. So the dilemma was gone, the Kindle was in my hands, and I immediately began buying books to be downloaded via free "whispernet" ...and it's quick, too.
There are some beta-testing-kinda thingies on the Kindle, like web browsing. You can visit the Kindle store from the menu. You can download blogs and newspapers and audiobooks, so they say. You can listen to some books in this really bizarre, robotic voice (male or female, your choice, as well as the speed of reading...so if you like your books to be read to you like..."The quick brownuh Fox jump-ed overthe dog was the questeeown you askedme...", well here you go. I think it's horrible, and I have a computer and or blackberry for my other Internet needs, so I use my Kindle solely for...reading.

My first complaint was girly in nature and a bit embarrassing to admit, but hell, I'm all about being real, yo. So here goes.... It wasn't very attractive.
It's plain, and white, and the screen is shades of black and gray. This thing could be in sooooo many cute colors and designs, but nope, three hundred bucks for a 6" by 8" WHITE PLASTIC device with a boring old b&w screen.
Secondly, I thought they couldn't possibly have enough books for this thing yet, it's a fairly new technology, and it will take time before the titles and authors I want to see.
Well, I was right about the first thing. It's boring to look at. I was wrong about the second. There are a lot, a LOT of books available for this pretty little critter.
Let's just give you the official Amazon spiel, shall we?

Say Hello to Kindle

Slim: Just over 1/3 of an inch, as thin as most magazines

Lightweight: At 10.2 ounces, lighter than a typical paperback

Wireless: 3G wireless lets you download books right from your Kindle, anytime, anywhere; no monthly fees, service plans, or hunting for Wi-Fi hotspots

Books in Under 60 Seconds: Get books delivered in less than 60 seconds; no PC required

Paper-like Display: Reads like real paper; now boasts 16 shades of gray for clear text and even crisper images

Long Battery Life: 25% longer battery life; read for days without recharging

Carry Your Library: Holds over 1,500 books

Read-to-Me: With the new text-to-speech feature, Kindle can read every newspaper, magazine, blog, and book out loud to you, unless the book's rights holder made the feature unavailable

Free Book Samples: Download and read first chapters for free before you decide to buy.

Large Selection: Over 350,000 books plus U.S. and international newspapers, magazines, and blogs available

Low Book Prices: New York Times Best Sellers and New Releases $9.99, unless marked otherwise

When they say "large selection", they kind of mean it, which is refreshing in today's duplicitous marketing world, eh? There are many titles, and here is the best part... they have LOTS of them for ZERO dollars.
You heard me. There are many books that they will give you for the low, low price of nothing. And the catch? Well, there technically isn't one...although I have discovered that most of the freebies are the first in a series. Which might seem tricksy but is just dang good business. I'm not going to tell you how many books I have purchased that I probably wouldn't have even heard of, that just happen to be second-third-forth-and-so-on in a series, that are sequels to those delightful free ones I downloaded. I won't tell you because it would just embarrass us both, and probably make you feel like you should at least mention my $300 list, and the fact that I'm not going to get very far on it if I keep spending all my stinking money on books.
But that brings me to my final point... I am actually saving bucks. Especially on titles that are in hardback format down at Barnes and Noble, going for $25-$35 a pop, read in a half a day. There are certain authors, people who live, smugly, on my Keepers Shelf, and they know very well I will buy them in hardback, no matter how much it is. I just CANNOT wait for the soft and cheap version....hmm, that sounds dirty, but I honestly didn't mean it to. Anywayz, on my Kindle, these babies are only ten dollars. Other titles are anywhere from $9.99 on down to one penny, and let's not forget our darling free books.
If you have any idea how much I read... well, let's just say terms like "junkie" and "fix" and "blew the inheritance on pages, man" all are appropriate to the situation. I spend absurd amounts of money on books, even when I only shop in USED books stores. Then there's the overflow factor- I have stacks upon stacks upon stacks of books, everywhere... in bookshelves, by my bed, on the floor by the couches and chairs, on the steps going upstairs and downstairs, in the bathroom... and then boxes uncountable in the shed out back. I have so many books that when I want to re-read one (which is often...I like to read books over and over, like some people like to watch movies repeatedly), I often can't find it. I end up buying a new copy. I have probably four complete sets of Lee Child's books, and let's not even think about Stephen King or Dean Koontz. I know, I know, it's crazy, but what can I say? I'm sick. Well, the Kindle is changing this, too. All of my books are here, in my computer, or actually on the Kindle itself. Can't be lost. Can't be water-stained or torn. Can be re-downloaded when needed. It's bitchin', to put it mildly.
I am saving money in, like, buckets, because of this Kindle.
As far as the ugly goes, well, I bought a "skin" for my Kindle. It was about 18 bucks, and turned out to be a sticker that fits on the back ...only. So the front of my kindle is still its plain boring old self, but the backside, well, that's a riot of frickin beauty.
I'm sure in time they will get cheaper, sleeker, prettier, but in the meantime, they are perfectly awesome for people like me- reading junkies who cannot be without several books per week.
With that all said, I am going to be starting a new blog soon- Kaat's Kindle. My plan is to review the freebies that I get, and let people know which are worth pursuing, and which series are worth following.

And now I am off to devour te next books in the series after "His Majesty's Dragon" by Naomi Novik, which I just happened to get for free awhile back and finally got around to reading. It now appears to be $6.39, so maybe the free-ness wears off after awhile, like being drunk, or in love. Well, it's worth the 6 and a half bucks, and I'm looking forward to the rest of them very much.

Never Forget

2009-09-11T06:29:00.000-07:00

Normally I would not ever put up a post with such a sappy title, but today is the exception. Today I feel sappy, if by sappy, you mean "sad and emotional, thinking about an event from the past which too many other people seem to have forgotten all about".

Today is the unholy anniversary... it's been 8 years since the attacks of World Trade Center and The Pentagon. The following is quoted from the 2996 project:

"On that day 2,996 people were ripped from their lives. But as the media and society tend to do, they have focused on the killers. We’ve all learned more about them than we wanted to. On that day many of us made a pledge to never forget what happened."

See, I am one of them. I haven't forgotten.

I invite you to visit some of them, if you haven't forgotten, too.

Here is the link to Project 2996.

Here is my own tribute, to Eddie. I have been fortunate enough to have some of his family members and friends visit this tribute and write wonderful things to me. They've told me that my "made-up" imaginings of Edward K. Oliver, were right on...that it sounded like I knew him. Nothing could have made me happier.

I have been thinking about this, as today approached, if as many people as me are sappy about 9/11, if people haven't forgotten, but simply no longer "speak of it", in that stupidly polite way we have . So, as an experiment, I have been saying, randomly, to people I run into, "Wow, can't believe it is almost September 11th," for the past couple of days.

I only got one blank look. Every other person made it a point to agree with me, and from the lady who took my money for an oil change to the guy in the produce aisle at the grocery store, everyone took the time to share with me...how they felt, or where they were, or agree with me that time has slipped past so quickly, and that time seems to, if not heal, at least dull all wounds. But except for that one blank-look guy, who, in all fairness, might have been dazzled by my beauty and unable to speak... we haven't forgotten.

I will not. I cannot speak for anyone else, but as for me, I will not ever forget.

Every Time You Go Away....

2009-02-04T10:29:00.000-08:00

... you take a piece of me with you... (cue sad music swell....)

Remember that lame 80's song that secretly made your throat get just a little bit tight? Ah so sad... we all know someone who, when they went away, took a piece of us with them, even if that remembering is from 1975 and we were wearing diapers and the going away person was our mama.
Gladly, however, it is NOT me. I have been gone for a long, long time, but since I'm just some idiot who posts the occasional biased movie or book review, hopefully I didn't take a piece of anyone's anything with me when I went, unless it was a piece of your indigestion, and in that case, damn it, come and get this thing! I don't want it anymore!
So here's the funny... what made me post today was that I have this ridiculous, absolutely useless assignment in one of my classes at college that requires us to not only start a blog, but post something there too.
College? Oh yes, I am back in school, and feeling very old, and very anxious about my homework and grades, and all of the shit I didn't care about at ALL when I was young, and big hair was in, and songs like the one I mentioned above played endlessly on the boombox.
The end result is that I opened up this dusty old blog, and found comments from people who were kind enough to still visit, even after all this time, and I got a little kick of enthusiasm at the thought of reviewing some new stuff.
So I'm gonna.
Really.
I had an email request for a review on the new Clint Eastwood movie, and that is recent enough that I can fulfill the request, and I've already seen it, so I can do so without spending twenty bucks! WOOT.
So, I shall be back shortly, with a new review.

Review of Movie Previews- and How disappointed I was in Ironman and etc.

2008-07-09T15:25:00.000-07:00

.... so, I have gotten to the point where I made a momentous decision. I am no longer going to trust movie trailers. You know, the nifty previews that come on sandwiched between Burger King commercials and J.G. Wentworth's, "It's MY money and I want it NOW" lawyer ads... the little preview of excitement and adventure (or drama and heartache) that leads you to think you have an idea of what the movie is about, and if it's done the job it set out to do, will then lead you to say, "Hey, I want to see that!"
I realize that to other, so called "normal" people, this might not seem momentous. They however, don't understand the trusting innocence that I used to possess. They have no idea of the sweet, expectant naivety which has been shattered forever within my soul. They cannot know the pain I feel, the deep sense of betrayal, and the extreme reluctance with which I turn from the world of movie previews. It aches, I tell you. It aches.
Back in the olden days, when I was a kid, yadda yadda, I could trust a movie preview. If it looked like a love story, and had some pretty actress everyone knew in it, it would be one, and the only twist would be whether or not the young lady in question would die before the wedding, tragically, or in childbirth afterward, even more tragically. If it showed Clint Eastwood squinting through smoke, then by god, you knew it would be a tough-ass movie, and there wouldn't be any crying, or feelings (except for those deeply buried with his wife, and released only in the guise of rage, when he finally takes that first fateful drink of whiskey and gets out his guns). Now, though, you can only guess at the movie when you see the previews, and that old saying, "They show all the good parts in the preview", is alarmingly proving to be true more often than not. I tell you, it makes me feel old and nostalgic.
I recently turned thirty five and I have to say, I'm feeling old...er. Note that I did not say "old". I said oldER. I have a suspicion that I'm not ever going to feel "old", not under the definition as I understand it, with the cats and dusty old house and toaster-cozy-knitting. I really thing I'm going to be one of those ninety-three year old women who rides a bicycle. With playing cards stuck in the spokes to make that snap-snap-snap sound. And a basket on the front, into which I will lovingly carry my 32nd pappillion (because I will never be without one of these dogs, ever.) And a wheezy, bulby-looking horn that I will squeeze at kids who run in front of me. Oh, and incidentally, I plan to cheerfully carry around a shovel on my shoulder, everywhere I go, and I will be too old to ask me what the shovel's for, but everyone will wonder. I'm not sure why it is that when people reach a certain age that it becomes rude to ask them questions, but through careful observation, I have discovered this to be quite true. I will be either the Shovel Lady or the Bike Bitch, depending on who is doing the talking, and those who call me Shovel Lady will love me and those who call me Bike Bitch will long for the day I am finally planted.
...oops, got off track there. So. I am good at imagining the future.
What I am apparently not as good at is imagining the movie I am going to see, based on the preview. And the point I was heading toward is that I am getting pickier and more critical as I get older. I am more loathe to waste two hours of my life than ever. (I will keep you updated on any other sure signs of aging as I notice and document them. And provided they are not too gross, like wrinkled nipples or something.)

Ironman- What I expected from the preview: Guy gets caught by weasley little terrorist bastards, and is going to be forced to build them a nuclear bomb that they plan to blow up the president with, but since he is a genius weapons builder, he instead builds IRONMAN, a terrorist butt-kicking metal dude. He then , I dunno, saves the United States or the whole gol durn world, with his fabulous metal brand of heroism.
What I got- the first half of the movie was everything I'd hoped for. But then, as if halfway through filming, the folks making the movie realized that they were straying too far from the tried and true, instead of ironman hunting down terrorists among the sand dunes, they veered abruptly into F.T.- Familiar Territory.
Ironman's creator dude has an old family friend, who he trusts with his life, who has been like a father to him. Of course, in F.T. the father figure must secretly be evil and behind a plot to destroy our hero. Not only does this turn out to be the case, but the old guy makes a Bigger, BETTER Ironman, and our hero, weakened (of course), must now battle the former father-figure, both of them in their ironman suits. Sigh. All too familiar.
The most baffling and supremely annoying part of this F.T. swerve of the plot is that the old guy, once in the suit, starts roaring. I'm not kidding. Yes, he laughs evilly as he starts to kick Hero-guy's butt, and this is indeed familiar F.T., throwing out taunts that are designed to crunch hero's widdle heart.
Such as... "Hahahaha... you thought I cared about you? YOU? You fooooool! All I cared about was getting your money!"
And the ever popular, "I almost succeeded, if it weren't for your damned meddling!"
And of course, "MWAH HAHAHAHA!"
Yes, all expected. What wasn't, and wasn't even fricking explainable, was that he started roaring. We the audience assume that he is using sophisticated controls within the gigantic, two ton Ironman suit to control the creature. We assume he doesn't have to either lift heavy parts himself, causing him to roar in exertion, and we also assume he doesn't have to become part werewolf to operate the thing.
So why was he roaring (yes, the verb, making an animal-like sound) while they fought?
Clang! Bash! Clunk!
"You little bastard! you never appreciated what you had!"
"Roaaaahhhhrrrrrr!"
Boom! Smash! Clang!
"I'll teach you to obey your elders- gggrrrrraaaarrrr!"
..... and so on, and so forth.
This is a man who is comfortable wearing a nicely tailored three-piece suit while holding press conferences because he's CEO of a huge weapons/defense company corporation.
So why, when they battled, did he roar? That was just too much Familiarity for me.
I am, however, a loyal fan of Robert Downey Jr. and count him among my Top Five Actors. So if my movie ticket in any way benefited the furthering of his magnificent (I hope) future career, it was worth it.
For a GOOD R.D. Jr. movie, see Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.

Don't even get me started on the previews and how little they had to do with the actual plot of the movies in cases such as Hancock (Again, good for the beginning and then spiraling into a disgusting and totally incomprehensible love story plotline), or The Happening (what was happening was total retardedness and some over the top environmentalist's wet dream).
Sigh.

I did enjoy Wanted. Not like to buy it, or ever watch it again, but it was just fine. I expected nothing other than fast-paced action and lots of shooting. I got it, in spades. Plus Angeline Jolie is just so fun to look at. The main character was about as smart as a toenail, and I was wanting to hit him over the head with the obviousness of what he was doing wrong, but that's ok. I didn't expect a great story, just a lotta stuff going on.

Next on the list- Get Smart. A movie I have waited for since the holidays, and that I am dearly, prayfully hoping will be funny and good. I don't quite trust Steve Carell after Evan Almighty (Hi-yuk... derk derk derk) and Dan In Real Life (Loser loser loser stupid pathetic self-pitying jerk. I actually walked OUT of this one, so I don't know if he ended up stealing his brother's girlfriend, who he supposedly fell in love with after talking to her for a mere hour in a book shop, or not... UGH, what a slimy crawly unloyal ass of a sibling... but hey, maybe that's how "Real Life" works and I'm just out of it.)
And yet, his scene in Bruce Almighty will go on for years reaping forgiveness from me for movies I don't like. Heeeheeee peee peee my pants. One of my favorite EVER scenes.
Here's crossing the fingers that this one, while perhaps not inducing urination, will give me a chuckle or two.

Be careful out there.

A New Way Of Expressing

2008-05-08T16:57:00.000-07:00

If you don't have the time or inclination to watch the above, let me just paraphrase: blahblahblah lazy here ismy solution blahblahblah.

Hmmmm....

2008-04-21T00:50:00.001-07:00

It's pretty damn sad when you go to your blog, dusty and alone, sitting in the Neglected Corner of your life, and think, hey maybe I will post something, and discover that you have forgotten your password to Blogger.
Wow.
I can use all the excuses I want, like:
I have been battling with this terrible depression stuff, and even though the medication is allowing me to wash my hair, it certainly doesn't afford the luxury of being articulate and/or humorous.....
Or perhaps:
my life is really hectic...
OR better yet:
it is hard to type when you are wearing acrylic nails...
OR even better still:
I have been too drunk to pay attention to the movies I have been watching lately... (and ohmygod please don't tell me I am not supposed to drink alcohol while taking antidepressants. My doctor already went on and on about it... yadda yadda health risk don't drink blah blah blah... like telling someone who thinks about slipping under a fast-moving bus on their next weekend off, just for shits-n-giggles, that drinking a wee bit o' wine while scarfing their meds might be hazardous to their health is actually going to make an even tiny impression in the gray matter... no, I don't think so.)
and all of those would be valid, and TRUE excuses for my neglect, but really, deep down, I know the real problem. It is that I am LAZY.
When I first started blogging, and thus was way back in the day of "And I Will Then, Be a Toad", my personal, heart-wrenching (snort) and oh-so filled with Too Much Information blog, I warned anyone who might stumble upon it that I was prone to this little habit of starting something, going full-steam ahead for a while, and then stopping, without warning, or even a very good reason. I am such a lame-ass. I quit things when the going gets good. My mixing up of metaphors doesn't even come close to explaining how screwed up that is, so I won't try. This means that as soon as I have regular readers and some emails to answer on a regular basis from my blog, that I will immediately act like the blog has a nasty communicable disease and I'm health conscious or something, and avoid all future contact, even when wearng a face mask like Michael Jackson's.
So. You have here, proof. Either I am psychic and can totally tell the future... or this has happened so many times in my life that I know exactly how lame I am and can't be bothered to make excuses anymore.
But you know, I miss this blogging stuff.
I see a movie that I really like, like "Juno" and I think, Oh I so need to blog about this!
But do I?
Hell no.
I think about it instead. Because somewhere, in Kattland, there is a sign that reads "Thinking about it is almost as good as doing it."
I am drifting, this is true.
However, this new monitor is really pretty fun to look at, and my chair is comfy. So I will make an effort.

Cloverfield Movie Review

2008-02-01T17:25:00.000-08:00

Cloverfield

Starring: Michael Stahl-David, T.J. Miller, Jessica Lucas, Odette Yustman, Lizzy Caplan

Directed by: Matt Reeves

Rated: PG-13 for violence, terror and disturbing images.

85 min

(continued from last post) ....And I am so glad!

Because if I had gone into the theater with any kind of expectation at all, past the everytime-expectation that my popcorn will be delicious and heavy with white cheddar topping- I probably wouldn’t have liked Cloverfield nearly as much.

The entire thing is filmed Blair-witch style… handheld camcorder, jerking and swaying, and if you are prone to motion sickness …or irritability, you might take a pass on this one. There is a LOT of running in the movie, so there is a LOT of camera jiggling around.

Ok, spoilers, you know the drill. If you don’t like knowing about it, why the hell are you reading this? Go away!

So our home movie starts out with a dreamy, morning after amazing sex- no they don’t say that, but you can tell by the joy in the camera holder’s voice as he zooms in on a lovely sleeping girl. You can tell by the joy in her sleepy, just-woked up eyes. Instead of screaming, grabbing a pillow to hide her makeup-streaked face and saying, “Get that thing out of my freaking face!” she giggles playfully. So-newly in love… and we get bits and pieces of this wonderful day, which took place roughly about a month before the Cloverfield-named monster appeared. Just to save time, I will give the basic set up.

The guy (Rob) is in love with the girl (Beth)- yes we were right on that one. They have been “just friends” for a long time, and finally, overcome by passion or something similar, they slept together. However, after the magical night and glorious day that followed, Rob never called.

His excuse is that he is getting ready to move to Japan for years. She of course feels hurt and used. They are coolly polite to each other- none of this is in the movie, but I’m good at figuring these intricate character emotions out.

So, night of Rob’s going-away party and his carefree younger bro has snatched Rob’s camcorder (with the magical tape still in it) to catch all of the going ons of the farewell scene. Rob, realizing partway through the party, that it is HIS camcorder, and HIS magic tape in it, looks suitably unhappy. We go, AHA. He loves that girl, even though she has shown up at his party with another guy and now they go out in the hall and bicker. We hear her saying. “you don’t call, you don’t write…” or the twenty-something, hip-n-cool, New Yorker version of that. He babbles excuses and snarls about the guy she brought. Eventually, fed up, Beth storms out.

Rob is sad.

Hud, his best friend, has been manning the camcorder and catches a lot of this action on film. Hud is a slow witted good natured guy, and the nicest surprise about this film was how much you actually start to like this dude- even though you see him only in glimpses when the camera happens to turn his way. He is the narrator and his goofy personality throughout the terrible evening that ensues really endeared him to me. Like I said, it was a surprise.

Now the action begins. BAM, there’s a n earthquake. The power goes out. They turn on the news and catch a report about an explosion in the Harbor. Everyone’s thinking terrorist, of course, and it is true that the filmmakers played on our collective fear of this bigtime, but I didn’t mind. Might as well do something fun with it.

Ok, so the sensible people are evacuating from the city as it becomes apparent that it is under attack by a big monster. It is never stated for SURE that the monster came from the sea, and it definitely NEVER says its name is “Cloverfield”, but it IS just a bunch of fun on stilty, forty-story legs and a big alien, praying mantis type head.

You may think, as I did, that a HUGE monster like that is not really THAT scary. I mean, you’re small, you can hide, right? Unless it steps on you, you should be fine. But UH_UH…. Not just yet, My eager friend. Because THINGS are dropping off of the monster, and they are, guess what?

….Small, stalky-legged scorpion alien type monsters… that scuttle on spider legs and snap their beak-fang-jaws while they squeal in a most unbecoming manner. Ok, we have scuttling, snapping and squealing. The list is complete, now we can get scared.

Now Rob, and his friends, although normally sensible people, are in this case, NOT. Rob gets a voice mail from Beth and she sounds like she’s in big trouble. He decides that despite the scuttling, the stalking, the roaring, the frickin MONSTERS… that he is going to get across town to Beth. For some completely unfathomable reason, Hud and a few other friends decide to go with. Ok, I realize that the movie makers needed some monster fodder, so other people HAD to go along, but it just struck me as ODD. I’d be like, dude, I am so sorry your friend is in trouble, and I understand if you feel the need to go on a suicide mission across the city, but if it’s all the same with you, I will just catch up with you next week some time. We’ll do lunch.

Ok, that is the story- handheld camera, heading across the city, scuttling, snapping and squealing. Toss in a few tender moments that actually choked me up (but hell, I am extremely emotional and regularly cry at the sight of bare toes) and did I mention the camera jiggling- and you have Cloverfield. Ok, there was more to it than that but this review has gone on quite long enough, even in trying to make up for my negligence. I give it four ands.

And… It was NOT boring.

And… I never felt like I was wasting my life.

And… I jumped only once (thanks, I hate jumpy movies)

And… like I said, I actually grew fond of good old Hud.

That there is a good movie in my book.

Um...

2008-01-30T23:46:00.000-08:00

Isn’t that JUST like me? I say I am going to start reviewing again, practically promise it, and then, kaput. The end. Nothing. God, I wish I could slap myself sometimes. But truthfully, it hurts when you slap yourself, more I think than if someone else slaps you. Maybe it’s because you know it’s coming, you’re anticipating the moment when hard hand strikes your tender cheek, you’re wincing inwardly, wanting to cringe… well, anyway, that is why I can’t slap myself, no matter how much I’d like to. I am too much of a wimp.

I am going to see Cloverfield in a mood totally without expectation. I have seen the previews- jerky camera, people trying to escape from new York, a girl screeching, “What IS IT?” Then I heard from someone that it was a monster that comes out of the sea.

I was like, “Godzilla, you mean?”

“No, if I meant Godzilla, “I'd say it wouldn’t I? "This is nothing like Godzilla at ALL dude. This is a new monster. The Cloverfield one.”

“Why is it called Cloverfield?”

“I.. uh.. because that’s where it comes from.”

“And it’s a monster? A sea monster?”

“Yeah- like Godzilla, but you know, not like him at ALL.”

“And it comes from Cloverfield… which is where, exactly?”

“Well I don’t know. I don’t know all that geology stuff. I just know that’s the name of the movie and so I just figured it meant the monster was from there.”

“Even though you don’t know if there is a where? Or if there is a where, where exactly it would be?”

“Right. … huh?”

Sadly, that is the extent of my knowledge of this movie.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Oh and I got my hair cut. ALL OFF. I gave it away. It was a moment of clarity. Maybe I will review my new haircut and the new world I have entered of gels, muds, pastes, puttys, waxes and serums. Who knew?

Honey I'm Home, and I had a Hard Day

2008-01-21T09:59:00.000-08:00

Self Portarritt

The first thing I’d like to say to those of you who are really persistent and still send me emails and make comments and stuff, even though I have been in my mental breakdown for like, a year or something- you guys rock. I mean that seriously and without an ounce of my usual sarcasm. Welbutrin seems to be doing the trick, although I don’t enjoy smoking nearly as much and yes, that IS a drawback to me, thanks very much. Oh, and I have these really intense, fully-colored and totally bizarre dreams ALL night long… but the doctor tells me, and I am NOT kidding here, “Oh that’s just fine, you never slept much anyway. Just be sure to let me know if you start to have serious thoughts about killing yourself.”

I laughed, but then looked at his face and realized that he was serious. So then I laughed harder.

So… now that I am no longer spending the majority of my time lying on top of my bed, in the same clothes I have been wearing for the last eight days, watching the spiderweb in the corner catch pieces of dust.... Oh, and fingering greasy locks of my hair while considering if a razor could cut through it, or if I'd need to actually cut it before shaving my head bald like my idol and example of how to live life on the edge, Britney... and patiently moving the dog off my lip, because its not the dog's fault I haven't moved in six hours, I'd think my face was a cushion too, and before my children forget entirely what I look like, since it was bad enough that they couldn't remember my name last time I went into the livingroom...

"Hey, um... Mot! (whisper)Is that it? I know it starts with an 'M'.."

"I don't know what it is! I don't talk to it!"

" Uh, Excuse me, Mop? That is your name, isn't it? Mop?"

Polite, strained smiles. "It is really nice of you to visit us, Mob, but you're blocking the t.v., so if you could just move, to the right about six feet, you would be, you know, gone again and we could watch our show... "

"I TRIED, no you get rid of her!"

"It's not MOB, you idiot, it's Motherp, remember? Throw your sandwich in the hall, maybe she'll follow it. I think she can only see things that are moving...."

"Hey Mothit, check out the flying food!"

.... ANYway... I figured it was time to start reading, and watching, and talking about. Or typing about, which is pretty much the same thing to me since I have the actual social life (as in speaking to people face to face) of an average cabbage. Which is to say none, I have none speaking to faces at all.

But you guys…. You know who you are. Damn you for being so fricking nice to me.

I wish blogger would make good smileys, too.

COMING SOOON.......

2008-01-08T08:14:00.001-08:00

A marvelous return to blogging from the one and only kaat, as well as a review on the antidepressant welbutrin.
HARDEE HAR HAR.
Don't bite your nails now.
Be back soon. promise.

Yay for cute dogs

2007-11-09T01:30:00.000-08:00

I have to say that the highlight of my work at lulu livehelp was reached when I wandered over to Dooce's site and saw my name associated with the Chuck Calendar of 2008. Damn. Appreciation. Finally.
On my last shift, too.
Sigh.. it was ALL worth it .
(I also learned that Jon is a genuinely cool guy, not your average asshole chatter at all.)
Gee, I hope they get good help next year from Guiveria or Mikosio.

RANT or Bitchfest 2007, better even than last year's

2007-11-07T22:49:00.000-08:00

Outsourcing BITES ASS
or A Review on Being an American Who Loses Their Job To a Foreigner Who Works For Peanuts
or poor me, my life sucks

Objective: blah blah how do these start again? Ok... um, I have spent over ten years in the field of customer service and find working with and helping people both a challenge and a great reward. I have excellent customer service skills, and a ummmm... desire, yeah that's good, a great desire to find a satisfactory outcome for those experiencing problems. I possess excellent communication skills, both written and oral…blah blah blah.

Ok, so the above is obviously a piece of shitty resume, which is an indicator that I am again going to be out of a job and yes, that is one of the reasons I have been depressed.

This is the thing... I don't know about the rest of the stupid world, but I try hard to do my best. I don't think that I am about to commit a horrible mistake when I make a choice. I generally think that I have made a decision based on what is right, not only for myself, but for any other people that happen to be in the vicinity. But somehow, looking back over my life, I see a string of bad choices, unseen mistakes, and ridiculous beliefs that led me here... to this rut of barf that I call life.

Isn't that how it is supposed to be? The stupid American bullshit dream? You work hard, treat other people well, do a good job, and things will turn out ok in the end.

Oh god, I can hear one of my dearest friends, who passed away a few years ago, responding immediately in my head," If in the end everything isn't ok, then it isn't the end."

I think maybe part of me still believes that, but man, these last couple of months have been like a hammer blow to my stupid streak of optimism. I am bitter and I am unhappy and I am worried about the future. Again. And whaa whaa... little baby me is wondering, when does this shit stop? When do things just go ok for awhile? No crisis, no job losses, no roofs leaking or bones breaking, and no one dying? When can there just be a streak of peace? I am not asking for great joy or blinding happiness. Just some calm.

So, I quit working at the flower shop because it became obvious to me that they didn't want me there. They don't take directions well, don't take criticism, even the most constructive type, at all. The entire atmosphere of the shop was ... stilted when I was there. I could feel the They-don't-want-me-here-vibes floating right up my nostrils. So I gently stopped working there, very casually, letting them know they could call me whenever they needed help. I didn't need a crystal ball to realize they were not going to call. I understand, I am the old dinosaur that has been there forever, and they want to do things their own way. Understandable. Totally.

I admit I get a thrill of pleasure each time someone in town complains to me about how awful the arrangements are coming out of there now. I remind myself, this is not my business, not my problem... but the thrill that they suck, and so many people say they suck, is undeniable. And there have been some people asking me to do "freelance" flowers for them, so I have been doing that, and it's nice. I do miss doing arrangements. It was an artistic thing, I suppose, and something I didn't realize helped me until it was no longer there. But as far as money is concerned, that avenue of income is dried out and used up.

But the bitter side of me, let's call her Ms. Hide, she is whispering- wow, you poured your heart and soul into that stupid shop. You worked there for all those years for so little money because it was your friend who bought the damn thing. Worked a billion hours that you didn't get compensated for. Kept it afloat when it would have crashed and burned without you. You were a good friend, and a better employee.... you ran that store for them, and LOOK where it got you. Sold out from under you to someone who knows nothing about floral design and just happened to have money, which you don't have.

shut up, Ms. Hide. Money isn't everything.

Then there is Lulu. Considering how scared I was of this job when I started it, you wouldn't believe how great of a customer service rep I have become. I am The Help of all help. I have an entire email category for customers that come to me for personal assistance with their projects. I have pushed my team into becoming the best, and chats have gone up, and Lulu gets busier by the day and...

what what what? They are replacing us with Filipinos who work for 67 cents an hour?

Outsourcing? Yes OUTSOURCING... and by the way, your last day is Friday and have a merry fucking Christmas that is only two months away and whoops NO DAMN JOB FOR YOU.

But they might possibly have some kind of a job left over for you, in some fashion, there are rumors they might have some part-time positions for good people, and since you have kids to feed and bills to pay, you hope they are telling the truth. In return, you don't tell every person who comes into chat and asks for you specifically that you're being fired so they can replace you with cheap foreign labor. You let them think that you are moving on willingly, to a new job (but there is no other job, you are lying), that the new people who will be there will be just fine help, perfectly capable (but you are lying because you know they won't give that extra bit of help like you did, even if they do ever get anything else straight) You don't mention the horrible English, the way they give bad information, the way livehelp went from great to sucks-ass in one day, when the new people came in and you were told to sit back and not take any chats unless they had been waiting for longer than a minute. You actually had to sit on your hands as you watched unhappy and confused customers try to wade through the auto-responses and incorrect information the new foreigners were firing at them. Finally, when one man whose manuscript was obviously (to you) just short of the minimum page count, was told by a new worker, "This seems to be parts of the parts they are maintainencing. please come back in thirty minutes and try again I asking you sincerely", well, you closed your laptop and almost cried.

Again, you did your absolute best. A stellar job. Over and above the call of duty. You enjoyed your work, your customers. You did your best, and it was, you can say, was pretty dang good.

Where, Ms. Hide whispers, did that get you, exactly?

Employers value people like me. Do a great job and eventually you'll be rewarded. Hard work pays off. If you're willing to work well and often, you will always have a job.

I just don't believe those ideas any more. I think they are kind of sweet, like believing in Santa Claus is sweet.

How stupid, how naive, could I possibly be?

Pretty much, a lot, hugely so.

Sigh, there. I really do feel a bit better after having written all of this. Maybe I will go ahead and publish this... I have written a ton of drafts that will never see the light of the internet, but this one is more "ragey" than "pity me-ish".

Oh yeah, and final shitter on top of this shit sundae is that because you are working from home, because you work nights and are up during the day and home- you decided to home school your kids. It's going great, really. Not as hard as you'd thought it would be. But pretty impossible if you need to go out and get a regular job again.

Man, sometimes life is indeed a big old hairy-backed bitch.

Hmmm.. I wonder how I ended up changing this entire post from "I" to "you". Must be a subconscious distancing of myself from the situation. How pathetic. Now, I will sign out until the next time,when I will actually review something. Thank you for joining me in today's Pity Party Extraordinaire. We hope you'll come back for the next one, entitled "How My Face is Wrinkled and Pimply- The Skin of a Thirty-something Woman is Not Fair."

Site is Temporarily Closed For Despairs OR .... Depression, This Week's Featured Full-Length Theatrical Release

2007-09-23T12:14:00.000-07:00

This is the only warning that I will give. That written next is a bunch of self-pitying, disgustingly boring, wha-wha- poor-me gobbledeegook. I am not in search of sympathy. It is with the slim possibility that someday I might find this enlightening that I write this, and because I feel a lot of my faithful readers deserve an explanation why I have just blipped off the radar altogether. I apologize in advance for the drippy, pukingly gross form that the explanation takes. It’s just the only way I can write at this time. For new readers who may have stumbled here, oh please don’t bother. I used to be funny, honestly, but this is so not worth anyone’s time. I am sorry.

Depression is a real thing. Those people who have experienced its sticky little fingers know what I am talking about. Those who, when reading that, pictured a really, really bad day you had that one time, when everyone was mean to you and the copious tears you cried that could have filled a river and how upset you felt all the way until Friends came on that night, and even then you couldn't find the heart to smile at Ross’s droll little expressions, and how the feeling just dragged on and on until you finally got yourself together, kicked your butt into gear, shook it off and moved on- just trust me when I say, that is not depression.

People who have experienced depression, in all its dragging, exhausted glory, know that the first sign of depression is not a bad feeling, a sad feeling, or a mad feeling. The first sign of depression, in many of us, is no feeling at all. One day, the thing that outraged your sensibilities doesn’t even cause an eyebrow to rise. One day, the thing you were so passionate about, thought about and plotted about, and went to sleep thinking about, circles into one constant droning, and positively, impossibly tiring thought and then tumbles right out of your head while you fall into a nap. One day, a sight that would have moved you to tears you look at with eyes as dry as dust. You lose interest in things that once interested you. You find it hard to listen, because your mind keeps wandering- usually straight into the nearest corner where it curls up to sleep. You stop caring about the five pounds you gained over the summer, stop caring about painting your toenails, shaving your legs, or hell, bathing at all for that matter. Everything seems exhausting, everything seems far too much effort and the couch, or bed, or floor with a pillow, ok, no pillow needed… looks inviting, maybe I could just lay down and take a little, teensy nap, everything will be better if I can sleep…. that is the first tiptoe of depression.

No feeling. Hollowness. Numbness. It can be so gradual and casual, the way it strolls into your mind, that you never see it coming. It is so subtle that you don’t even realize what it is at first. You think you’re working too hard. You think you’re tired. You think you might be getting sick. A million other things can come to mind, especially if you are like me, and deep-down in your heart see your own depression as just another sickening example of your personal weakness and unworthiness. Other people you might feel empathy for, want to help, but you, yourself…. Ugh. You disgust you.

One day, it’s just this thing that has been here for awhile- can’t remember when it arrived, exactly, but oh hell, it’s too much effort to figure it out anyway. I just don’t care. That’s the big tip off that depression has stacked its suitcase in my closet and hung up its raincoat in my closet. I just don’t care.

By the time you realize that lying on the couch staring at the fabric two inches from your eyes with absolutely no thought in the last forty-five minutes… by the time you realize this might not be normal, it seems like it’s also too late. Because to get up, to go to a doctor, to seek help, is too much effort. Eh., you say to yourself, I maybe it’ll pass. I don’t care anyway. The tricksiest, nastiest thing about depression is the way it saps you to the point of nothingness. Everything, even the act of brushing your hair, seems so monumental, so pointless, and so likely to fail, that you take the easiest path- doing nothing at all. And the next time you think of it, you’ve been lying on the couch for hours instead of minutes. You can sort of see the edge of the cliff, way up there, but the idea of climbing out, it would make you laugh, if laughing didn’t take so much energy.

As I said in the beginning of this most barfy missive, I am not seeking sympathy. It’s just an explanation, probably stupid and meaningless to people who have been lucky enough to never know the bite of depression. The bite that carries no pain or sharpness…. but is instead a bite accompanied by an anesthetic that numbs, so you can watch the teeth sink deeper and feel nothing at all except a distant sort of bemusement- a way-off question…how did I get to this point?

To make a point, I do have some small piece of me that really, really doesn't want to see anyone else get here. So, if you relate to the nonsense I have been spewing here, if you see some of yourself in my pathetic description, before it consumes you, get help.

Take this quiz

Or this test

Get some help.

You do not want to be me.

Now if you will excuse me, my couch is waiting, and the weave is indeed the most interesting thing I have looked at all day.

Harry Potter Double Feature Review

2007-08-08T19:08:00.000-07:00

Two Two Two Harry Reviews In One!

Hary Potter and The Order of the Phoenix

Starring: Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, Rupert Grint,
Ralph Fiennes

Directed by: David Yates

Rated: Rated PG-13 for sequences of fantasy violence and frightening images

138 min

and… The Last of them- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

by J.K. Rowling

(And yes, I am going to tell you how it ends, so stop reading HERE if you’re one of those people who doesn’t “WANT” to be spoiled, but somehow, your damn eyes keep reading even as your mouth is blathering on about keeping secrets. This is your last warning- I am going to write whether or not Harry Potter dies- ok? End of subject)

Catching up on all the lah-dee-dah….

For those of you who have faithfully come back to check this page, and keep encountering Bret Michaels and his bevy of babes, I apologize. I have had some STUFF going on, and those of you who know what that STUFF is and are still nice to me, thanks a million.

Bret, meanwhile, has gotten down to 8 girls and the tension is as thick as silly string in the house, I can tell. Aw, you should watch it… it’s fascinating stuff, I tell you- between the knock-down drag out fights between PETA chicks and the Girls who wear fur, to the endlessly dramatic and crying women and those creeping into Bret’s bed, it’s got all you could want from a trashy celebreality show, and frankly, I will be sad to see it end. But enough about that.

I, amongst the stuff going on, have been reading the Harry Potter series again. I learned my lesson with the Robert Jordan fiasco. For weeks, no, more likely months, I disappeared into his pages, and here I am now, wondering if I will ever see the end. So, keeping this exquisite pain in mind whenever I am tempted to start a new series, I check on the health of the author and the status of the last book- if it is not being written, I aint going to even go there. (I am hoping Mr/Ms Anonymous who visited the site not too long ago and recommended the Salvatore books will come back and tell me where to START with them, thanks very much- there’s only about a billion of them.)

Now, let’s talk about Harry and Company. The last movie was good, although, as anyone who knows me knows, I have a great impatience with the moodiness of teenagers, and let me just say Harry Potter, that you are no exception! Get a grip on your hormones, young man, and stop snapping at your friends! Actually, I think this was Hollywood’s way of dressing up the script a bit, because I don’t recall Harry being so moody and, well, just a general crabass, in the book.

All in all, the movie makers are fairly faithful to the story when they adapt it for the silver screen, and I generally find Harry movies a lot of fun to watch. This was no exception, in fact, I enjoyed it more than usual, I think, for the fantastic fight scenes that went on between Harry and his friends, and the Baddies. If you read or watched the Goblet of Fire, you’ll know that Voldemort is baaaaack. However, Harry runs into the very unpleasant experience of not having anyone believe him. Even the papers are saying it’s nonsense, He Who Must not be Named cannot possibly be back, everything is under control, be quiet you little lying, attention-seeker! When Harry and Dudders the big lummox, are attacked by Dementors, and Harry has to use his patronus to scare them off, he is immediately put on trial and threatening with expulsion from Hogwarts and all other nasty things. Of course, Dumbledore doesn’t let that happen, but the old guy is powerless to stop the Ministry of Magic from placing Dolores Bitchface in the school as the new defense of the Dark Arts teacher. Great casting on this one.

Deciding that they aren’t just going o lie around waiting to be killed while their new prissy-voiced but extreeeemly evil teacher has them reading books about the theory of defensive magic, the students start a little club of their own. Harry is the teacher, and much of the schoolyear is spent with the kids hiding in the Room of Requirement, learning some new skills that are put to the test later on. Harry has some crazy ass connection with Voldedude, and although Snape (greasier and grosser than ever) is attempting to teach Harry how to shut his mind, he is not very successful. There is a rather painful moment in the movie where Harry experiences a bit of Snape’s memories, and learns that his dad might not have been as swell a guy as he always thought. All in all, it’s a satisfying watch, and accompanied by white cheddar –soaked popcorn, it was most definitely NOT a waste of my life.

I give it 4 &s

&... it was true to the book, always important in my oh-so biased opinion

&... the special effects were purty gnarly

&... Imelda Staunton, who played the diabolical, kitten-loving psychopath teacher, was truly good stuff

&... I am a sucker for a sequel.

Now, for the last book.

Don’t read any further if you don’t want to know what happens, now. You have been warned, several times in fact, and everyone knows I am a BIG OLD SPOILsporter.

Last chance.

Stop now.

Really, I mean it.

Ok, for those still reading, I will break it to you gently- all the rumors of Harrys’ death were…..

….Greatly exaggerated. Whew. For that matter, the nasty little “spoiler” floating around the internet for days before the release of the book, claiming that it was Ron who dies, were also false. Someone in the inner circle dies, in fact several someones, and it is indeed sad, but it is not one of the Big Three who kicks it. In fact, the ending takes us seventeen (or is it nineteen?) years into the future for a glimpse of Harry, Ron, and Hermione in their grown up lives.

Very HAPPY ending. Which to me, makes it kick ass grand. I hate sad endings, especially after a long investment of time and emotion, like you squeeze out when you’re reading a series like this one.

The final book was satisfying in any number of ways, but it was also heartbreaking. Yes I did bawl, and while it is well-known that I was voted Most Likely To Cry During a Hallmark Commercial once, I asked a few others and they all admitted to coming down with the sniffles, too.

Not because of the deaths, but because of the big old secret reason for everything WHY that is finally revealed. Now I have given away enough, so I am not going into detail… because, alright, I might actually get choked up again if I do. But let me just say it’s a damn shame. Sadness. Me, clutching the book and wiping at my snotty nose and streaming eyes, wailing, “ALLLLL this TIIIIIME!” That’s the last hint I am giving.

Yes it was a great ending. Yes she tied up most dangling threads neatly. Yes, I think a lot more of Rowling now, at the end of the series than in the beginning. As the books got thicker, they got better, and putting down the last one was like finishing the last bite of a particularly tasty bit of junk food. Nothing to live on, you see, but very yummy all the same.

I give it a lovely, tomato red on the Right On Rainbow of Rigorous Reading

Rock of Love Series Premiere

2007-07-19T11:30:00.001-07:00

Rock of Love

Starring Bret Michaels and assorted women

VH1

Sundays

I thought Flavor of Love was over the top, as far as trashy wimmin, overacting former stars and the dramas that ensures when one of them is placed in a house full of many of the others. Don’t get me wrong- I loved Flavor of Love. Plus, I watched every episode of I love New York. I am not sure why, but I really, really like those kind of “reality” T.V. shows. I guess VH1 calls them “Celeb- Reality” and most of the ones I like are on that channel. Gene Simmon’s show is on A&E of all channels, as is this upcoming one that is already on my Must see list… it is called The Two Coreys, and yes, it is Corey Haim and Corey Feldman. I can see the eyebrows of every other 80’s kid shoot straight up to their hairline. No, I am not kidding- check it out.

But I am getting off-track, as usual. The point I wanted to make was that I thought Flavor of Love was crazy. Hehehehe, last Sunday, I caught the first episode of Rock of Love. This is Flavor of Love, Hair Band Style. The Object of all of the crazy ho affection is Bret Michaels, the lead singer of Poison, a perpetual bachelor who, although he sometimes makes statements with a surprising amount of depth to them, is obviously still also a teenage boy at heart- or in his pants. He likes partying, cowboy hats, motocross and is instantly attracted to the girls that look like they would like to have “hot rocker sex”… and ladies, if you have tattoos and smirk on your face, look out, because you are one of them, baby. Of course, it could be that these women give off some pheromone that Bret can smell, and the camera can’t pick up. Before this show, the most I knew about Bret Micheaels was that he was the basis for the“1^st” boyfriend in Pamela Anderson’s “fictional” book, Star. The one she walked in on having sex with like three other women. Which of course makes me doubt the honesty of this show’s premise. GASP. Do you think it could all be an act????

Among the Ladies battling for Bret’s love is Tiffany, who was supposed to never make it past the front door, but who wheedled her way backing, and proceeded to get roaringly drunk, and slur and insult her way through the rest of the evening. She also mashed poor Bret’s penis to death in a bouncing, supposed-to-be-coy, sit-on-yer-lap dance that had him wincing in agony. The producers or directors or whoever of this show have a sense of humor, and it’s worth a chuckle to see the subtitles they run across the bottom of the screen while she is “talking”. There is “Rodeo” a.k.a. Cindy, who is a personal trainer (very, very fit) and who seems to be a little different from the rest of the pack in that she is more centered, and less self-centered than the rest of them. This could be because, as she told Bret, she once broke both legs and had to learn to walk again, and had cancer. That’ll take some of the Me out of you. Anyway, just between us, I am already liking her for the winner. Brandi C. is the complete opposite, a woman whose childishness and idiocy make me want to dye my hair immediately and was certainly kept around only because she told Bret that if he was chosen, he could have three other girlfriends. Brandi M. on the other hand, is one of those hot rocker sex girls and seems to have a good sense of humor. Lacey is an actual rocker herself, which is bound to be cool to Bret, but she has this vicious gleam in her eye that makes me more interested in her for the drama factor than for if she ends up the winner. Sam should be interesting, because it is obvious Bret is into her, but she is a non-drinker who feels pretty out of place in the rowdy party atmosphere. Magdalena talks constantly about another woman appearing to be “manly” and “man-like” in this really deep, masculine voice. Hehehe.

Throughout the first episode, Bret was pulled, jerked, yanked and basically treated as a tug-toy among these many women who have all watched enough realty shows themselves to know they have to get on the drama boat if they hope to stay in the game. The real entertainment was provided by the drunkenness that was Tiffany, and the few off-party clips of the girls making comments, about how great they are and how ridiculousness unfit for Bret the other gals are. Sheer stupidity is often fun to watch, if you’re in the right stage of mind, and trust me, by Sunday night, I am. Count me a regular watcher of this deliciously stupid new TV show.

Live Free or Die Hard Movie Review

2007-07-06T00:18:00.000-07:00

Live Free or Die Hard

Starring: Bruce Willis, Timothy Olyphant, Justin Long, Mary Elizabeth Winstead

Directed by: Len Wiseman

Rated PG-13 for intense sequences of violence and action, language and a brief sexual situation

130 min

Look at that face, people. Rocky, in the new Rocky movie, looked like an old slab of meat that had sat in the sun for like thirteen years. (that doesn’t mean I didn’t like the movie, I did, honest. But, meat is meat.) I do not look forward to seeing him shirtless and carrying a big gun in the next and in my honest opinion completely unnecessary Rambo movie. I am already squeezing my eyes shut in anticipation of Indiana Jones’s appearance in the next Raiders of the Gigantic Hole in the Ground of A Dark and Sinister Country, or whatever it will be. Ok, alright, old guys in Hollywood are making all these comeback movies, raising old characters from the dusty ground, it’s the In Thing to do, but the only one who has carried it off, every damn bit of it, is Bruce Willis. Now that, my friends, is a man who has aged well.

Of course, I am well known for my passionate approval of bald men. But seriously, look at him! Isn’t he tough? Isn’t he cool? Doesn’t he just look like the most capable, rock-solid NY city cop who chuckles at danger and punches saber-toothed horses in the jaw? Yeah, that’s right. Lt. John McClane was in fine form, people. Fine form, indeed.

I told you I was going to go see Live Free or Die Hard next. I told you I was going to like it. No surprises.

McClane is not retired, thank the Movie Gods. He is still in fine fightin’ fettle, still a cop, only now he is Detective McClane and assigned such important tasks as escorting a well-known hacker, Matt Farrell (Long), to Washington DC, so he can be questioned by the FBI in a series of disturbing hack jobs on the government computer mainframes. Right from the start, when a bunch of bad guys (including an exceptionally monkey-like, leaping, flexible, bouncing criminal dude who is fun to watch) try to murder the hacker before he can get to the feebs, the action is non-stop and bold as a pair of brass balls. Just like McClane. Just how we fans like it. Add in some danger to Lucy, McClane’s all grown up and fairly bustin’-out brave herself daughter, and a “firesale” going on in the country (This is hacker termanology that means controlling the entire country by taking over transportation, finance, and utilities by using computers) we’ve got action, we’ve got suspense, we’ve got buttkicking on the way.

The stunts are extra-stuntacular. The explosions super-dee-duper explosiveish. The car chases and (of course) car crashes and crazy-ass crashtactical. And McClane has not lost his wisecracking muttering or his sense of dark humor. He was not as joke-cracking and quirky as he was in the earlier movies, but that was fine by me. Who stays exactly the same as they grow older? The McClane portrayed in this latest installment was older, more grizzled, and definitely wiser. In Die Hard, the original, he was almost devil-may-care, facing a bunch of nutso terrorists and laughing his ass off the whole time. Now we can see reflected in his more somber eyes the years and experiences he has passed through since. Forgive me for romanticizing an action hero, for pete’s sake, but as we all know, I will, I must, I live to do exactly that. Willis has a great charisma with Long, and we get to see the old dog at least watch some new tricks, if not exactly learn them, when Matt shows off his own unusual talents.

Yes, he does say it. But I am not going to tell when, or how. But the Yippee kai yay is in there, babies.

I give it 4 &s

&… I love it when They do a new movie in an old series without looking like a bunch of headless chicken asshats with no concept of who the character is

&…Bruce himself- he’s an old, bent nail that is still pretty damn sharp

&… Long, I enjoyed him in Waiting, I liked him more in this role

&… an interesting plot that I don’t think I rolled my eyes at one time

A Few thoughts about What 2 Review

2007-06-28T08:48:00.000-07:00

I have been really busy lately. Aside from the several jobs I find myself working at, I have been getting an Ebay store up and running. Another way for me to pay for my entertainment!!! No seriously, I am making custom books... like baby books, and wedding books, and puppy books. You should see them. I do such a good job. Hehehe. Aw, it’s fun. I hope, eventually, that it will also be profitable.

What what what? What do you mean whattheheck is a Puppy Book? You know, like a Baby Book, only for dogs? Don’t laugh, all of you people who only own a cat, or I won’t create a Cat Book next. I will tell you, “The Life of a Dog, Sweetie Pea’s Journey” is great reading. Scintillating stuff. I know, I know, opening an ebay store is not all that difficult, but when you have about 2 spare hours a day and one of them must be reserved for personal grooming and sleep, you have to be choosy with the other one.

Some things I am thinking of reviewing (aside from Sweetie Pea’s Puppy Book)…

The finale of Flavor of Love Girls Charm School.

What? You didn’t know that I was watching this trashy show? Of course I am. Silly wabbit. VH1 shows are for kaats.

And continuing along this line of thought, I will most likely be watching and commenting on I Love NY Part 2. No one was more delighted than I was when Tango dumped New York on the reunion show. *giggle*. Hey, don’t get me wrong, I hope everyone finds true love and all that, but serially, she did talk badly about his mother. This new show is proving to be amusing already, as the casting call is online, and you can vote for your favorites. If VH1 sticks to this plan, and does allow the viewers to choose the contestants, welp… I admit to being a little amused at the thought of this guy courting New York.

I have had a few requests for reviews. The new Die Hard- yes I will review that, but I kinda have to wait until it comes out. This weekend, I think. But come on, you guys, you already know I am going to like it. I am a child of the eighties, the greatest evah fan of Jack Reacher…. The first movie that got me all choked up in joy was Dirty Harry, followed closely by Death Wish. I am kind of programmed to love any movie about Lt. John McClane, regardless of plot, acting, and/or explosions. If Bruce Willis is grinning and saying the yippee-ki-yay thing, well, I will be pleased. Period.

The Simpsons movie. Uh, yeah…this is a no-brainer, but …doesn’t come out until the end of July.

Evan Almighty. Um. I really, really liked 40 Y.O. Virgin. And Little Miss Sunshine. So I would like to like this, his next big film. However, I am thinking that it will stink. I’m sorry. But consider the facts. He has a white beard. He is building a boat in his yard. There are biblical references. You know this is either going to have a sappy-against-all-odds love story or underdog- rises-to-the-top theme in it, or some kind of meaningful environmental lesson. Le Puke, as they say in France. We’ll see, that’s all I can promise.

Another review request is for the tv show, Man Vs. Wild…. this is a good idea, because yes, I do indeed watch this show. My entire family does. My mother is so enraptured by Mr. Bear that she actually puts quotes from him in her emails. You know, where most people put something noble, or tear-inducing, spoken by Sir Winston Churchill or Mother Teresa or some other famous, intelligent or compassionate person? Yeah. That is where my mom puts something like, “The scurvy snake, it’s bite is quite a little shock,” or “Camel dung is a useful wound packer.” And these emails go out to any number of people that have no idea what Man Vs. Wild is, or Who Bear Grylls is. Cause, you know, it would never occur to her that there are people who don’t watch man Vs. Wild, or it’s predecessor and main competitor, as well as equally-watched, at least by me, Survivorman. Sigh. My family. You gotta love them. Or hate them, if you have to, but I will poke your eye out with a stick I sharpened using fire and a special rock found in alpine meadows if you do.

Let me know what you want a review on. I am making my summer list.

Pirates of the Caribbean : At World's End Movie Review

2007-06-21T09:49:00.000-07:00

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End

Starring: Johnny Depp, Keira Knightly, Orlando Bloom, Geoffrey Rush

Directed by: Gore Verbinski

Rated: PG-13 for intense sequences of action/adventure violence and some frightening images

168 minutes

Soooo, yo ho hum, I finally went to the movies this last weekend, to see the third and (final? ‘bsolutely NOT, I don’t believe it) Pirates of the Caribbean movies, At World’s End. I will begin by warning you that this movie is long. So if you are going to the theater to watch it, prepare to have a numb butt and be sick of popcorn after 2 hours and forty odd minutes has passed. Your pop will be little more than a splash of liquid with all the ice melted and no fizz left, I tell you. If you’re going to wait until it comes out on DVD, well, that’s just fine but be prepared to watch it while lively and filled with caffeine because, like I said, it’s long, and NO movie can be action-packed and empty of boredom for two hours and forty eight minutes. Unless it’s the LOTR movies I guess, I don’t remember being bored in those, but… hell, I’m sure someone was. According to this path of logic, there are probably some who found every minute of At World’ End riveting. Those Johnny Depp Nuts who find his prancing, princing, preening Jack Sparrow the most fascinating man on film. Alas, I am not one of them, Sparrow is amusing, but not the subject of any fantasy in this particular head, and the point of this rambling paragraph? Yes, there were slow spots in the film. There were actually long, dragging spots, making me wince painfully as I saw them limp across the screen, wounded animals that should have been put out of their misery.

Yet for all the tiny troubles with this film, it was entertaining. Grand, swashbuckling adventure, mateys, right from the get-go. The first good thing to be said of it is that within not very many of those long minutes into it, we get to see Chow-Yun Fat. Who is a big fan of his? Oh yeah, that’s right- ME AM. Elizabeth Swann is as kick-ass and bold as you could want a feminine character in a third pirate movie to be. Wil Turner, the guy she loves (for some unknown reason, although once Orlando Bloom dresses like a pirate, it’s much, much easier to see why) and she have their tempestuous relationship as usual. Barbossa, the bad guy in the first’s Pirate’s film, is now an unlikely ally of the two as they make crazy plans to go to the Land of Death, to Davy Jones’s locker, precisely, bring back Jack Sparrow, who is needed.

Why is he needed? Well, because he is one of the Pirate Lords. And a bunch of people started singing. Although this is not exactly explained in the film, there is a definite thread of reason in those two sentences. You’ll just have to trust me. And why is he in the Locker (which you will see is a particularly horrifying level of Boring Hell)? Because he was killed whilst battling the Kraken, by duplicitous Elizabeth’s manacling of his wrist to a blowing-up-boat. That is the entire plot explaining you’re going to get from me. I know, not much of an explanation. But I figure you have all seen this on DVD by now.

…And although there is not a whole lot of explaining about the Pirate Lords and why they have to get together for a sleepover, it becomes clear as the film rolls on. It’s gonna be Good Guys versus Bad Guys, in a big ol’ showdown. It is up to the viewer to decide on whom the good and bad are, I guess, because traditionally, it was the pirates who were like raping and killing and burning people to death. The soldiers were, you know, to stop them from doing that to normal citizens. But happily, not a whole lot of burning happens in this film. There are numerous fight scenes, with flashing, dashing swords as choreographed as the best dance team in Hollywood, but not a lot of blood, and the gross-out factor of the film is due more to the character’s appearances than any violence quota. I am sorry to be such a wimp, but I had to turn my head away whenever Davy Jones and his writhing, tentacled head appeared. I swear the guy looked like he was covered with protruding, breathing, butt holes.

LOL. Did I really just type that?

Why yes I did, and it stays.

We gradually learn that the main plan of the meeting of the pirate lords is to decide what to do about Lord Cutler Beckett, who has control of Mr. I’ve Got a Breathing Brain-sac Dangling Under My Hat Davy Jones’s heart. And is using him to terrorize all the pirates on the seas. See, Beckett is undoubtedly a bad guy in the film, but I think he was a pretty cool customer. I kind of admired him, his icy wit and quick thinking. Even in this film, where he gets his comeuppance, so to speak, he goes out like the coolest Clint Eastwood character you could think of.

There is a long, convoluted plot line about Calypso, the sea goddess who all of these people apparently trapped a long time ago, in human form. This gives the film-makers the chance to run Tia Delma through her paces, and let me tell you, the weird woman is not any easier to understand in this film than the last one. She goes around with her smudged mouth and dotted face, warning in a dire voice things like, “Me senses that ye hiven’t got de thikin ye need t’ do dis terreeble ting. Bewayre! Beeewayre!!!!” Yes indeed, this is the goddess Calypso, we soon find out she was once lover of Davy Jones, and a whole lotta time is spent in explaining her storyline, and how they (The Pirate Lords) cannot decide whether or not to free her.

K, Let me just spoil this for you. They do free her. Does she go stomping off, hurling firebolts at the soldiers? Rip the head off Beckett? Turn her wrath on the pirates? Nope, she turns into a bunch of crabs and disappears.

No I am not kidding. She just disappears. I guess the storm that happens next is supposed to be her doing, but there isn’t any proof of that, and what is the point, I ask, since it doesn’t really help either side? Plus, we never get any satisfying answers about her and Davy, and if they are reunited. And most importantly, if he loses his waving face for good once he is with her. So, what, I ask again, was the point?

So and so is betraying this person, and that guy is betraying them, and this dude is sneaking around behind his ands her back and he is secretly meeting with the other person. Sounds confusing? I know. Add to this twisting storyline the garbled speech of a lot of the characters- their pirate speak was sometimes actually unintelligible to me- and you have, if not a deep movie that will make you think about who you are and who you want to be, at the very least a movie that will make you laugh, and yearn to run away to sea. Um, provided that you get to be one of the fortunate few who have sparkling white, even smiles, as compared to the other 98% of the characters, with their blackened, missing, and sometimes moldy-looking teeth. Why does a blacksmith like Wil Turner have such wonderful dentistry, I wonder? Why does Jack Sparrow, alone among pirates, not have a moldy-mouth and rotten stubs of teeth? Is there some Pirate God of Teeth who looks down and chooses the best looking men to keep their pearly whites? If so, Toothly Toothfulness, that god, does no one else any favors, so unless you are dashing and handsome, I’d advise against the whole running off to sail experience or you’ll end up with a mouth that looks like a sewer hole.

And possibly buttholes on your face.

The movie does however, I must say, have a strange Unexpected Twist of an Ending, and it was really this that redeemed the whole show for me. Give me a non-typical ending that sparks my imagination, and I will like the movie a whole lot better. It was no different with this one.

I give this 3 and a half ands…

&… Jack Sparrow. Even if you try not to like him, he is an appealing character, though noticeably less appealing in this installment, but that is the nature of sequels.

&…. Did I mention that Chow Yun Fat is in this? Yea, o Great one, he the crouching tiger, he the dragon that hides.

&… I have to say the choreography really was eye-bending. Those fight scenes were a blast.

Half an & for Elizabeth Swann’s outfits.

The Good Guy Book Review

2007-06-10T11:27:00.000-07:00

The Good Guy

By Dean Koontz

Published by Bantam

May 29, 2007

400 pages

To some of you unfortunate people, the name Dean Koontz means nothing. And then there are others who maybe gave him a try back in the olden days, and in response to that name, you might say, “Oh yeah, yeah… I know who that is…didn’t he write a book about a golden retriever? And then there was like, a mutant one, too? Chasing it?” Then, really revving up the old memory motor, you might say, “And hey… there was a MOVIE! With that eighties guy- one of the Cories! He writes scary books, right?”

Yes, yes, Dean Koontz did indeed write a book a about a golden retriever, long ago in the by-gone times. It was called “Watchers”. And yes, they made a less-than-successful, although everyone-seems-to-have-seen-it movie after it too. With Cory Haim. (It wasn’t altogether too much like the book. There was no Cory in the book.) And, stretching it, but still staying within the boundaries of Truth, you could even say there was a mutant golden retriever in that book. But when it comes to the “he writes scary books, right?”, that is where the debate might begin.

So, everyone knows “Watchers”. And let me tell you, if you do, and this is the only association you have with Dean Koontz in your mind, you are sad. But you might get happy, if you’re like me and love to hear about undiscovered treasure troves of books just waiting out there for you to find them and read them. Dean Koontz did write scary books. Note the past tense. It was how he started his career, it was how he gained his first audience, it was what was selling, I tend to think, in those days where following in the King’s footsteps might be the best path to success for any writer who could slap together some words that would inspire goosebumps. Now, his books are not less-scary, they are scary in an entirely different way. Instead of bringing imaginary monsters to your mind when you’re trying to sleep and the closet door is squeaking, Koontz’s style has shifted, and it’s the real monsters he usually writes about now. They don’t go bump in the night.

These monsters sneak up behind you in the night with a hypodermic needle, bent on kidnapping you for some crazy secret government plan. But they might just decide to use you for their own bizarre experiment first. Oh, and they think they are God. And they have planted a bomb in a nursery school that is set to go off in three hours, and you, although weaponless and not really all that tough; need to figure out how to stop him. That’s the kind of scary we get from Koontz today, in his prime. Koontz delivers glimpses of the streaked and dirty underbelly of the world we really live in, the out-of-the-blue, once in a million chance encounter, and ordinary people who find it within themselves to do unordinary things. And there is a sweet romantic streak he can’t help but show in the machoest of his books (although none of them are very macho.)

Yes, Koontz wrote “Watchers”, and a lot of other hokey horror novels.

But let me tell you… Dean Koontz has come a long, long way.

He is the author of Odd Thomas, the coolest three book series about a mellow, quite un-extraordinary fry cook who can see ghosts, and acts like a hero because his heart is big, not because he wants to be one. He is also the author of the Christopher Snow books, another two-book set of Sheer Awesomeness about Snow, who has mad ass discoveries to make about the tiny coastal town he lives in, and he is handicapped by the fact that he is basically allergic to sunlight. He wrote a still-continuing series about Frankenstein, set in modern times. Not mentioning a handful of other Koontz books that are stand-alones and bitchin, and wow, I could start foaming at the mouth and become totally incoherent, because Koontz rocks in a way few authors do. On a very consistent basis, too. By the standards of my reading rainbow, his books have all been red for a long time, changing in color the further back we go, to the days of “Watchers” where he earned himself a plain old yellowarnge for average. I admit I am curious what people who loved those old books think of his writing, now. What does a person who thought Watchers was the greatest book ever think of Koontz’s modern complex rollercoaster books of psychological terror, with not a monster in sight?

The Good Guy is his latest novel. I had it ordered at Amazon months ago, and paid for the speediest shipping possible. I swear the ink was not yet dry when I got that book in my greedy fingers. The only other authors I do that with are Stephen King and Lee Child. Now, lest you think that Koontz is “just another Stephen King”, let me put a stop to that silliness right here and now. He is nothing like Stephen King, trust me. King’s books ramble on for a thousand pages and detail the blossoming of each tiny nub of a flower in the plot line. Koontz’s books are spare, cut down to the bone, fast-moving, and damn I wish they were longer. King’s books explore every facet of a character’s heart, letting the reader share in each gritty detail and thought, to the point that some readers complain about three pages spent on one song lyric and what the character thinks of when he hears it. Koontz’s characters are somewhat of a mystery. He keeps secrets from the readers, at least for a few pages, and we are never positive we know what they are going to do, or what has happened to make them the way they are today…although we are fairly confident we will by the end of the book. They both wrote horror novels back in the eighties. They both have become masterful, powerful writers by today. That’s the common thread, and that is pretty much where it ends.

Now, to give you a spare and cut to the bone briefing on the Good Guy, which I read in about four hours, then downloaded on Itunes, and am listening to again when I have to drive to town.

Timothy Carrier is a big, bear of a man, but he likes a quiet, boring life. He is a mason, and goes to unwind after a hard day in his friend’s tavern, where he sits on the last barstool…. The one that makes him “the smallest guy in the room from the door”. He is not a loner, really, but he doesn’t go out of his way to look for people to play with either. He lives a quiet life, with a few friends and a family that loves him, Mr. Ordinary. Mr. Quiet. Mr. Keeps to Himself. Not Mr. Anti-social, however, so when a man slips on to a barstool next to him, and obviously thinks he is someone else, Tim’s playful side emerges, and allows the guy think incorrectly, figuring for a few moment’s fun before the mistake is realized.

It’s not so funny when the guy then passes him an envelope full of cash and a woman’s picture, tells him he’ll get the rest “when she’s gone” and then is gone himself, before Timothy realizes exactly what has happened in his jokey moment of confused identities. Most people would get the hell out of a situation like this. Most people might call the cops and then duck out of it quickly. Some people might even keep the cash and go on with their life, a bit guilty, but much richer.

Tim Carrier is not most, or even some, people. The reader gets a vibe of that early on in the story, but like many a Koontz novel, we don’t see the full picture of who Tim is, and what made him that way, until near the end of the novel. This book is no different from the latest and greatest of Koontz’s work. Fast-paced, the storyline practically blazes its way through the pages, and before you know it, you’re at the end, and once again in awe of the neat way Koontz ties up the dangling threads into a neat bow for the reader to ponder.

It’s not the very best of Koontz, and it’s way far from the worst. Definitely worth your time, whether on paper or via earphones, it is an arresting, quick story that will leave you grinning for the good guys. And it reminded again of why I have Koontz’s next novel pre-bought with the box waiting to be shipped to me one second after printing- because he is one of the best of the best, a super damn good writer, and worth every penny and every second of my life spent reading his stuff. And judging from the cover, it looks like his next book has a golden retriever in it, too.

I give it a red on the Reader’s Rocking Rainbow.

Guest Post by G: Review of My Dog

2007-05-30T08:39:00.000-07:00

Due to the overwhelmingness of my idiotic life lately, I have fallen back on the tried and true method to take whenever I cannot get stuff done... I make someone else do it, in this case, my child was closest to the computer. So I give you Meowkaat's First Official Guest Post by my ten year old son, G. (I have left in errors and typos in place, because I think it's perfect the way it is. :)

I have a Papillion named Sweetie Pea. “Papillion” means “butterfly" in French. This breed of dogs comes from France. They are hundreds of years old and used to belong to the French royal families. They are still rare in the United States.

They are very cute. Their ears are big, and triangular in shape. This is where they get their names, because when the hair grows down on the ears and flutters, they look like butterflies sitting on their heads. They have a small face which makes them cute, with a pointed nose. Their eyes are big for their faces, and that is also what makes them cute. All animals with big eyes on little heads look cute. They are very small, these dogs, and my dog is smaller than normal. She weighs five pounds. They have feet like a rabbit’s that are called “hare feet”. Their hair is long and silky, and they are always white with colored patches. The patches can be brown, gold or black. Sweetie Pea’s hair is white with both ears being black and her eyes are surrounded by black too. The rest of her body is white, to the tip of her curly tail.

Most Papillion’s are supposed to have long hair but not Sweetie Pea. She has shorter hair than normal for this breed. This makes her rare and even cuter to me. Sweetie Pea’s job in our household is whenever someone is mad or sad, she makes them happy again. This is done by just looking at her. When I am upset my mom always says, “Think of Tweeters (that is her nickname),” and I can’t help it, I start to laugh just imagining her little face looking at me. She is full of energy and bounces around the house like she is on springs.

Sweetie Pea grew up with our old Doberman named Jett. She was kind of raised by him, so she thinks she is a Doberman, too. She has no idea how little she is and she thinks she is so tough, she can beat up anything. She picks on our new Doberman, Gemini. Gemini was raised by Sweetie Pea, and so she thinks she is a Papillion. We have crazy dogs! Sweetie Pea is a good watch dog. If anyone or anything comes in our yard or to the door, or even walks by on the sidewalk, she starts barking like crazy. Then Gemini starts up, too. We can’t ever let Sweetie Pea go outside because of her thinking she is a big dog. She would try to pick fights and get beaten or eaten up.

Last summer, my family went to the ocean for vacation. When we got there, we saw how much Sweetie Pea loved it. She would race across the sand like a little white bullet. She would chase the seagulls whenever they appeared on the beach. She would run so far and fast after them when they flew away that she looked like a little white dot.

One thing we discovered about Sweetie Pea on our trip was that she loved to also chase sand. My brother and I would throw handfuls of sand in the air and she would run and jump and snap at it wit her mouth. We played this for hours until she finally got tired.

Later that night, we noticed that Sweetie Pea didn’t seem to be herself. Instead of running around and being happy, she was just lying in the corner and her face looked very sad. We didn’t know what could be wrong with her and since we were far from home, my mom didn’t know what veterinarian to call. She gets as worried about sweetie Pea as she does about her kids. She loves that dog so much...well, so do I actually. We were all so worried! Then, late that night, she started throwing up. What do you think it was? Sand! She had swallowed so much sand at the beach when we were playing that she got sick. Her little belly must have been filled up with it. She threw up sand all night while my mom sat up and watched her. i don't know what she thought watching was going to do, but she is like that. She has to stay up with the sick one. So, then next morning, the funniest and grossest thing happened. Tweetrs was feeling fine, and went outside like normal. Then she went to the bathroom (number two) and we couldn’t help but laugh. It was a sandpoo. because it was shaped like normal, but it was totally made out of sand. It was so funny and so gross! I am laughing right now thinking about that sandpoo.

The one thing that Tweeters worships is the laser. It is a tiny, hand-held laser that sends out a bright red dot of light. She loves to chase that dot! It’s all she wants to do, all day, every day. If she knows where the laser is at, she will beg for it. She will sit on the floor by where it is, and look up at it, and then look at you, and whine in her throat. She will tremble and bark and even bite at you to get your attention so she can look at the laser and then back at you. She tries so hard to get you to play with her with it. When you give in and turn it on, and shine it on the couch cushions- WHAM! Sweetie Pea dives at the cushions and hits them so hard, face first, trying to bite the laser light. You can then scroll it across the floor and watch her run after it. If you shine it on a cardboard box, she will rip that box to shreds, thinking in her little dog brain that she is killing the big, bad laser!

Sweetie Pea does some other funny things, like licking my nose and my friend Zach’s nose. She knows a lot of words, but the one she hates is “Bath”. If you say it to her, she will shake and run away to hide. Her play growl sounds really stupid, like she is gurgling in her throat like a frog. Or a baby bear. She does the cutest trick if you hold her up by her stomach and tell her, “Say your prayers!” She puts her little front paws together and looks like she is praying. We get both of the dogs rawhide chews and we used to get a big one for the Doberman and a little one for Tweeters, but Sweetie Pea wants the big one and will sneak it away from the big dog, the first chance she gets. This is because of her thinking that she is a big dog, too.

Sweetie Pea makes me happy. No matter how sad I feel, or no matter what a bad day I might have had, she can always make me smile.

Mother's Day Sort of Rant Rather Than Review

2007-05-18T09:46:00.000-07:00

... I apologize. I promise to get back to reviewing and stop ranting by this weekend. Really. In the meantime, just let me vent a bit.

I know, I know, I have been kind of slow lately in updating this site. Call it lethargy. Call it laziness. Call it, The weather has finally warmed up and the air conditioners were not yet put back in. Mostly, though, call it Mother’s Day week, a.k.a. Hell Week Number Two, in the florist’s vocabulary. It has taken me all week to regain my ability to focus my eyes and stop the drool from escaping my mouth when I bend my head to the left. I don’t know if I have mentioned how the new owners at the shop do not really know how to, well, you know, arrange flowers? Guess who that left to do 98% of the bouquets? Indeed. Because of that lovely holiday, my life has been a series of flowers, flowers, and flowers, with the occasional plant and balloon thrown in….vases, baskets, and dish gardens…ordering, greening, waiting on a billion people. Not to mention trying to convince that last-minute Larry that his mom will indeed like something out of the cooler even better than the fantastic bouquet that he is envisioning in his mind.

This is what I call, for lack of a better term, not wanting to use the many cruel and derogatory terms in my head, a “Created Bouquet”. This occurs when someone comes in to buy flowers for someone else and goes directly to the flower selection, looking it over with a critical, and of course, expert eye. I admit this is usually women, but occasionally a man will do it, too, and he isn’t always gay. They almost always immediately tell me what they don’t like. And yes, it is usually roses. No, not what the person they are actually buying the flowers for doesn’t like, but what they, the purchaser, do not like. This has never made a great deal of sense to me. Although you may indeed be one of those rare individuals who truly dislikes roses, and I suppose there are a few, though why they always seem to be proud of this nonsensical character trait baffles me… the most beautiful flower, the most sweetly scented flower, lush and fragrant and absolutely gorgeous, but it is with weird pride that people declare, “Oh, I don’t like roses!” I suppose in our search for individualism in this copy-cat world, everyone has to take joy in being different, no matter how small, or strange, that difference may be… anyway, if you are indeed one of those individuals, that doesn’t mean the person you are buying for is, too. In fact, logic argues against it, since I have seen the happy recipients of rose arrangements for many years, and it is, in fact, most of the population that likes, or even loves, roses. Do we use this odd determinant when selecting other gifts for people? Imagine it.

“Oh, that is a cute blouse, I could get it for her, but it is a size small, and I don’t wear a small.” Or “I see that new Stephen King book is out and I bet she hasn’t read it yet, but I don’t like suspense novels, so I will get her a romance novel instead.” Or “Wow, the box of godiva chocolates is on sale, I could get that for a gift…ah, but I am on a diet. I guess I will buy her some lettuce.”

You see what I mean? It’s just weird, choosing flowers for someone else based on your ideas of good/bad/likeable/unlikeable.

I got off track, how unusual for me… ok, so the created bouquet buyer then starts to select the exact flowers they want in the arrangement they are buying. “I will take a couple of those lilies,” they say, pointing to the alstroemeria. “And three of the daisies,” waving negligently at the stems of daisies, which incidentally have six blooms on each stem, so if I were to cut off three of them, the stems would be an inch long and not very good for anything. “Just don’t use any roses,” they inevitably say, pointing at the lisianthus. “I don’t like roses.” Did I mention this is always said with a measure of pride? So after they have picked out their four flowers, and a vase that needs at least twenty to fill it up, they usually tell me how to arrange it. This is probably beautiful in their mind’s eye, but I will tell you, even if I follow their directions to the nth degree, somehow it never, ever looks they way they planned for it to. I will tell you why, although this is only my theory and hasn’t ever been tested. This is because florists actually do this for a living, and we kind of know how to do it, and the rest of you don’t. I have heard many reasons for this created instruction. Most people say they don’t like “arranged” looking flowers, usually with the same note of glee that they announced their dislike of roses. “I just like them to look like they have been stuffed in a jar.” However, when I hand them the flowers they have picked out, and a jar, they suddenly can’t just stuff them in there and make it look quite the way they envisioned. So they tell me to do it. Sigh. Now, I can understand if they mean they don’t like the stiff, fan-shaped arrangements that are done for funerals, but when they tell me they prefer the “Martha Stewart” look, I want to scream. Do they think Martha is not arranging those flowers before she allows the photographer to snap away? (or more likely, having her on-call professional florist whip it together?) In fact, most Martha-type of arrangements take much, much longer than a traditional-looking bouquet, simply to achieve that artless, “just stuck in a vase” look. And she uses masses of flowers to achieve it. She has unlimited amounts of flowers and can virtually stack them on top of one another to achieve the look. Normal people don’t have that kind of money. A “simple, elegant bowl of hydrangeas” that you see Martha set on the table, marveling at the sweet, “unarranged-ness” of it, probably costs a hundred bucks and takes an hour to get to look just right.

At holidays, the ideal customer is the one who tells me, “Just do whatever you think she will like. You have always done great before”, and give me an amount they want to spend and tell me what to put on the card. I love those people. Especially those who realize in this little town, being the main florist, I probably do know what their mothers will like more than they do. On a holiday such as Mother’s Day, it is the worst time for someone to come in and choose their three and a half flowers and gigantic vase and order me to “just put in there, no greens or anything, not like, arranged.” And then of course, they ask for it to be “big”… and “I want to spend around twenty five bucks.” If there is anyone reading this who thinks $25 will get you a big beautiful bouquet, I am sorry to break it to you, but gum is no longer a penny and you can’t get a newspaper and a cuppa joe down at the diner for a dime anymore, either. And going to the talkies cost more than a nickel, too.

I admit that possibly, for sentimental value, you can love a “created” bouquet… I suppose. It could be considered the floral equivalent of a hand-made card, brought home clutched in one grimy fist, and presented to Mom along with her breakfast in bed of cheerios. But once that kindergartener has grown up and holds a job, drives a car and hopefully pays his taxes…well, at that point, most moms would like a “created” bouquet about as much as a hand-made card. I know, I know- there are exceptions to this. There are no doubt some moms who are reeling in horror at the suggestion that they wouldn’t like something that their darling child made up, on his own. And if you are one of them, madam, you are a rare creature. You will just have to take my word for it.

I have spoken to enough unhappy recipients of “created” bouquets. I am the one who has to take the call, while a woman on the other end is shrieking about “the most ugly” , “lopsided”, etc… and then tactfully try to explain that her child picked those flowers out himself, and told me exactly how he wanted them arranged. Usually at this point, the mother in question will grunt, “oh.” But she is sour, I tell you, sour and unpleasant, and I know that deep in he heart she blames me for this fiasco of flowers, and believes I should have convinced Junior to buy her a dozen roses.

Blades of Glory Movie Review

2007-05-06T00:44:00.000-07:00

Blades of Glory

Starring: Will Ferrell, Jon Heder,

Directed by:

Rated

Minutes

If there was an Academy Award given to for repulsion of the female viewer… I think Will Ferrel just might get it for this movie. Playing the character of Chazz Michael Michaels , he oozes that “I’m too sexy for my ice skates” while at the same time being so absolutely...gross, really, that is the only word that comes to mind. Gross like you are just about to take a big bite of, say, cheese, and then you notice something sticking out of it on the side, and you turn it over, going, “Hey, what is that…?” and then you realize that it’s a toenail. And it’s not your toenail.

Ok, so...that shuddery feeling? The involuntary twist and jump your shoulders just made, like you are trying to tuck them into your ears? The goosebumps of yuckiness that kind of wash over you in a wave? That is exactly the way Ferrel makes you feel in his role of Chazz Michael Michaels whenever you realize that he is supposed to have sex with people. Female people. Exactly like that. The bad boy of men’s figure skating, he has lost his Olympic gold medal and been banned for the rest of his life, because of the slappy slap fight he got into with his arch enemy, Jimmy MacElroy, played by Hedar.

Jimmy is the completely opposite from Chazz, a strange boy , raised by an eccentric millionaire father who apparently adopted him solely for his skating abilities. Chazz is a sex addict who wear a fringed leather coat and constantly tosses off sexual innuendos that make the skin crawl. Then there is Heder, who is always fun to watch, if you can stop staring at his face and wondering what happened to his chin.. if he ever had one, I mean, well, where did it go? But like I said, once you get past that whole non-existent chin thing, then you can concentrate on his character. Jimmy wears a cap of golden curls on his head and is a total innocent. In fact, one of the funniest, and most delightfully awkward parts of the movie, is when he receives his first real kiss. My lips hurt just watching the two of them mash their mouths together inexpertly, obviously doing it the way they “thought” it should be done while carefully balancing their snowcones in their hands. Fer cute, as they used to say in my native land of Minnesota.

So these two total opposites are, three years later, at sad little dead ends in their once glorious life paths. Chazz is playing the part of a wizard on ice in a kiddie show, prized by the owner, who puts up with his disgusting manners and alcoholic breath to have him in the show. I have to admit that the puking inside of the gigantic wizard head was a bit much for me, but my gross-out level is sadly low. Jimmy, meanwhile, is holding skates for spoiled brats to try on in a little skate shop in the middle of nowhereland. The only thing that hasn’t changed is Jimmy’s stalker, who, although disappointed that the object of his lustfully violent thoughts has fallen so far, remains faithful to the sweet goal of one day killing him. In fact, it is the stalker who comes up with the idea of the two competing as couple’s ice skaters, putting them back on the rink and in competition with the creepy sister and brother of Team Van Waldenberg. Aha, and here we have the bad guys of the movie, who our intrepid heroes must battle to win their rightful gold.

I expected stupid, and hopefully, stupid funny. What surprised me was that I didn’t have to get up more than once during the entire show, and for me, Ms. Can’t Sit Still For Longer Than Thirty Minutes Without Imploding, that means the movie is entertaining. And it genuinely was. The chemistry between the two actors was genuine, and the tidy little storyline didn’t fall into boredom land for longer than a second or two.

I admit that I watched this movie because of my unrelenting sense of nostalgia. See, A Night at the Roxbury is one of my all time forever favorite comedies. And I laughed a good portion of my butt off during Napoleon Dynamite. So I continue to see movies with these two guys, hoping, but not really believing, that I will get a laugh buzz. It hasn’t actually happened yet, I will let you know if it does. In the meantime, though, Blades of Glory, while not exactly laugh-buzz-inspiring, did give me a chuckle tingle.

I give it 3 &s…

&… like I said, if grossing women out was a category, Ferrell would get an oscar for this one

&… the relationship between the two once-enemies was just corny sweet enough to make me smile without puking

&… the stalker. L.O.L. heee

Pathfinder Movie Review

2007-04-18T19:28:00.000-07:00

Pathfinder

Starring: Karl Urban, Moon Bloodgood

Directed by: Marcus Nispel

Rated: R for strong brutal violence throughout

99 minutes (a.k.a. FEREVER)

Welcome to the review of the worst movie of 2007, so far. I know, that is a pretty heady title to put on a film that I had listed as “To See”. I realize that 2007 has barely even begun and I might have to stick with this as “worst movie” for quite a while…well, I’m willing to. This movie was bad on a level seldom approached in recent years- bad on so many levels that the badness has yet to sink into my head, in the “bad” section…. It refuses to land, but keeps floating up in front of my eyes, going, “Remember me? Remember how bad I was? Remember the money you gave to them, so that you could see me? Do you now think that was a smile of politeness, as they took your money, or was it a ‘You stupid sucker’ smile, because you were giving them money so you could watch me? And I was really, really bad, wasn’t I? MWAHAHAHA.”

The popcorn was the first hint. When the local theater runs out of the usual white cheddar topping, they replace it with this gross, salty, disgusting stuff, and you don’t know it is the second-grade, replacement topping until you are in your seat and grabbing your first handful, shoving it in your mouth to crunch on happily and –plaw! Eyes bulging, you are trying not to spit it on the floor, as your mouth slowly adjusts to the new flavor, the unexpected flavor, the whatthehell is this flavor…. I am guessing it takes about fifteen to twenty seconds before you assimilate all information and realize it is that horrid, replacement topping, not the usual stuff. There should be a sign, theater people, do you hear me?! A sign you put next to the popcorn topping, that says, “This is not the USUAL stuff, but a very POOR REPLACEMENT topping. It is SALTY and GROSS and you will PROBABLY HATE it. Thank you, enjoy the show.”

Obviously the above was a delaying tactic- trying to avoid revisting Pathfinder, even in my own head.

The story revolves around Ghost, or so I am told upon reading at the IMDb site, but honestly, I do not believe his name was mentioned once in the actual film. Lest you think he is Pathfinder, think again, wouldya? Pathfinder is some old Indian dude who doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the main character, Ghost, except for the fact that Ghost seems to have a big heart-on (wasn’t that punny?) for his daughter. Ghost is a Viking kid, abandoned by the so-called “Dragon Men” a long time ago, raised by the peaceful tribe, and yet still an outsider. Of course.

Now let me say that I have a stretchy sense of belief, ok? I can go a long way in a movie by reminding myself that it isn’t real, it isn’t supposed to be real, and I shouldn’t expect it to be real. But this movie stretched it to the breaking point. Oh, and there are going to be spoilers here, although honestly, if you have seen the previews for this movie, you have seen everything there is to see, and can probably write out a fairly accurate summary of the plot based on that 2 minute clip. Here you go, as example: Vikings come and butcher Indians. Leave child behind. Indians raise child in their ways. Child becomes poofy-muscled man, but always feels a sense of “not belonging”. Vikings come back. Vikings butcher Indians. Poofy-muscled man goes on a butt-kicking rampage to avenge his adopted people. Somewhere in the story, a tough yet vulnerably lovely Indian maiden will 1. Be at risk 2. Risk herself for him 3. Be in love with him for no comprehensible reason. In the end, poofy-muscled man will win and finally know his true self and he and the maiden will live forever happily with many papooses. The end.

Yep, close enough. Now let me tell you how awful they made this simple plot.

First of all, the natives spoke apple-pie English. I seriously expected the braves to start calling each other “dude”. On the other hand, the Vikings spoke some very Swedish-norwegian-icelandic sounding language where every fricking word had about nineteen syllables. So a simple, “Come here” would take fifteen seconds to say… “Shniden volken frienden corlavaska enachoven pianki schnoven rendersundenven orsund!” …and let’s face it, it is just not a scary sounding language.

Ghost, although he has been with the Indians since he was a small boy, has a sword that he apparently has been training himself with. We are supposed to swallow that he has, through solo practice, become this total, supremo swordsman, capable of beating seasoned Viking veterans with no sweat. And not only does he have these great swordsman skills, he can apparently ride a horse pretty damn well, too, although the Indians do not seem to have horses, so it’s doubtful that he has had one to practice on in the last fifteen years.

There are a billion and three reasons why this movie stunk, but I will limit myself to just three more, although they will be in true, run-of-the-sentence kaat style. The entire film is shot in this depressing, dark way…very cool at first, but by the end of the movie you are longing for just one shot in brightness, while the seasons change without warning- first its spring, then its winter, good golly, a snowstorm around every bend, but then WHY do the guys all wear little breechclouts down below and nothing else? ( Big furry coats and cloaks are everywhere, but their thighs look so cold! )The Vikings need to switch to waterproof mascara, because the stuff they are using now makes them look like clowns, although I realize it was supposed to be scary, but seriously, did the Viking really paint their faces before raiding helpless Indian villages? Which brings me to the final- why were the Natives such total wimps? They will face down a roaring bear without batting an eyelash but the entire village is basically wiped out with barely a finger lifted in defense… with the notable exception of the hotheaded young bunch of braves that idiotically stumble into the trap Ghost had set for the bad guys, thus the only person to save them all is poofy-muscled whiteboy who doesn’t even “know who he is”. UGHNEFERSHNEIZEN. That, my friends, is a sound of pure, unadulterated disgust, in Vikingese.

I give it 1 &…

& the horses and the dogs that the Vikings brought (oh yes, of course they traveled the billion miles by boat with their horses and their dogs…wouldn’t you?) were cool looking

To See or Not To See, and BUY MY BOOK

2007-04-13T07:48:00.000-07:00

To See or Not to See, based on the glorious previews that I sit through every time I see a movie. Fine readers and fellow movie viewers, feel free to chime in - comments section, or email, and let me know what you advise- what you are looking forward to, or what you dread....

To See:

The third in the Pirates of the Caribbean series.. the end of the world, or whatever… Ok, it is called At World’s End. Now, I am not saying I will go the theater for this, in all likelihood, I will not. I will watch it once it arrives at my doorstep in a neat little red Netflix envelope. But I will see it, if for no other reason than Johnny Depp is amusing in that character, come on, you have to admit it! No matter how lame the second one might have been compared to the fist, it was still interesting enough that I watched the entire thing, and I thought the action was good… plus, I wasn’t offended horribly by the “unrealistic” characters introduced, like Davey Jones with his face and headful of wormy tentacles. But I have to ask it, if you are looking for realism, why are you watching a movie called “Pirates of the Caribbean” instead of the discovery channel?

And… since we are talking about crazy ass sequels, what about the next Die Hard movie: Live Free or Die Hard? Of course I will see it, no matter how much it makes me cringe to even imagine it. But look at the Rocky movie- that turned out to be pretty damn good.

Sadly, I doubt very much that Lt. John McClane is going to be portrayed as the older, softer version, as Rocky was. Judging from the previews, there isn’t going to be a whole lot in common with the original Die Hard, either (one of my favorite movies ever). Nope, looks like lots of explosions and lots of cars racing and McClane guffawing and floating one liners at a young, silly “partner” who will be in awe of this mysterious old man’s expertise in…well, just about anything. And… they have his daughter. *swelling- serious - music *. So, even if it isn’t a good Die Hard movie, it probably still falls under the category of sweaty men with guns getting revenge, therefore it’s watchable to me.

Not To See:

Perfect Stranger, on the other hand, does not look very interesting to me. I will see Bruce Willis in the Die Hard movie, but this…not so much. Halle Berry and Willis are both pretty big star power to draw folks in, but not in this way- Berry thinks Willis killed her friend, and now she has to go “undercover” to prove it. Not only is it hard for me to think of Willis as a weaselee, murdering, big businessman, it is also hard for me to think of Berry as an undercover secret agent-type, ferreting out mysteries. This is the kind of movie where my (admittedly short) attention span gets entirely away from me, and I go to the bathroom six hundred times, and keep pouring my popcorn on the floor so that I can go get a 50 cent refill. Speaking of which, does everyone have this option at their local theater? You buy this huge tub of buttery goop popcorn for about nineteen dollars, BUT… if you eat it all and still want to manifest your extreme gluttony, you can go get it “refilled” for 50 cents? Same goes for the seventeen dollar cup o’ Pepsi. Is this unique to my home’s movie theater, or do all theaters have such a fricked up way of selling shit? Oh, I was saying, I doubt I will see this one, but who knows? If it gets good reviews, I might change my mind. That is, after all, a Kaat’s prerogative.

What doyathinkof: (Or.. “I am not sure if I will see or not see”)

Disturbia, where an extremely young looking Shia LaBeof (and yes it is hard for me to see him as a grownup after all that Holes nonsense… how can he be under arrest again, but as an “adult” just a few years later?) is under house arrest and so, of course, starts spying on the neighborhood. He discovers not only that he has a hot neighbor who wants to spy with him, but that one of the other neighbors just might be a knife-wielding maniac. Always fun! Anyone looking forward to this one?

And one final note- please do admire the newly published “ 30 Kaat Dayz”, sold at Lulu, advertised just over to the right of this post under “Biased reviews in a book? Let me BUY IT!” If not to purchase, just to, you know, admire the dazzling cover that I labored over in photoshop for like, I dunno, twenty minutes or even twenty-three.

It is a collection of thirty blog posts, sort of a “test book” to screw around with on lulu, but when I mentioned it to a few people, they expressed a strange desire to buy it. Ok, whatever, crazy, people, there it is. Make me rich or something.

Shooter Movie Review

2007-04-10T20:47:00.000-07:00

Shooter

Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Michael Peña, Danny Glover, Kate Mara

Directed by: Antoine Fuqua

Rated R for strong graphic violence and some language.

124 min

Shooter was on my list of movies to see for quite awhile. Firstlee, because it is my kind of movie. I make no apologies for loving this kind of movie. I have said from the very beginning that I like kicking ass, revenge-type movies where there are big, sweaty men, preferably with guns, getting their revenge on and generally kicking badguy butt in big quantities. This was precisely what I knew Shooter was going to be, and I wasn’t disappointed. The secondly reason was because I wanted to consider Mark Wahlberg in the role of my Forever Hero, Jack Reacher, should the books about him ever be made into movies (oh pleeze, Kind Movie Gods, let it be so!).

A side note to any UK readers who want my eternal gratitude…if you were to get me the new Reacher book before it’s release date in the US, well I’d be forever in your debt. Why it comes out there THIS month and not here until NEXT month, well that is because someone in the publishing industry has a cruel sense of humor and likes to make people like me squirm with impotent rage and impatience.

K, done squirming. As a Reacher, I think Wahlberg would do well enough, except that he doesn’t quite meet the physical requirements. But since watching the 8 foot tall Xerxes in 300, I have realized that actors don’t have to be “6'5", 220-250 lbs., 50" chest” (heehee, stats from the page of Lee Child.…Oh my… my Reacher obsession took over again, I am sorry. I could be writing a letter to my elderly aunt and suddenly look down and see that the last four paragraphs are about Mr. Reacher, and somehow that happened when I began discussing her cat’s incontinence problems. Don’t ask how, the connection always appears somehow. But, anyway, I was talking about SHOOTER.

Wahlberg plays Bob Lee Swagger, who used to be the greatest sniper dude around. He is a disenchanted US Army vet who left the service after the service left him- and his “spotter”- deep in enemy territory on a mission that wasn’t supposed to be missioning. Swagger got out, his spotter didn’t. Now he has become a hermit of sorts, living in a remote mountain cabin with his dog, who fetches beer, a prerequisite in being a hermit dog, I do believe.

His peaceful, if suspicious life is disrupted by the arrival of Glover, Colonel Isaac Johnson, who has come to drag Swagger out of his isolation so that he can save the president. (Glover talks like he has a mouthful of spit and/or gravel for the first half of the show, what was up with that?) Apparently, there are assassination plans underway and the only way to stop them is to beat them to it- how would Swagger do it? Twisting of the patriotic arm ensues, and reluctantly, Bob Lee starts figuring out how he would kill the president. Can you all see the big betrayal on its way? Yep, thought so. Bob Lee doesn’t see it, however, until he has been shot and is running for his life, accused of trying to kill the president, with no one to trust and no where to go.

Viewers get to see his survival skills in the urban jungle, and although someone if it a bit farfetched, it is all fun. Along the way, Bob Lee picks up some compadres, Nick Memphis, and FBI agent who sees that the pieces are not fitting as well as he was taught they should in the academy, and his spotter’s widow, the positively DARLING actress Mara, who is really “cute” until she smiles fully in one scene, and is transformed into breathtaking. I love actors/actresses who can change like that with one smile. Bodes well for their performances in the future. I think we will see her more often.

So the government naughty men are in for it- from a one man army, with his backup of two, and of course the movie water knows Bob Lee will more than match them. The government trained him to stay alive, after all, and he is going to do it, no matter how inconvenient it is to their evil plans. The plotline was actually a bit more complicated than I would normally expect in a movie of the genre, probably thanks to the fact that it was adapted from the novel "Point of Impact" by Stephen Hunter, a damn fine bookster. Moral of the story: The true American is not going to stand for no double-crossing from a lisping, secretly evil colonel, and that is how these kind of movies are supposed to be, right?

I give it 3 and ½ &s…

&… the plot was better than expected

&… even though parts were completely unrealistic, it is a fact I don’t go to movies for fact, but fiction, and as long as it’s entertaining fiction, it’s ok by me

&… Marky Mark is fleshing out nicely into an action type movie hero

½ &… big explosions, fights, guns, etc.

2007-04-04T17:34:00.000-07:00

To See Or Not To See-

To See-

Pathfinder

This may indeed be a predictable type of story line, and a predictable type of movie, but ooh baby, it’s what I like. Looks like the Vikings come apillagin’ and pretty much kick a whole lotta Native American butt, way before the white guys with horses came and destroyed everything. They leave one behind, however, a young boy, who we can see from the preview is going to be raised by the injuns and is going to totally riot on the Vikings when they next stick their furry faces in the scene.

Not to See-

TMNT

If you only knew how many endless, forever-gone-never-going-to-get-them-back hours of my life were spent watching and/or listening to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Movie Three, when my oldest son was a toddler and in that horrible stage of watching movies over and over and over again…. you would not even need to know why I will never, and that means EVER, watch the continuing adventures of the four adolescent mutated turtles gifted in the art of ninja. No matter how good the animation is. The very word “Splinter” makes me shudder with coagulated boredom.

The Wheel of Time Book Series Review

2007-03-30T08:18:00.000-07:00

The Wheel of Time Book Series Review

The Wheel of Time series

By Robert Jordan

I had someone ask me recently why the all-movies-no-books-reviews at the Biased Book Review lately. The answer is, obviously, Robert Jordan. I mean, duh.

Ok, maybe you couldn’t have known that. Maybe the only people who could actually know this would be the people who are around me during the day, to see me with my face plastered to the pages of one of his six-pound fiction novels. This is the happiest state I have existed in, speaking of books and movies, since I read the entire Dark Tower series without stopping. I smelled bad, true, and my eyes were bloodshot and kind of tipping out of their sockets, and yes, my hair was a greasy bird’s nest, but I was happy, I tell you. Happy. And this is me, again, since I discovered the world of The Dragon Reborn.

It’s true, although shocking I know, that I have lived all the long, lonely years of my life without ever, that’s right, not NEVER, reading a Robert Jordan book. I owe an enormous debt of gratitude and possibly even money and/ or a child of my blood, to a co-worker of mine, Jeremy, who introduced me to the series.

So the last few months have been spent reading, and then re-reading, the Wheel of Time Series, may it not be completed for at least five more books, provided Mr. Jordan lives that long, the Light send it so.

Sorry, I tend to do that since I finished reading through the first time- catch myself speaking in Jordanese. This includes, but is not limited to, phrases such as:

“Blood and ashes!”(A very naughty swear in Jordanese)

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills!” (The equivalent to “Que Sera, Sera”, and if you don’t know what that means, listen to the song lyrics, baby.)

“You woolheaded shepherd!” (A term of disgust with someone who has done something you don’t like, but mixed strongly with affection for the person)

“The dice are tumbling, now!” (Meaning something exciting is going to happen- I can feel it.)

For the seven or eight of you who have not heard of Robert Jordan either, well, you can be forgiven, If that is, you are not a fan of fantasy fiction. If you are a fan, then there is really no excuse…why didn’t you tell me about this, damn you?!? Just kidding. If I had been told, I would have read these books a long time ago and wouldn’t be so happily reading them now. I read fantasy about as often as I read mysteries, which is to say, not too often. It’s hard to find good fantasy books. I can leap right into believing- in magic swords and dragons and curses and prophecies told…but it has to be well-written, at least! I loved the LOTR series of course, but they are kind of in a class above and beyond the rest, incomparable. I liked Eragon and its companions, but I could have put that one down and picked it up a week later and it would have been ok. I wasn’t dying to read it. I wasn’t repeating phrases and thinking about the characters as I fell asleep. I liked Piers Anthony immensely when I was younger… not so much now that I am older and I can’t stop from seeing his dirty-old-man fantasies creeping into nearly every book he writes. (Uh-huh it does. Check the characters… All of the – BUXOM- women are bursting out of their sexy clothing and all of the – STUDLY even if short- men can’t look at a woman without thinking of banging her. The question in Anthony’s books is not why the men are attracted to the goddess-like women, it is why the goddess-like… and did I mention usually virginal?... women are attracted to the pig-like men. Speaking as a goddess-like virgin, myself, of course!). I have enjoyed a Terry Brooks book now and again, and I have hated them now and again, too. When I was in a fit of withdrawal, waiting for my delayed shipment of the next Jordan tomes to get to me, Jeremy tried to help me by suggesting I try some of Terry’s Landover books. Eh… they were ok, but didn’t even take the edge off the sharp pangs of longing I experienced whenever I thought of the three thick, delicious WoT books somewhere in the postal system, beyond my anxious fingers….

As you can see, I am in love.

I will not spoil, in case there are some of you who want to partake in this religious experience known as “Reading the WoT series”. I will say that each book (with the exception of the prequel “New Spring”, a tiny little book thrown out there obviously to tease the readers into a frenzy by whetting their appetites, not satisfying it) is a door-stopping wedge of a book. Eight hundred pages is not unusual, and a delighted little shiver of joy overtakes me as I type that.

The books center around a small bunch of characters, young people torn from their gentle lives as shepherds and healers and inn-keepers’ daughters in a forgotten little place known as the Two Rivers. They are yanked into a brutal world where yes, prophecies are coming true, and dangers abound, and mythical creatures exist. Jordan gently leads the characters through adventures, and quietly, so the reader barely notices, changes the characters themselves, hardening and wisening them, until re-reading the books will have you laughing at their sweet naivety in the first books.

Among other prophecies is the Biggie- the Dragon Reborn, a man who will be born to fight the Dark One in the final battle. When monsters straight out of scary night tales invade the sleepy village of Emond’s Field, it is only with the help of Moraine, a mysterious wielder of the One Power, and her fierce warder (aka ass-kicking bodyguard), Lan, that the town survives. It becomes obvious that the monsters are searching for one of three boys, in the belief that one of them is very special indeed. The boys, Rand, Mat and Perrin, are central characters in the series, as they set off with Moraine to protect their village, and their lives, and all the lives around them, are inexorably changed.

I have read some complaints- that Jordan is taking too long writing the series- get it over with already, and all I can say to that is what what what? What insane person wants a series like this to end? I understand wanting it all written… as I have read, Jordan suffers from some serious blood disease and the thought of him being weaved out on the Wheel with all that glorious stuff still in his head and not on paper is scary… maybe that seems pretty cold hearted, but, if you ask me, it is the mark of a true fan, as well. In case you are confused when you finish the books, there is a vast world of knowledge out there about the series, on sites such as these : http://www.wotmania.com/faq.asp.

It’s a magnificent world Jordan has created, one I leave with regret, and hope that I will be coming back very soon… that Twelfth book can’t be far off, and supposedly it is the last one… though I have to say, I don’t see how he can tie all of the threads he has dangling up in just one book, a thousand pages or not. So here is the invitation- and the challenge- Anyone who wants to get lost- like you do when you watch Lost… and caught up in a world cool beyond anything since Tolkien, climb aboard the Wheel. (Hint- The Eye of the World is the first book in the series.)

I give it a hot pink on the Reading Rainbow of What’s Right to Read.

To See or Not To See

2007-03-22T18:14:00.000-07:00

I get quite a few emails from people with suggestions, or requests, for movies to watch. Obviously, I cannot watch them all, or I would not have time to work, and then I could not afford internet access, and would never be able to do any posts...not to mention that I couldn't afford a movie ticket, or my Netflix membership or... oh muh-ANN...eventually, I would end up sitting on my homeless curb, fingering an old copy of T.V. Guide and mumbling about the good old days...
But I have decided to incorporate this new little feature of the Biased Book and Movie Review....
To See or Not to See, based on the glorious previews that I sit through every time I see a movie. Fine readers and fellow movie viewers, feel free to chime in - comments section, or email, and let me know what you advise- what you are looking forward to, or what you dread....

To See:

Waitress.

Keri Russell plays a pregnant waitress married to an asshole who looks to be falling in love with her hunky doctor, Nathan Fillion. To see if only because she names pies after the emotional upheavals she is going through. Who doesn't like a movie with cleverly named pies?

Not To See:

Vacancy.

A couple who "left the interstate" (obviously the catchphrase for the movie- don't leave the interstate) check into a creepy little hotel where to their horror, they discover video tapes of that very room- where people are getting murderalized. There was time, when I was young, when I really enjoyed being scared. Not no more, nuh-uh, and the preview freaked me out enough.

Premonition Movie Review

2007-03-21T19:30:00.000-07:00

Premonition

Starring: Sandra Bullock, Julian McMahon, Shyann McClure, Courtney Taylor Burness

Directed by: Mennan Yapo

Rated: PG-13 for some violent content, disturbing images, thematic material and brief language.

110 minutes

It is my duty to provide not only reviews for my faithful readers, but hope. Therefore, for those who are anxiously awaiting the time when they too will see Premonition, expecting a good, suspenseful, mystereeous film that will tickle the mind and make the senses jump… well, to you, I say, I hope you go see something else.

Heh. Now be advised that I went to see this movie with my sister, and she enjoyed it. She declared, “I liked it,” in that peculiar, half-angry, half-amused, defensive kind of tone I begin to hear more frequently as I go see movies with other people. I don’t know why. I agree, and they agree, that we should all agree with me, right? I think so. Anyway. The point is that someone will like this movie besides my sister. The chances of pure blind coincidence mean at least one other person will. And who knows? You might be that one.

Here is a primer.

Get ready for really scary, suspenseful music that rises into a crescendo of pure apprehension, the kind that always tells you, the movie-goer, that something BIG is going to happen, something is going to JUMP out at you, by god, she is reaching a hand toward that man, who is going to turn around and he will BE A CORPSE!

Nope, not gonna happen. This is one of the most annoying parts about Premonition- the damn scary music that leads absolutely nowhere. What an extensive and exhausting tease.

Get ready for a twisty, turning plot, always jumping from one point to another, as crazy visions begin and Sandra Bullock starts have glimpses of the future. Get ready to figure them out, thread by thread, until- oh, no, wait… there is no figuring out in this movie.

Get ready for a startling climax that will make everything come together?

Oh… nope. Not that either, sorry.

Spoilers coming, but don’t worry, you don’t want to see this, so you are safe to read.

There was no point to this stupid movie. Yes, sure enough, Bullock’s character, an unhappy housewife who spends her days making extensive grocery lists, driving her daughters to school, and hangin’ up clothing on the lines in her yard to get that fresh air scent. Her husband is a distant man, his actions saying “affair” so loudly it is a wonder horns aren’t growing out of his head. Oh, but they both love their kids, two adorable little girls who never misbehave or act like anything but princesses for less than a second.

Before the actual movie-part of the movie started, we got a glimpse of (apparently) former happy times. Linda is being surprised by her then-loving husband, Jim. He has bought a house, look, there is a bow on the front door! She is stunned, and then delighted, throwing herself into his arms. Now if this wasn’t my first warning, I don’t know what was. What woman would be happy with her husband for going out and buying a house- a big house, by the way, with an equally big mortgage I am sure, without consulting her? What woman wants to live in a house that her husband has picked out? Is this the kind of surprise we wives love? Nuh-uh, it is NOT.

Now suddenly, interspersed with chatting on the phone with her friend, jogging, and smoking the occasional cigarette that clearly represents her unhappiness with life, Linda starts to wake up on, shall we say, the wrong side of the wrong bed of wrongness in wrongland? She lives through the day that she is told Jim is dead. Then boom- she wakes up and he is next to her. Huh? Mysteriously enough, the next day she wakes up and it’s the day of Jim’s funeral, when she goes stomping up to demand they open the casket and oops- her hubby’s head just bounced on her shoe. Which I am sure happens all the time- there would be no point in sewing his head back on, now would there? I think that is perfectly reasonable- that the funeral folks would just toss the pieces in the box- the easily broken, easily-opening-lidded box, and head to the church. Right?

Wait a sec- now it the next morning and she is back in her normal life again…but starting to act a little weird. Is this because of those half-dissolved lithium pills prescribed to her, by a doctor she doesn’t know, only god knows when? Eeek! The mystery is piling up! Of course, later we will get to live the day when she does go to this doctor and he prescribes the pills for her. This is another totally realistic part of the movie. I am sure that doctors meet with perfect strangers who walk in off the street all the time, listen to them tell a story of seeing the future where the doc has prescribed them lithium, and then- write them a prescription for lithium. Of course, it happens all the time!

Maybe I am nitpicking. But there is no doubt about the fact that this movie meanders and turns without going anywhere. Does she love the husband or not? Does she want him to die, because he is cheating on her with Amber Valletta? I will say this- if you want to see how eminently unattractive Amber looks without makeup and her eyes all red and puffy- go see this, you will leave happy. Otherwise, you might die of eye-rolling. I know I almost did. The only thing keeping me alive was the thought that if I did die of it, the funeral home peeps would just like, toss my eyes in on top of me in my casket, and then it might just like, accidentally get dropped on my husband’s foot, and my eyes might roll out and look up at him. And even if he was cheating on me with Amber Valletta, I would not wish that on anyone.

I give it 2 &s....

& it had great suspenseful music

& no one fell over their own feet while acting their way out of the paperbag

300 Movie Review

2007-03-12T08:16:00.001-07:00

300

directed by: Zack Snyder

starring: Gerard Butler, Lena Headey, Dominic West, David Wenham, Rodrigo Santoro

Rated R for graphic battle sequences throughout, some sexuality and nudity.

117 min

Ask yourself, before you buy a ticket for 300, if you enjoyed Sin City. Did you like the tons of CGI, the feeling that you were watching a comic book, or as some have said, a videogame, come to life? Are you ok with a movie shot almost entirely in front of a green screen- no big “location” shoots? If you don’t give half of a shit about stuff like that, but love blood and guts and glory, then this new movie, based on another of Frank Miller’s comics, is probably right up your alley.

300 is, to put it quite simply, gory eye candy. If you are the type who cringes at fistfights on screen, the one who covers your eyes when someone is going to get stabbed, or feels ill at a decapitation, here is your only warning- don’t see this movie.

If, on the other hand, you are like me, and LOVE that kind of stuff- get in line, and get there early, because I was in the theater saving seats a full twenty minutes before showtime and it was already packed.

For once I didn’t mind being in a crowded theater. This is because I was quite literally, swept away on the tide of- like I said, gory eye candy unfolding before me.

I loved this movie. I didn’t care that it had no deep plot to speak of… obviously, if you are going to see 300 for the historical accuracy in the plot and great character development, you’ve been sorely misled, and are completely oblivious to previews, too. The second I saw the preview for this movie, I knew I was going to see it, and I had pretty high hopes I was going to like it.

The basic story (and it never goes beyond basic) is quickly unfolded- Sparta is going to be overrun by the thousands and thousands of Xerxes’s the so-called god king’s, troops from Persia. Leonidas, the Spartan King, doesn’t want to see that happen. His initial plan for kicking their butts- leading the entire Spartan army against them, gets shot down by the corrupt, and may I add disgusting, old priests who inform him that the timing isn’t right for war. (Of course, said disgusting old priests have been bought off before Leonidas ever approached them.) So, in the face of imminent invasion, what is a bad ass king like Leonidas supposed to do?

Take 300 of your best guys into the face of certain death, of course. Handpicked for their bravery (and the fact that they have all had kids to carry on their name), the 300 are willing to fight to the death alongside their king in the hopes that they can turn aside Xerxes’ ravening hordes, and inspire the folks back home to step up and send the army before it’s too late.

Leaving behind his Queen, who is just as much of a bad ass as Leo himself, and his own son to carry on the family moniker, the king and his troops set off for the coast, where they plan to force the kabillions of Persians into fighting them in a little bottleneck, where “numbers don’t matter”. The queen is left with the task of trying to change the council’s collective mind about sending the army, and fending off the grotesque attentions of Leonidas’s arch enemy, the greasy and wholly repulsive Theron.

The rest of the movie, give or take a minute or two spent back at the city, where, as I said, the Queen has her own fight going on, is all about the blood and guts of battle. Nearly every sequence is shot in slow motion, and it was, to me, breathtaking. Heads roll and blood gushes. Strange creatures abound in the Persian army, and Xerxes, when he finally appears, is as creepy as they come, standing about eight feet tall and speaking in a voice straight out of a nightmare. Battle after battle ensues, with barely time to gobble a handful of popcorn before the next sequence left me with my mouth hanging open in a foolish, delighted grin. Let me tell you, though there is little doubt that men of all ages will love this movie (I took my husband and my teenaged son and both of them were entranced) there were a whole lot of gals in the audience too, and we were the ones cheering in certain spots. Yes, there was actual cheering in the theater, and I admit to have led it. If you see the movie, you will know what scene it was in.

Ah, sure, you’re always going to have some whiners complaining about one thing or another- including the lack of depth in the plotline, the fact that there was almost a cheeky thread of very modern-sounding humor throughout this film, the great liberty taken with history … but in answer, I can only remind everyone that this is an adaptation of a comic book, not a documentary of ancient Sparta, and it does exactly what it is supposed to- entertains and lets you escape the real world for a couple of hours. So quit your griping, and enjoy the full-on graphic violence and chest-beating action that is 300.

Bravo!

I give it 5 &s

&… jaw-dropping cinematography

&… a simple, brutal plot- little group of guys against big group of bullies- when does that not appeal?

&… effective acting by all the people involved, they got the job done, and the character across

&… enough action to make me lie awake thinking when I go to bed

&… did I mention blood and guts and glory?

911 Wild Reno Hogs in Miami Movie Review

2007-03-06T18:50:00.000-08:00

Wild Hogs

Starring: Tim Allen ,John Travolta ,Martin Lawrence ,William H. Macy, Ray Liotta, Marisa Tomei

Directed by: Walt Becker

Rated: PG-13 for crude and sexual content, and some violence

99 min

and then....

Reno 911!: Miami

Starring: The Cast of Reno:911!

Directed by: Ben Garant

Rated: R for sexual content, nudity, crude humor, language and drug use

84 min.

I have watched two movies in the last week, but really, neither of them is worthy of an entire review all to itself. So to make it fun and fabulous, I decided to combine the two into one glorious review. We will call it the “911 Wild Reno Hogs in Miami Movie Review”. And if that doesn’t sound like fun, well, golly, I don’t know what does.

Well, not true. I know a lot of things that sound like more fun. But the point, my ladies and gentlemans, is that I am putting the two together, so as not to insult fans of either by ignoring the fact that I watched it and found it less than review-worthy.

Fans of either. Snort. As if there is such a thing.

Ok, so Wild Hogs is a definite Coulda Movie. And Reno 911!:Miami is a Shoulda Movie. The first one coulda been good. It had a good idea- four men on the verge of varying midlife crises, jump on their Harleys and roar off for the Pacific, each of them looking for something to add meaning to their blah and boring lives. Reno 911: Miami shoulda been a good movie- the television version cracks me up to the point of peepee, many a time. But unfortunately, neither lived up to its promise, and left me, the viewer, in both cases with a lot of laughter left to spill, watching the credits roll and thinking, “That’s IT?”

Yes, that’s it.

Four middle-aged men drive to the Pacific on their Harleys and along the way, find adventure so positively unlikely, in any possible scenario that resembles life on planet earth, that it becomes difficult to laugh. They run afoul of a group of dangerous “real” bikers, led by a pathetically puffy-faced Ray Liotta who spends half of his screen time practicing a should-be-patented “Maniacal Laugh”. I swear, the guy looks like some boozy puppet with a button on his back “Push to Hear Maniacal Laughter”. (He really does!) Of course, the fake, oldguy bikers fight back bravely, and in between embarrassing moments like being caught swimming in the nude (GASP) or riding into signs (cue audience laughter), they rediscover what it means to be alive!!!! The most puzzling aspect of the entire Wild Hogs Movie Experience for me was that the theater was packed, and there was a lot of laughing, and it wasn’t the push-button-back kind. So I think this movie was enjoyable to many people. Maybe I am becoming a snob in my old age. Whatever.

And then… Reno 911!:Miami, where those loveable nitwits from the Reno Sheriff’s Department get invited to a police convention in Miami! They arrive only to find that the rest of the convention (read: all law enforcement peoples in the entire Miami area) are being quarantined by a terrorist biohazard threat, and it’s up to guess who to patrol the city? Ensuing hilarity might just make you cry. Not. There were so many masturbation/gross sex/nude scenes that it finally became obvious that that was the whole script idea by whoever came up with this gem. I admit to a certain horrified fascination at the first sight of Deputy Raineesha Williams’ HUMUNGUOS ass in a thong bathing suit, but the fascination faded quickly to mild nausea, long before the ass shots stopped. Oh, and add in a ten second spot by The Rock for Real Star Power and you have… a movie that shoulda been good.

Both of these had moments that were funny- don’t get me wrong. I like William H. Macy, and it was interesting to see him in a rare display as Comic Relief. Travolta’s character, the only one who actually realizes the danger the rest of them are in from the big bad bikers, has a few really funny moments when he is trying to convince the rest of them to hurry the hell up and get on the road, contorting his face in such ways that even I had to smile, and I am not usually a face-twisting smiler. I did actually guffaw, I believe, during the Reno movie when they blew up a whale on the beach, and I am not usually an animal-blowing-up smiler.

But that, my friends, was really, about it.

I give them each 2 &s…

&… they had some funny moments

&… they weren’t too long

Ghost Rider Movie Review

2007-02-19T09:51:00.000-08:00

Ghost Rider

2007

Starring: Nicholas Cage, Peter Fonda, Eva Mendes, Sam Elliott

Directed by: Mark Steven Johnson

Rated: PG-13 for horror violence and disturbing images.

114 min

Suspend all reality. Remind yourself every five point three minutes that this is a comic book. Don’t despise Nicholas Cage’s overacting. Like fire, and lots of it. Enjoy melodramatic statements booming from theater speakers so loudly that they actually echo faintly. Be a twelve year old boy.

There. That should ensure that you will enjoy Ghost Rider.

I like Nicholas Cage, and I even enjoy his overacting when it is a in a seriously moody and/or quirky movie script. I like him in things like well… Raising Arizona, for instance. But I honestly could not (and I tried) watch him mutter things like, “he may have my soul…. but he doesn’t have my spirit” (Him being the devil) or “I will use this curse to fight against you!”…while pointing one long, bony finger (There was a lot of finger-pointing in Ghost Rider) without laughing.

I laughed quite frequently during GR but I don’t think I was laughing in the parts where I was supposed to. I left that up to the rest of the audience. It has been so long since I have gone, during matinee times, to see a big release movie that I honestly forgot what it was like. Pan’s Labyrinth didn’t have a row of fourteen year olds sitting in front of me, text messaging each other and shhing one another loudly, in that way only teenagers have. (Look at us! Is everyone looking at us?! We are so important and young and lovely and are you sure everyone is looking at us? Not that we care. We care about nothing. We are too cool to care, but are you watching us?! Hey old people, we don’t care if you do, but LOOK at US!) It’s been awhile since I was packed into a theater along with other folks, so closely that a stranger could have conceivably touched me at any time during that one hour and fifty three minutes. No, no one did, but they could have, and the possibility kept me from becoming comfortable. Plus, I could smell everyone’s skin. Warm, slightly sweating, elbow-to-elbow people…they give off a smell. A skin smell. And what the HELL are they selling in the lobby that reeks of garlic? I don’t know, but something someone was eating very near me smelled strongly of garlic and it was not pleasant.

All of that could have distracted me a little from the movie, true. I wasn’t prepared for the laugh set-ups that filmmakers do… and how sweetly the audience falls into place. Scene: Ghost Rider grabs girl, who is talking, and cuts her off with a passionate kiss. Pan to a cow standing nearby. Cow moos loudly. Pause for laughter.

And they did. Laugh I mean. So I think maybe this movie was enjoyed. Just not by me.

The story in a nutshell.... Johnny Blaze sold his soul to the devil to save his father, who died anyway. Now it’s twenty (or thirty) some odd years later and he has survived countless things that should have killed him in his rise to fame as a stunt motorcycle driver. The Evel Knievel of our generation, I guess you could say. The devil has been keeping him alive until the day he needs him to become the Ghost Rider.

Now this is where it confused me a little. The dude becomes the Ghost Rider in the presence of evil. He has the flaming skull going on, rides a kick-ass chopper and swings around a fiery chain. He has this thing called the Penance Stare where he can look into bad guys’ eyes and make them see all of their sins, basically burning the life right out of them with horror at experiencing their own evil…. Does this sound like something the DEVIL would give to someone? Ghost Rider is supposedly the Devil’s Bounty Hunter… but I never did get who/where/why he would be sent after someone, to bring them back to hell where they belong…and even if he was sent, why would he then burn them to a cinder with “penance” for their sins? Doesn’t that kind of make hell…. pointless? But forget my nitpicking. On with it…the devil’s son, whose name is the very imaginative “Black Heart”, has come to sort of challenge his daddy to for the title of super devil. I guess. Ghost Rider has to defeat Black Heart. And all his friends. Not only to protect the devil (that is his boss, remember, the devil. But he’s still a good guy) but also because he has been promised his soul back once he does it (and why he thinks the devil will keep his end of the bargain I don’t know…. Maybe along with the Stare of Penance they receive the Naiveté of the Very Young). Into this fine little mess comes his girlfriend from twenty (or thirty) years ago, a smart-talking, curvy reporter who is alternately mad at Johnny, or groping him. And she is kind of rude. And impatient. And snappish. I guess a big round butt makes up for a lot of character deficiencies because Johnny Blaze is still in love with her, although he hasn’t even seen her for twenty or thirty years.

If my boyfriend from when I was seventeen showed up and the devil was like, trying to use him as a hostage against me, and I could choose… My old boyfriend would die unless I gave the devil this thing that he wanted that would help him destroy the rest of the world… I’d be all, “Hey dude, we had some good times, didn’t we? It was cool knowing you, You look great! Take care now, Buh-bye.” But in movies where cows moo at kissing, people stay in love with their highschool sweethearts forever. It is totally natural that Johnny Blaze’s best friend’s dead body doesn’t get more than a pause from him, but the rude bitch he used to date is in danger? He is going to KICK ASS NOW!

The plot is simple, sprinkled with jokey gag scenes like Cage grimacing in the mirror at himself and eating jellybeans out of a glass. Elliot basically brings back his character from Road House, tough old dog teaching new dog tricks while scratching the stubble on his cheek (and let me tell you, that is fricking gross. The hair on his face grows straight up to his eyeballs, I’m not kidding). Actually, maybe that is just the only character he ever plays. Hmmm.

Nothing surprising here, not even the “plot twists”. There was some good special effecting going on but even that tweren’t enough to keep me awake through the whole thing. Yes, I did fall asleep, during the above mentioned mirror scene. Cage’s goofy fricking face wasn’t enough to keep my eyelids from shutting when the sound was less than a booming roar in my ears.

Go back to the first few lines. Read them. Can you do those things? Then you might like this movie.

I give it 2 &s….

& the special effects were purty nice. I like a good flaming horse every now and then.

& the storyline was easily followed, so much that I could nap and know exactly what was happening when I woke

Review of Carlos Mencia Thievery

2007-02-18T10:41:00.000-08:00

Ok, this may be more of a rant than a review, but whatthehell. It also is apparently very old news, but it’s new to me, so bear with me. I considered whether or not to even write about this, but you know, the internet has stretched and shaped lives, and news, pretty consistently in the last few years. Ten years ago, if something like this went down, it could have been covered up, ignored, and blown over. Today, however, with blogs like this one and a million messages flying through interspace, you just can’t keep a lid on things the way you used to be able to. This is good. This is free speech. This is the (however undignified and petty) American Way. So I’m doing my little bit here in the blogosphere to try to overthrow The Man in Media. Hehehe. Plus, it really pisses me off.

Besides, it was this or me doing a write-up on Anna Nicole’s life. You don’t want me to do that, do you? HMMM? DO YOU? I didn’t think so.

Carlos Mencia. I used to think he was funny. I would have considered myself a fan just yesterday. Am I fickle? Well, yes, but that is not the reason I am a non-fan today. Not entirely, anyway. Although I was often slightly embarrassed by his ruder, cruder performances. I would simply remind myself that it was OK…that is what comedy is supposed to do, make you laugh and make you uncomfortable. And of course there was the wide-spread understanding that it is ok for Mencia to make racial jokes because he is a self-described “Beaner”. He makes as much fun of his own peeps as any of the rest of us, ala Dave Chapalle (may he never rest in peace but come back to amuse us damn it). True, no white man could get away with it, but that’s just the Way Things Are… giggle and move on…. But.

Last night I heard the rumor that he was confronted about his joke-stealing last weekend. I just worked Valentine’s Week so gimme a break if this is Old News to everyone else on the planet. Ok, so…Mencia’s thievery of jokes. Apparently this is a well-known and hideously accepted fact in the comedy circles. They actually refer to him as “Carlos Menstealia”. He has Hollywood Clout that he can beat people up with, and this makes them keep their mouths shut. I was still doubtful… I mean, could the guy really get so famous if he was a joke-stealing asswipe? Apparently it happens all the time.

I then learned the sad fact that, maybe again, everyone in the world knew for a fact but me… that Carlos Mencia is not even Mexican! He is half-Honduran (shut up, you idiotic ‘that’s the same thing’ people…Honduras is not the same country as Mexico. Different countries, different cultures, different people. It’s like saying Americans and Canadians are the same thing.) and half German, and his name was Ned Holness until he changed it to sound more Mexican.

THEN I went and found the video clip of Joe Rogan confronting the fake Mexican Mencia. I would direct you to watch the video clip for yourself, but OHMY..guess what? When you go to watch it on YouTube this morning, there is a little blurb that says

“This video is no longer available due to a copyright claim by Carlos Mencia”.

What a CHICKENSHIT. He knows that his guilt is obvious to those who watch it. It was a very long video and as pointed out at The Superficial where I watched it, (and you can too, until it gets taken down) the sound is bad, but it was definitely interesting to watch. Mencia-Holness squirms like a guilty little piggy by the end of the clip, where he started out with his normal blustery bravado. You can practically smell the sweat oozing from his pores. Even one of Mencia’s friends talks about his thievery… until he realizes he is being filmed, wonders out loud, “What are you going to do with that film?” And walks off, muttering, “Nice to have seen you.” It is also still up on google- thanks google, you rock!

It really makes me tweaked that he is trying to stop the video clip from being seen. This is not a sex tape, ok? This is him getting called out, on stage, about his practice of taking others’ material and using it as his own (a.k.a. Plagiarism) and ending up looking pretty damn bad. If he had “won” the little showdown, do we think he would be trying to stop this from being seen? Nuh-uh.

It gets worse. Rogan, a talented comedian himself, although I realize that is debatable… yes everything in the fricking world IS…. got kicked out of the Comedy Store for this video clip. Why? Because Mencia can pull in a bigger number of customers, of course, and he wanted him out. Next, Rogan’s agent, who belongs to the agency (Gersh) that also handles Mencia, dropped Rogan. How coincidental. You can read about that one here. Aw….Carlos feels “physically threatened” by Mr. Rogan, and so he should, Joe Rogan is pretty ripped and could probably kick Mencia’s large-ish behind with both feet and one hand tied behind his back…. But still. Is it the gross fingers of “power” we see scuttling around Rogan’s neck, trying to choke the breath out of him for… telling it like it is?

YECK. This is a slimy feeling thing.

The more I read, the more I realize, that this is old shit, that Mencia has been doing crap like this for a long time, that people are (apparently rightly) scared to confront him because they will get banned from clubs and lose their agents and the battle is young, and let’s see what else happens. The only one with the balls to bring it on is Rogan. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of him personally, or as a comedian. Some are saying this is a hissy fit of jealousy on Rogan’s part over Mencia’s success. I don’t think so. Watch the clip, read up on it, judge for yourself. And then, if you’re pissed, do something about it. Stop supporting Mencia. Spread the word on your own blog. Sign the petition. Whatever. This is where the internet can make a difference.

Children Of Men Movie Review

2007-02-12T21:31:00.000-08:00

Children of Men, 2006

Starring: Clive Owen, Julianne Moore, Michael Caine, Claire-Hope Ashitey

Directed by: Alfonso Cuarón

Rated: R for strong violence, language, some drug use and brief nudity

109 min

Sometimes you just luck out…. You might not check the reviews of a movie you have never even heard of. You might just go, on the spur of the moment. You might not have a frickin’ clue what the flick is about, but something in your gut says “Go to this one”… and then, it’s rare, but sometimes, just sometimes… you end up watching a thunderously excellent film. I guess this was a book… don’t ask me how I haven’t read it… there are like three, or maybe even seven more books that I have yet to read.

That was my lucky experience with Children of Men. Now, of course, I have looked at the other, less-biased reviews, and it’s pretty much agreed on. This was a dang good movie. (Agreed upon with the exception of all the people who are to busy trying to sound extreeeemly cool by not agreeing with everyone else…one can always count on these folks to deny the excellence of any movie that others seem to like. To them I say SNORE… with emphasis on the “snore” part.)

Note that I did not claim this was a “happy” movie, or even one that has a “happy ending”…and I usually like those. A lot. In this case, the ending wasn’t good or bad, just way too soon. I could have watched an hour more.

The movie takes place in the not-too-distant future, in England. The world has been torn apart by wars. Illegal immigrants, known as “Fugees” are hunted down and treated with less kindness than stray dogs. The gaps between rich and poor have widened to impossible gulfs. And there are no children.

I might have missed it, but I don’t believe it is ever explained exactly why there are no more children. It just happened, twenty some odd years before, that woman stopped getting pregnant. Those that were already pregnant miscarried. Now, a generation later, the youngest of the population are revered as much as any superstar and still referred to as “babies”. In the beginning of the movie, the world is grief stricken when the youngest human alive, Baby Damian I think was his name, is murdered. The world is a very bleak place.

Our hero Theo (Clive Owens and isn't he brilliant) is one more rat shuffling along the grimy hallways of the present, without hope of ever finding cheese around any corner. When his help is solicited by his ex-wife (Moore), the leader of a band of political rebels, she tells him he is the only person she can trust. Although he isn’t too excited about it, in fact the viewer gets the feeling that he isn’t excited about much of anything nowadays, he gets drawn into her plot. Initially drawn by his empty pockets, he soon become entangled by his guts.

Turns out a girl, a young, tough-talking “fugee” girl named Kee, is miraculously pregnant. Now Theo, as the only person young Kee will trust, must decide who he can trust in turn. Gripping, frightening, and even at times humorous (Theo asks who the father of the baby is and Kee says: “There's no father. I'm a virgin …..Nah! Be great, though, wouldn't it?” LOL), it didn’t let me go for a second.

Me the viewer was drug right smack dab into the world on screen. I was wincing, I was ducking, I was nodding and gulping along with the characters. I was, I admit, mesmerized, pretty much from start to finish. I didn't even consider how much of my life I was spending watching the movie, let alone considering it wasted time.... and you know how rare that is.

It’s up to you to decide if this movie has a good or bad ending. I’m not going to write spoilers, for once, because I am so interested in hearing what people think of this fresh and brand new when they see it, walking in blind, as I did.

Never enjoyed a blind date so much.

I give it 5 &s

& it was harsh

& it was jarring

& the acting was grand

& I didn’t have to see Julianna Moore “almost cry” with her pink rabbit eyes watering on the screen for interminable minutes

& I love dark movies with a thread of hope and that is exactly what this was

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby Movie Review

2007-02-04T10:12:00.000-08:00

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby

Starring: Will Ferrell, John C. Reilly, Jane Lynch, Gary Cole,

Directed by: Adam McKay

Rated: PG-13 for crude and sexual humor, language, drug references and brief comic violence.

108 Minutes

I’ve got a love-hate relationship with Mr. Will Ferrell. Many years ago I fell in love with his characters on Saturday Night Live. A Night At The Roxbury is one of my top ten favorite comedy movies. (Consider how many movies I have watched in my shiftless life and you will be amazed at this statement.) If you ever ask me if “we are brothers”, I will respond, no doubt even on the edge of death, with, “No??...... YESSSS!!!!!” and cackle madly without any restraint whatsoever.

But then, a couple of years ago, I was taken to Kicking and Screaming, on my birthday. Friends and family thought that would be a good flick to take picky Kaat to, one guaranteed to make her laugh, one which she would not declare a waste of, not only her life, but her birth DAY. Alas, they were unsuccessful. Now, it could be argued that since it was my birthday I had higher expectations than I normally do and therefore, you couldn’t judge K&S to be a bad movie based on my vomiting-sounds… but, that argument would be wrong. Wrong on so many levels. My vomiting sounds are just and good, I assure you.

It sucked, and it made me look at Mr. Ferrell with a skeptical eye. Kind of the same thing that happened between me and Adam Sandler after Little Nicky came out. There were too many roles like Buddy and not enough like Federal Wildlife Marshal Willenholly.

But was he not one of the Butabis? Will he not always be a Butabi? No…..???..... YESSSS!!!!!!!

Hahahahahahahahaha…. See? Sorry, but I told you.

Anyway, I have since given Will a chance, but without expectation, in each movie or role he brings forth… with no less pain and screaming than in childbirth, I’m sure.... if I happen to be around when it comes on. There was nothing, however, short of a Voice speaking from the clouds, that would have made me add Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby to my Netflix queue… except perhaps a request from Bitty.

Since I would probably do anything for Bitty, including but not limited to: dancing naked on her landlord’s doorstep to reduce her rent, walk barefoot on really kind of sharp-ended and annoyingly unstable rocks for like, thirty or even thirty-five feet, and/or eating a sandwich with mayonnaise on it (hurl)… it was with enthusiasm, but no true expectation, that I put Ricky Bobby into the DVD player and sat back to watch.

I have to say, it was a pleasant surprise.

We know (or those of you who have read these posts for a time) that I am always in search of the Elusive And Actual LOL. I found it, watching Old Ricky. Ferrell’s character is a parody of rednecked American manhood, a race car driver without equal. He drives to win, and win he does….there are quite a few little threads through the story, including that Ricky drives “for” his father, a shiftless wonder who abandoned the kid when he was 10, with a few words of wisdom to live by, such as “If you aint first, you’re last!” R.B. spends most of the time joined with his sidekick, Cal, another driver, who sweetly stands aside so his buddy can have the spotlight to himself. The dialogue between those two, Ferrell and Reilly, is pee-pee inducing, I tell you. They have great chemistry and play off one another like a set of perfectly tuned piano keys.

Ricky is married to a gorgeous, ambitious, barracuda-woman who is driven to passion by his winning (and his money), and they have spawned two hellishly bratty kids. I know that the rest of my family really enjoyed watching the children behave like monsters, cursing at their grandfather and behaving hideously enough to invite a beating with a belt, and even though I generally hate watching kids do this, I wasn’t turned off, because it was simply more ridiculousness piled on top of the rest of the ridiculousness of the movie.

There are the (almost too) long gags such as Ricky’s prayers at the dinner table… he insists upon praying to the Infant Jesus, refusing to imagine Him as a grown man, and his descriptions of the swaddled savior are genuinely chuckle-worthy. There is the movie-long laugh of Jean Girard, the French, flamboyantly gay, race car driver who is Ricky Bobby’s arch enemy. (He speaks in such a horrible, over-the-top French accent you can’t help but laugh when R.B tells him “you sound like a dog with peanut butter on the roof of your mouth”).Then there are the blink and you’ll miss them laughs too, such as the Crystal Gale t-shirt R.B. wears (yeah the chick with the hair…have I ever actually seen a Crystal Gale t-shirt since 1984? No, I have not.) and the fact that the French pit crew kiss each other on each cheek before the race begins while the Americans, you, know, shake hands and pound each others’ shoulders.

Talladega Nights follows the basic formula for success with American comedies. Big winner has some traumatic occurrence which knocks him sprawling from his pedestal while his evil nemesis laughs at his shame… tapping into the greater American psyche with that one. Hero must then fight to regain his position of glory, in the process triumph over evil nemesis and learn valuable lessons about life, truth, and the American way. And somewhere in there, it is required that a mousy, unnoticeable female character have a major transformation, becoming the Hottie So Naughty by the end of the show.

T.N. hits all the right notes for the formula, which would have bored the piss out of me normally, but this time, it was the odd and odder moments sprinkled throughout that kept me watching… and laughing.

I give it 3 &s

&…. The return to ridiculous humor makes me smile at Will Ferrell again

&…. The storyline itself was fairly cohesive and easy to follow

&…. Lines like this deserve an &… “Diablo is Spanish for, like… a fighting chicken.”

Please note, if you made it all the way down here, you're probably a faithful reader. In my last post to Kaat Litter I said I was making the blog private and to send your email address if you wanted to keep reading. I did NOT mean this blog. I have had a couple of emails about it. The Biased Book and Movie Review will remain public. :)

Pan’s Labyrinth Movie Review

2007-01-31T00:01:00.000-08:00

Pan’s Labyrinth

Starring: Ivana Baquero, Ariadna Gil, Sergi López

Directed by: Guillermo del Toro

Rated: R for graphic violence and some language

112 min

Drumroll please….

Ok, the musical accompaniment is probably not necessary. But here I am. Tah-DAH.

See? Drums would be nice after such a long absence.

I have no excuse. One of my many mantras…make no excuse unless you have someone to lie for you. And since no one was willing to lie about me having my leg removed due to the bite of a rare, hairy, spotted, STD-inflicted flea…. I have no excuse. Not that me missing a leg would be a reasonable excuse for not reviewing… I mean, you don’t need all ten toes to type, only four, right? And it’s not like I haven’t been reading and watching since I posted last, I have.

I’m just kind of lazy. I apologize to those of you who missed me, and to those of you who didn't, well, kiss my flea-bitten leg...it's in the garbage over there.

Ok, there, with that out of the way, let’s talk about creepiness.

The kind of creepiness that bubbles throughout the Spanish fairy tale, Pan’s Labyrinth (original title: El Laberinto del Fauno). When I left the theater, I was thinking hard, about the movie, its gruesome beauty, its wonderful special effects, its great acting… and also I was thinking about what kind of a sick, twisted-up mind comes up with the kind of creature that chases the little heroine during one bite-your-nails scene…. The thing sticks eyeballs in its palms and then hold its sharp-nailed, freakishly long-fingered hands up in front of its eyeless face, spreading the digits out- ewwwww. Excuse me while I shudder.

Ofelia, said heroine, has several enormous problems. The eyeball monster is only one of them. There is also the fact that her mother is having a very difficult pregnancy. There’s the mother’s new husband, a stepfather to rival the evil of Cinderella’s stepmama. There’s the fact that she has discovered this crazy, underground, magical kingdom of which she is apparently the long lost princess, and she has tasks to complete before she can return home. Tasks include but are not limited to; being chased by Eyeballs In Hands Dude, retrieving a key from the belly of a rather large and disgusting toad, and deciding just how much she can trust the faun who has revealed her magical destiny to her.

The faun itself is pretty creepy, but by creepy, in this case, I mean it in the… gee, I never thought of a faun as being covered with dirt and moss and making creaking sounds when it moves… kind of way.

Ofelia and her mother, Carmen, are in war-torn Europe, during World War Two. The Capitan, Ofelia’s badass (and not in a good way) stepfather is after those pesky rebels that keep going around thinking they are equal or something. Ofelia befriends Mercedes, the housekeeper, a kind, loving woman who takes the girl under her wing despite the fact that she has a few things on her mind too…namely her brother, the leader of the rebels, and that little problem of her boss being out for bro’s blood.

When I first saw the poster for this movie, I thought it was a kid’s movie. Note, doting parents of imaginative children like mine… this is Not a Kid’s Movie. (My thirteen year old enjoyed it, and didn’t complain once about reading subtitles, either! I wouldn’t have brought my ten year old on pain of death, on the other hand.) It is not rated R for the fun of it. I had to actually look away from the screen more than once, and swallow so as not to upchuck the popcorn I was merrily munching until the good old captain took a bottle to some poor peasant’s face. Yes, it’s violence, and of the graphic type. But it’s graphically wonderful too. Every actor in this film gives a spectacular performance. If the idea behind acting is to make us feel the character, his or her motives, ambitions, love and hate and, in some fun cases, seething worm-eaten madness... well then, this cast succeeds. The creatures populating the underground kingdom are wonderful and believable, if you have that kind of heart that beats twice as fast in anticipation of good old fashioned Brother’s Grimm-type fairytales. Not the one where the wolf and Red Riding Hood saunter off arm-in-arm to share scones with Gramma. No, this is the one where the wolf gobbles up grams and the little red-caped wonder, and then gets his belly chopped open by an enthusiastic woodsman.

I’m not talking about happily ever after. I’m talking about move you, grip you, and make you think about it as you’re falling asleep that night.

I give it 5 &’s…

&… the computer animation/graphics/whatever were wonderful

&…. The fairytale was spellbinding

&…. The WWII plot was skillfully woven right into it

&… the acting of everyone was pretty damn wonderful

&… that Eyeball Guy... he was like something out of Stephen King’s personal nightmare closet.

Eragon Book AND Movie Review

2007-01-11T08:52:00.000-08:00

Eragon (the Book)

By Christopher Paolini

Published by Knopf Books for young readers

544 pages

Eragon (the Movie)

Directed by: Stefen Fangmeier

Starring: Edward Speleers, Jeremy Irons, Sienna Guillory

Rated PG for fantasy violence, intense battle sequences and some frightening images

104 minutes

I will just start out on a positive note, letting ya’all know with no uncertainty whatsoever that Eragon is a dang good book. If you are a Reader like me (note the capital, it means something… and if you don’t know what it means, then don’t worry, you’re not one.) then you will find yourself satisfied by this big hunk o’ book. The cover shows a dragon out of every fantasy-lover’s dreams, silvery-blue scales and huge eye gleaming, but not unkindly. ( I always liked that backwards-sounding phrase that is in use so freely…. I mean think about it, doesn’t it sound like it has too many words… “he smiled, but not unkindly.” Seems like it should just say, “He smiled kindly”. But hey that’s me, and just one example of the bizarreness my mind will travel to when it’s left on its own for too long. I better get back to it) The story, of a young farm boy who goes hunting in the creepy woods called The Spine, and finds an unusual stone that later hatches, will warm the cockles of any fantasy-lover’s heart.

And, not to go off-track again here, but what in the HELL are cockles, anyway? It makes me think of those little spiny prickly balls that stick to the cuffs of your pants while you’re walking through fields, and I don’t normally associate small, spiny annoyances with my heart, but in this case, I’m forced to. So if anyone knows what a real “cockle”, of the heart type, is, feel free to let us all know. We’re on tenterhooks. And if you know what a tenterhook is, you get bonus points.

Ok back to the story. Eragon, who is not the dragon, but the boy, finds this big blue rock. He seems to forget pretty quickly that he found the blue rock during an unusual lightning-crack explosion that scorched the woods around him. The few little discrepancies such as this that are found in the book are easily forgiven once the reader discovers that the author was fifteen when he penned the tale.

Yes the rock hatches, and here’s your big surprise of the day, it is a dragon that crawls out, not a chicken. A female dragon, to be precise, of the blue variety. Her name is Saphira, and fairly quickly we learn that she has chosen to hatch for Eragon, and with this hatching and choosing, a new legend has come to life…. The Dragon Riders are reborn! Prophesies are being fulfilled, and Eragon and Saphira set off on major adventures with Brom, his guide and mentor, who is the crusty old storyteller from the village.. or is he?

I’m not telling any more of the story because if you haven’t read it, you’ll want to find out all the good stuff on your own. And if you have read it, you already know. And if you don’t want to read it, screw you. Haaa! Just KIDDING. But the point is, no more spoilers.

The movie, you see, had enough spoilage for anyone. And by spoilage, I don’t mean the give-away-surprises kind. I mean the stinky, rotten, hold your nose kind. Again I went against all of training as a reviewer and did not prepare myself for this movie-going experience with other reviews beforehand. Make not my mistakes, children! Always read the reviews before you waste that eight dollars on a ticket to a movie that won’t even let you enjoy your popcorn sprinkled with white cheddar.

An example of a damn good fantasy book turned into a damn good fantasy movie is Lord of the Rings. An example of a damn good fantasy book turned into a just-another Disney movie with big flashy CG scenes and very little to do with the actual, you know, story… is Eragon. As far as Eragon Le Movie is concerned, well, “Le Pyew”, I would say, if I was a cartoon character, which I am not, contrary to popular belief.

It is fine movie if it’s not supposed to bear much resemblance to the book. It’s a fine movie to take your ten year old son to, he who has not read the book. It’s a fine movie if your idea of a good movie is dragons talking in a too-wise voice in Eragon’s head, him acting like a spoiled little baby until suddenly he becomes this warrior dude, like in a split second. It’s fine if you don’t mind the huge leaps and gaps in the storyline, filled in with action sequences such as Saphira flying speedily through a canyon, and the walls are racing past at a rate fast enough to make you dizzy. It’s fine if you don’t mind that the makers of the movie decide to totally create a googly- eyed, almost-love story between eragon and the Elf Princess, when in the book, she barely acknowledges his presence and is totally disgusted by his fumbling, little boy crush. She’s like, a hundred years old, and he is like a teenage human, with all the wisdom and maturity that goes along with that. Snort. That was the part I disliked the most. The wise and noble Elf Princess making eyes back at the stuttering, goofy, farmboy.

AS IF.

So, fellow Readers, enjoy the book and skip the movie. Movie-goers, enjoy the movie but don’t expect a life-changing experience. It aint no LOTR, peeps, but the book can hold its own.

I give the book an orange on the Reading Rainbow

I give the movie 2 &s….

& it had good graphics, or animation, or whatever you wanna call it

& it had a couple of pretty good fight scenes and we all know I’m all about that.

Rocky Balboa Movie Review

2006-12-31T11:19:00.000-08:00

Rocky Balboa

2006

Starring: Sylvester Stallone, Antonio Tarver, Burt Young, Milo Ventimiglia, Geraldine Hughes

Written and Directed by Sylvester Stallone

Rated: PG for boxing violence and some language

102 minutes

There is something about the Rocky movies that always pulls me in. Even the really, really bad # 5, where Rocky has this protégée named something silly like Tiger, no, wait, it was Tommy Gunn… same difference, and the young, hotheaded punk turns on his mentor and picks a street fight with him… we could have told him he wasn’t going to win against Rocky, any more than he would win against a rock wall… but that’s the movie. I have to say, I hated that this was the supposed end to the Rocky series. Rocky V was ridiculous and a sucky ending, but I chose to simply not think of it. Instead I liked to think of the original Rocky. Like other Stallone movies, (Think First Blood- an awesome, totally righteous movie that was spoiled horribly by the sequel, a little silly ditty called Rambo) the original movie was a piece of work, and I mean that in a good way.

So…in every other Rocky movie, I was certain of one thing… in the end, Rocky was going to win. No matter how badly he was getting beaten, I knew at some point, the tables would turn, and the Italian Stallion would make mincemeat out of his opponent.

So when I went to see Rocky Balboa, the improbable sixth (and final) installment to the series, I was understandably worried.

To tell the truth, when I first heard of this movie, I thought it was a joke. Doesn’t it sound like a joke? Sly, sixty years old, is getting in the ring in another Rocky movie…? Laughter, groans… what? You mean, for real? Yeah, for real. He’s making another one. Well, I was not seeing this… this travesty! I would ignore it, and hopefully, it would go away quietly. I could pretend that the series ended with Rocky triumphantly telling the Russians that we could all get along, ending the Cold War single-handedly with his supreme butt-kicking of the scientifically enhanced, almost inhuman Dolph Lundgren who... let us not forget… killed Apollo Creed! The thought crept up on me. If they would kill off Apollo, wouldn’t they possibly… gulp… let Rocky lose?

OK, I’m not going to spoil it by telling you…. awwww, I know… but I will tell you this, it doesn’t matter.

Rocky Balboa is a great movie. You heard me. Not just good, but great. A fitting, perfect finish to the Rocky mythos. Stallone takes us back to the beginning, staying true to the original Rocky, both in personality and in heart.

Yes, Rocky is old, but he is old in the way a warhorse is old, still tough, but possibly gentler and smarter. Still not a horse you want to get kicked by. Stallone is in truly impressive shape. I will not blame you if you find yourself choked up on more than one occasion during the show… Rocky’s darling Adrian is, gulp, dead. She died three years previously of cancer, and it is obvious to even the most hard-hearted viewer that Rocky has not exactly gotten over her loss. This is evidenced by the chair he stashes in a nearby tree at the cemetery where she is buried, for the long hours he spends sitting in front of her flower-bedecked headstone, talking to her as if she were alive. One particularly “ouch” moment has Rocky waking up, alone, and staring sadly at the pair of turtles on a stand in his bedroom. You can practically read his simple, honest heart as he watches them, acutely aware of being a remaining half of a pair, probably never going to be comfortable as a single piece again.

He is estranged from his son, who has grown into a stiff-necked asshole who resents his father’s larger-than-life legend. (He doesn’t like people always asking him about his dad. He doesn’t like being known as Rocky junior, and as we look at his stick-thin figure, we can see why. Rocky looms over him like a bear over a fawn.) Yet Rocky is filled with a forgiving, tender love for the distant child, and continues to seek his affection and presence in his own lonely life. When about halfway through the movie, they reconcile, the viewer is relieved that she doesn’t need to despise young Balboa any longer, especially as once he decides to be on daddy’s side, he is unbendingly there, for the remainder of the film. Adrian’s brother Paulie, is still around, as crusty and cantankerous as ever, but impatient with Rocky’s unrelenting grief.

Rocky, the owner of a fairly successful restaurant (an Italian restaurant where the cooks are Mexicans, as Paulie points out humorously, and correctly) spends his evenings in an ill-fitting suit jacket, going from table to table, telling people stories of the good old days. It is a pretty depressing end for the once glamorous champion, but Rocky seems reasonably content in his life, especially once he renews an old friendship with a neighborhood girl and her son, whom he quickly takes under once massive wing, becoming role-model and mentor unhesitatingly, because well, Rocky is just a damn good guy.

A “computer match” between Rocky and the now Champion, the unpopular Mason “The Line” Dixon (real life boxer Antonio Tarver), brings Rocky back to the public’s attention again as it is argued who would win this impossible match. The computer says Rocky would kick Dixon’s butt, but there’s no way to know for sure… or is there?

Rocky, unable to explain the complex emotions he is experiencing as he considers an Exhibition Match with the champ, still tries to explain to disbelieving family and friends. His grief over Adrian, his confusion over growing old and being considered washed up and done, while inside, he still feels vital and strong, struck a chord of understanding in me, the viewer, as I watched him struggle. Fighting again would release the “beast” he has felt living inside his gut since Adrian’s death. The essential training montage is painful and wonderful, the music raising our hopes even as we wince at the thought of this old guy going glove-to-glove with the young and arrogant Dixon.

The entire movie can be summed up in the line that quickly takes on the essence of the entire plot. Rocky, rueful grin in place, tells Paulie, and the rest of the world, about being older, but not being done.

“There’s still some stuff in the basement.”

Indeed there is.

I give Rocky Balboa 5 &’s

&… it was a fitting end to a much-loved series of movies

&… Stallone was particularly perfect in the familiar role, to which he stayed TRUE

&… the storyline was gentle, sad, beautiful… much more than just another fight movie

&… it still had the ability to make my throat swell when he reached the top of those stairs

&… come on, it was Rocky, as Rocky is meant to be done!

P.S. I loved this quote from Sly himself… perfectly summed it up.

SYLVESTER STALLONE: “In the beginning of this film, "Rocky Balboa," I thought if his life is still intact then you really don't have a, a launching pad, a starting off point. But, if the most precious thing is taken away from you and your stability is askew, your best years supposedly have come and gone and you're alone. Alone full of grief, full of rage, full of anger, you know, what do I do now? What's the last chapter of my life? There is your starting off point. And I think that people need a mountain to climb. And I also read about a few men who, you know, in their late 50s, who decided to climb the seven largest peaks in the world just to, you know, do it. Well this is literally going out and trying to find a mountain to climb, which is going to really change, not just his life, but the lives of the people around him.”

Stephen King's "Lisey's Story" Book Review

2006-12-22T10:18:00.000-08:00

Lisey’s Story

By Stephen King

Published by Scribner

528 pages

Lisey’s Story does not “start out” like most Stephen King books. I’ll give you the loud and clear on that. In fact, as I commented to a friend, if a person wasn’t a slave- err, I mean fan of The King, a person just might get a little fed up with the beginning of the book and maybe drop it, concluding it to be not worthwhile. That person would be wrong, but anyone who is reading it is probably a King fan to begin with, so they’ll know, as I did, that the point, when he gets to it, will be either glorious, terrifying, or, more likely, both.

It is two years since Lisey’s husband, Scott, has died. She has wrestled with grief and anger, anyone familiar with loss will sympathize. She is only now beginning the arduous task of cleaning his office, with the help of her slightly-off sister. However, the meandering tone set in the beginning of this book could get a little long for some. King trails around, not really seeming to get anywhere, and we dash between characters and times abruptly. There’s a whole lotta thinking going on, and not quite enough action. However, when the story does take off, it does so in grand King fashion.

All at once, the seemingly loose threads of the book begin to come together. Lisey finds herself the unwitting victim of a psychotic fan of her late husband, a man insanely reasonable and impossible to placate. She also finds herself dredging up old memories, some that she has buried on purpose, such as the magical, beautifully threatening world that Scott visited frequently during his life, Boo’ya Moon

Scott has left Lisey a legacy, a treasure hunt of clues leading to the answers to the mysteries surrounding Scott and his adventures in Boo’ya Moon. As she follows the sometimes-gruesome trail, Lisey overturns stones with squirmy, classic King stuff beneath them- Scott’s traumatic childhood and very unusual family, for instance, but it quickly becomes very possibly the only path that will allow Lisey herself to survive.

Lisey’s Story is a horror novel, yes, if such an indescriptive title can still be placed upon the work of Stephen King. Personally, I think we need to make up a brand new word to use as a description for his writing…. Something that implies the greatness of it, the yumminess, the chocolate chip cookie dough ecstasy of reading his books. Ok, maybe that’s just me, but dammit, it is not a coincidence that he’s so aptly named. Back to my point. Yes, it’s a horror story, and a fine one… creepy crawly thoughts will plague your mind when you read it before bed… but more than that, this is a love story. We the readers get a glimpse through the door of a marriage that is based on love, deep and true and undeterred by death. In short, we get to see Mr. King’s romantic side here, and it’s just as deep as his imagination. Very, very touching.

As always, King beguiles with well fleshed-out characters. These are people that think the way people think, act the way people act. That is with the exception, of course, of the psychotic villain who acts as only people in King’s imagination acts. What a very, very scary place to live. But I’m so glad he lets us visit!

I give it a PINK on the Reading Rainbow.

Superman Returns Movie Review

2006-12-17T10:31:00.000-08:00

Superman Returns
2006
Starring: Brandon Routh, Kate Bosworth, Kevin Spacey
Directed by: Bryan Singer
Rated: PG-13 for some intense action violence.
154 min

Warning- you know I’m going to spoil you, so don’t read it if you don’t wanna know about it. Spoilers start about mid-way.
Let’s talk about heroes. Who was your favorite when you were a kid? There was Wonder Woman for me, with her kick-ass lariat (she could rope the bad guys, how extremely cool is that?) and Belt o’ Truth. Let’s not even mention the invisible plane, or we’re gonna be here all night. Smile and think of all of the members of the Justice League. My brother, who never wanted to be like anyone else, loved the Green Lantern. Batman was pretty cool with his vast wealth and innumerable gadgets. I went through a brief, intense passion for The Bionic Woman, who if not a super hero, exactly, was certainly super, and personally my hero. I’ll tell you a secret. In the bathtub, I used to submerge in the water and drift up and down in the water, so that my hair would wave around me. This was my personal fantasy of being Jaime Somers, in slo-mo, with my hair bouncing in glorious waves upon my shoulders as I ran to fight the bad guys, my faithful Max, the Bionic Dog, at my side.
But now, let’s stop and consider the Real Deal.
Mr. All That.
The Original, The Perfect, the Absolute Super Hero of all superheroes.
The Man.
The Superman.
When I popped Superman Returns into the DVD player, I wasn’t expecting to re-experience the swell of wonder and sweet delight that Christopher Reeves brought out in me when I was a little kid. I thought I’d sit back and watch a fairly good action flick, and read the new Stephen King book at the same time.
I am as shocked as you when I report that I actually set “Lisey’s Story” aside.
(Of course I stayed up the rest of the night to finish the book, but the point is that I chose to watch the movie over the book… the new, never-yet-read Stephen King book, ya’all.)
The action was fairly good. What was better was that already-mentioned feeling. I couldn’t help it, I was a prisoner to my emotions…when the cascading theme music filled my ears, when Superman busts a move and stops a plane (carrying his beloved Lois) from fiery destruction in the first real action scene, my heart felt like it was going to bust.
Singer is totally faithful to the Superman legend. He was obviously one of the kids who loved the red-caped butt kicker and brings him to life again in this movie, reminding us of Superman’s’ unshakeable confidence and do-good attitude, his gentle, unassuming Clark Kent, and the horrors of kryptonite, keeping it real by slight modern twists to the storyline.
Here’s the story, Morning Glory.
Superman has been gone for five long and lonely years. It seems that scientists believed they had found his home planet, Krypton, and he had an inescapable need to go look-see for hisself. Five years in vain, apparently, and we are not bored with long stories of his un-discovery. It was a ruin, period, end of the talk of Krypton. Whew says me, who hates unnecessary dialogue about things not pertinent to the point of the movie.
Here we get to consider Superman’s human, little-bit-screwed-up side. Lex Luther has been paroled from his million year prison term because Superman was not there to testify in his case. DOH! Lois, deserted by the super bastard, has hooked up with this damned likeable pilot, who treats her the way a man should treat a woman. Oops. She has also won a Pulitzer for her “Why the World Doesn’t Need Superman.” Ouch. The biggest shocker is that she’s now a mama, and her adorable, asthmatic son is the real love of her life nowadays. Gasp.
Luther is, of course, up to no good, and this time, he just might succeed. Lois must be turned from her anti-Superman ways and the world must be saved and can he do it, we ask, even though he’s Superman??? With chaos exploding around him, our caped crusader is put to the test. And with the faith of the young, we watch with a tingle of anticipation, knowing that yes, he will succeed, and we will be there to watch it, and isn't this just like the olden days?

Yeah, it kinda is. I'm a sucker for nostalgia, and this case is no different.
There’s a twist to the plot that I’m choosing not to divulge, but it’s fairly obvious and you’ll see it coming a mile off. I felt it added spice to the storyline and promises future Superman Movies to come.
I, for one, look forward to them.

I give it 4 &’s
&… it was a trip down nostalgia lane, in a good way
&… the special effects were … well, super.
&… Superman is the man I remember him to be
&… Spacey as Luther is hilarious

Troll Baby Blog Review

2006-12-11T09:44:00.000-08:00

Troll Baby Blog Review

www.trollbaby.com

blog about life with a mellow husband, a good child, and a troll baby, or in her own words...

"Canadian Mother of two boys - one Good Child and one Troll Baby. She is married to a wonderful man who loves her with everything he has got. Throw in an anxious female lab, and a rotten childhood (her own, not the dog's), that she sometimes makes fun of, and you've got one funny, touching place to fall on a daily basis. Put some fun in YOUR dysfunctional. Every. Single. Day."

I got an email this week from a regular reader who was complaining about my lack of posts. Well, I said to myself, the nerve of some people. Didn’t he go over and read all about my exciting new job at Kaat Litter?

Then I said to him, Ohmygod I’m so sorry, please don’t stop liking me…please keep coming to my blog. I promise I’ll be good, I promise! Please please just don’t go away!

And I fully intend to keep my word, to post more regularly, and to review SuperMan Returns, another promise I have not yet kept….. just not this week.

This week, I’m bringing you a Blog Review Monday. I hope each and every reader who adores me, and those that despise me as well, will vote in the weblog awards. If you adore me, do it because you adore me! If you despise me, do it because it will be a psychological backass thing to do and it will make me wonder what you are up to, for well, hours probably. See…Troll Baby has been selected as a finalist for Best Parenting Blog right here.

And if you have been paying attention to anything I say in the past, you will know that Troll Baby is simply my favorite mommyblog of, well, ever.

Troll Baby chronicles the life of one Karen Rani, owner and operator of the fabulous Troll Baby Designs. In said life, she is joined by her husband and (probably a really easy-going guy) Daren, her eldest, a Good Child (Dylan), and her youngest, The Troll Baby (Thomas) of Troll Baby fame.

Karen has had a “rough” life. I’m not saying that because she’s a pity seeker or a poor-me’er. Not in the least. In fact, she’s plucky, determined, optimistic, and just generally, an all-around kick-ass gal. She’s a perfect example of someone who has survived a less than stellar childhood and risen to a place of peace and happiness in her present- without letting the past call the shots. So often, people let their crappy childhoods pave the way for all future endeavors. It’s an excuse, even if it’s a real one, it’s still an excuse. I’m guilty of it myself on the rare (ok, so not very rare, but kind of rare) occasion. It makes me admire peeps like Karen all the more.

Ok, enough about how golden her character is. As she reads this, she’ll probably heave. Let’s get into the real nitty gritty…the real reason she’s my mommyblogger of all mommybloggers… the truth behind Troll Baby.

It’s just bust-a-gut, roll on the literal dirty floor, make ya tinkle, FUNNY.

This week, she’s teaching us how to make nipple cookies. See photo above. I ask you, can you do too much for a woman who will teach you that?

She used to have links on her blog to the Best Troll Baby Posts Ever, and that was very handy, for when you wanted to quickly find and read classic troll baby stories. (Are you reading this, Karen? Some of your fans forgot to bookmark the important posts and now can’t FIND them!) I used to amuse (and/or annoy) my husband by reading these posts outloud, laughing almost too hard to read, while he stood patiently, leaning toward the door, his eyes getting wider and wider, his smile tighter and tighter, as I gasped, “OHMY… wait, wait, here! Here’s another one. LISTEN!” Come to think of it, he might be glad the links are gone.

But I’ve dug around for a few of my personal favorites, for your clicking pleasure.

Where Thomas learns a new word….

Where you can discover why Karen refers to Dylan as the Good Child, and admire him from afar, as I do… this kid is seriously sweet- so sweet you probably gain a pound from reading about him.

Where you can laugh yourself silly over Troll Babyisms as I call ‘em (translated: that’s when Thomas talks, and Karen writes it up, it is too frickin hilarious, man!)

Where Thomas turns TWO, post filled with delightful Troll Babyisms and guaranteed to make any mother who even remotely remembers her children/s’ toddler years with any affection whatsoever… want to bawl. Here comes the throat lumps, here they come, dammit!

These are just some samples of Troll Bloggity Goodness. I suggest if you read them, and like them, that you shower Karen with praise and ask her real nice-like to post links to her Best posts Ever. You’ll be glad you did. I’ll be glad you did. Karen will pretend to be glad you did. We’ll all be glad, and it will be a glad, glad day.

Troll baby. Best Mommyblogger in the whole dang world. Check it.

Damn- don’t forget to vote! It’ll take three seconds of your time and I’ll feel obligated toward you forever. Who doesn’t like a nice cloud of obligation over a friend’s head, huh?

Capensis Calamity Blog Review

2006-12-03T20:54:00.000-08:00

Capensis Calamity Blog Review

Blog about adventures in Africa with bees

(and incidentally... my first bugs with beta are crawling out...so if this font is all screwed up, I apologize. It's not me. It's the BETA.)

Capensis Calamity is a fairly new blog, one of my finds when I was having a day of near-record boredom, click-click-clicking away on the Next Blog button. I admit I almost gave it a big, capital P “PASS” when I read his blog description,

“How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.-Henry David Thoreau”

But I gave it a lookee-look and I’m certainly glad I did. ‘Cause, my friends, this guy is standing up and doing some living! Old Thoreau would have totally approved, unlike how he’d feel about boring-as-hell, non-living folk like me who sit on their asses and worry about bills instead of trekking through Africa and being a superhero and…well, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Since June, our hero of the story, who I do not think is either female, or 104 years old, as the profile would have you believe, has been tramping about South Africa, “in search of fame, honey, and dogs with bees in their mouth so when they bark they shoot bees at you.” Well, the first month in the archives is June, but it contains only a picture of (presumably) our blogger. Yes, the one above.

I have to say this… my only complaint is that he doesn’t write enough. The last post, while incredibly awesome… I mean, it has photographs of a gigantic red grasshopper that nobody in America has ever seen… it was on November 13^th. Come on now, Mr. Calamity, let’s get a move on here and start with the blogging.

(Yes, I realize the irony of me telling someone else they should ‘keep upon’ their blog. Haa haa hee hee. That’s me. Ironic.)

So, scanty as they are, the posts are quite enthralling. June holds nothing but the above picture, but in September, things started getting interesting. On September 24^th, there were the daring chronicles of the search for killer bees. Did they find them? Well, yes indeed, and you can read for yourself, if you’d like. Did it involve stinging, one might ask?

At some point in the late night trip back to the guesthouse we had lost the lids of one of the killer bee hives, and in the quiet of dawn the bees were becoming restless. Getting in to the car involved a few more stings to the face and neck, though by now the swelling was as bad as was it was going to get and the pain was dulled by the lack of sleep.

Not only do the bee-seekers get themselves stung, but they release veritable havoc on the poor gas station attendants, as well. I have to wonder, is being stung by thousands of bees a normal risk a gas station attendant faces in South Africa?

We pulled up at the service station and were greeted as always in South African petrol stations by four or five attendants. Quickly they set about washing the windscreen, opening the petrol cap, checking the tyres. And quickly the Killer Bees set about f**king up all and sundry in the area. Pouring out into the petrol station the tiny weapons of death started stinging the attendants and then set out to find anything else that was moving...with dismay I watched a family pull up in 4WD and all hop out into the path of the bees.

The end of that post includes a picture of an interestingly swollen-faced blogger with what we presume are many painful bee-stings causing the said swelling. Think onthat for a wee minute. The face is swollen from bee stings. Da-yum. I ask, what more could you ask for? Aren’t we all, on some deep and rarely discussed level, quite afraid of bees and their pokey little asses? Well, I am, and I aint afeared to admit it, so this blog is a lesson in bravery. Written in that dry british-sounding sense of humor to boot. And, bonus, it’s full of great pictures like the grasshopper ones. The above-mentioned bees, of course, but there are pictures of tiny tortoises, too. Again, I ask it… What more could you ask for?

You could ask for other animal pics, and maybe throw in a photo or two of a grinning man with what appears to be a pyramid of fruit and/or feathers on his head. Up, yup, here it is. Allow me a small quote:

“….is truly the scariest man I've ever met. He moved around much like a puppet, as though he weighed nothing despite his massive headdress. He also sang through his teeth in a high pitched hum and suddenly burst into fits of staccato, monotone laughter. If anyone gave him money he danced around in circles crying "Thank-lyou, Thank-lyou". The nightmares continue.”

You could ask for colorful and intriguing dialogue such as:

“FUCK, THESE BEES FUCKED US MAN!"

"THIS IS KAK! THESE FUCKING BEES ARE KAK MAN!"

Uh-huh, and check.

It won’t take you long to delve into the interesting life of Capensis Clamity and come out the other side just like me, with a big ass grin on your face and one burning question… When the heck is he gonna post next? Check it!

The Ghost and The Darkness Movie Review

2006-11-28T07:46:00.000-08:00

… and a review of the “New Releases” at Netflix. Thumbs down.

The Ghost and The Darkness

1996

Written by: William Goldman

Starring: Val Kilmer, Michael Douglas

Directed by: Stephen Hopkins

Rated: R for some violence and gore involving animal attacks

109 minutes

For Oldie But Goodie Day…

oh you didn’t know about that one? Well, it’s the first Saturday after Thanksgiving, when you’re eating stale pumpkin pie and sandwiches made of dry, old bird flesh…hehehehe that was gross, if I do say so myself, and I do ….and sitting on your butt in front of the tube, and you watch an Older but Gooder movie. Get it? Got it! I knew you would.

… this year, I chose to watch The Ghost and The Darkness.

Ok, truthfully, I just made up the Oldie But Goodie day this very year, but that’s because there’s nothing good to rent! I’m too lazy and poor to drive to the actual theater unless there’s something playing there that I GOTTA see …Like Borat. I will gotta-see-go-to that one but it’s not here yet. I’m crossing fingers and making mental sacrifices to the Movie Gods because rumors say it won’t come to my eensy-weensy hick neck of the woods, but I believe in the power of mental sacrifice. Seriously, you should see the bleating of the mental sheep being slaughtered on the altar. It’s enough to impress any Movie God. …. Geesh, people, I’m kidding. Ok? Get a sense of humor. I don’t really imagine killing little sheep going “bah-bah” all innocently, with fuzzy white hair and big liquid eyes. These sheep are ugly, and mean. They have sharp horns that they use like wicked knives to slash you when you turn your back. These sheep deserve to be sacrificed. Did I mention their eyes are yellow and all slanty-pupiled? Like satan eyes? There, that ought to satisfy you bleeding mental hearts.

Seriously, my choices among the new releases on Netflix* are the likes of “Nacho Libre” (Jack Black in spandex… ewww, no, make that a double ewww…). Or there’s “Monster House”, which truthfully does look like a pretty decent cartoon flick- IF you want to watch a cartoon flick, and I don’t, not without my goddaughter spending the night. I reserve such half-way decent animated flicks for nights like those. And then there’s “Over the Hedge”, another cartoon, and this one maybe not as good. If you’re a rabid, wild-eyed Over the Hedge fan, for god’s sake, don’t spew foam-flecked fury at me. I said “maybe not as good”. I really don’t know and don’t intend to waste the effort of typing to find out what kind of reviews it got. The whole cartoon thing again, you know. Let’s not forget our next choice… Ice Age:The Meltdown. This was indeed, Uhdorabull, but I saw it. (small children in my care+rainyday+local theater was playing it= How I Saw IceAge:TMD.) So, this lineup of New Releases in the Netflick’s hallowed lists leads one naturally to the question of, WTF? Or, to be less vulgar, why are there all of these kid movies being let loose on us right now? Or is it a conspiracy focused upon me and my netflix account alone? Gawd, I hadn’t thought of that until just now, but it’s beginning to all become clear now….

Other boring to mind-numbingly boring choices in New Releases are… The Breakup and um, I’m sorry, but I’ve had all of the breaking up and Jennifer Aniston I can handle this year. Not to mention the photograph on the cover of the DVD shows Vince Vaughn in bed, presumably undressed. EWWWW, I say again! Our wonderous The Lake House… my first movie review, ah the nostalgia…. Tom Cruise (who is nuts) in MI:3 and that is not a movie I would ever watch without it being a condition upon which my hostage-held family member would be released unharmed. Look at all of those words, and they are saying one thing… there’s nothing good, and new, to rent. If you’re going, “NUH-UH, Kaat, there’s THIS movie that’s new and good…” please, do share.

And how I digress…. The point of this review is The Ghost and The Darkness, the Oldie But Goodie Day Movie. I must stress the word “day” in that last sentence, because the first time I saw this movie it was night, and a rather dark and windy-blowy-scary night and, well, quite frankly, it made me pee a little when I had to walk a long distance to my car.

Based, yes, on a True Story, always a hook for me, TGATD takes place in Africa, in 1898. Our hero, Col. John Henry Patterson (played by Kilmer) is in charge of getting a bridge built for the railroad. He succeeds, then his career is made and life is gravy. He fails, and his reputation and his ass can be kissed goodbye. None of this would be a problem if it weren’t for the crazy antics of a couple of local lions. They are called, respectively, “The Ghost” and “ The Darkness”. Cute, huh?

What is so damn freaky about this movie, aside from the normal freakiness of man-eating creatures stalking people through long grass, is that the lions were so unnatural. They didn’t behave like lions were supposed to. They attacked in the usual lion-attacking time, night, but also in broad daylight. They’ll attack someone out alone, or pick out one tender morsel from the middle of a group of people. They don’t seem to want to eat their prey, they don’t seem to be flexing any territorial muscles or anything, no these big kitties are killing folk just for the pure pleasure of it. And nothing, I mean nothing, can kill these beasts, which are quickly taking on mythical proportions and being named as demon-possessed. Here’s where I remind you- True Story.

Patterson watches his railroad workers hightail it to the hills, and desperate to get the cats dead and the bridge finished, he calls in Charles Remington, a big-game dude who aint afraid of no pussycat. Remington is played by a whiskery, leather-faced Douglas, and he does a pretty good job of it too. I’m, for once, not going to spoil anything else because if you haven’t seen this movie, and you choose to, I want to you to experience the nail-biting suspense that you’re supposed to.

After watching this movie, I did a little research. These lions were called the “ famous man-eating lions of Tsavo” and if that isn’t a title a lion can be proud of, I dunno what is. They did, in fact, behave very peculiarly, they killed around 140 people, and there is a book written by Patterson himself, that can be read online, telling the tale. If I ever get around to reading it, you know my review will follow shortly.

I give it 4 &s

&... it really did freak me out, but without a lot of CG gore

&… they used real lions instead of CG lions

&… it’s a true story, c’mon people, that means fascinating and scary

&… the music, the scenes, the low, threatening voices of the natives warning Kilmer of the lions’ eveeel, all of it gives you a big old case of the heebie jeebies and if you don’t jump at least once, then you’ve got steel nerves, baby. Steel ones.

*If you get Netflix, for gosh golly sakes, add me to your FRIENDS list. It’s so easy. My email is meowkaat@hotmail.com. I want to see what everyone else is watching, too!

Kaat Litter Blog Preview

2006-11-26T08:27:00.000-08:00

Blog Preview:
Kaat Litter

http://kaatlitter.blogspot.com/

blog about my boring and completely unexciting life so that I will no longer clutter up this place with personal posts about the above mentioned boring and completely unexciting life.

Alrighty, this is kind of response to what some people have done over the past couple of days, and kind of in response to an email I received, that said: “I love it when you write non-reviewing posts! Well I love your reviews but it’s nice to get to see a little of your life as a real person. I know that you have a personal blog but it’s secret and I wish I knew where it was because I want to know more about you.”

I have had several emails about my “personal” blog, asking for the address, wanting to read it… why the hell people want to read my blah-dee-blah when they can read my personal biases about entertainment instead is beyond me. My personal blog is temporarily out of order, like much in my life, and that's ok. I think I was ready to move onward and upward. I might get it going again some year... but. In the interim, I am going to start putting a few posts here and there over at this new site. This way, I can be my totally dee-dee-dee self for the few of you that want to read it, and leave the other people just wanting reviews in peace.

So here's a PRE View for Blog Sunday.

I expect I will talk about my life, what's going where, and how it doesn't fit and was never meant to be put in there, anyway.

... oh you so have a dirty mind.

I’m going to try to be honest. I’m going to try not to get so depressing and ridiculously self-pitying that every time I open the page my eyeballs light on fire from the sheer hot-hell bullshit of it all. I’m going to try to keep it updated regularly, so that the peeps who are keeping track of me in this unusual manner (you know who you are and yeah, how sensible to read my blog instead of like, emailing me or calling me on the phone- skanks! Hehehe) will know what track I’m on and how tightly the ropes binding me to it actually are. And if I will escape before the train comes. Don't worry, I know better than to wait for the hero. If I did that, I’d be sliced and diced kaat, served with a delicious, subtle, train-wheel-searing.

I will probably talk about my children a lot, not because I’m an aspiring mommy blogger but because that’s what we moms think about 80% of the time- our offspring. My question is, does this ever go away? I mean, seriously, when they grow up and move away, will I finally be able to focus on something other than them? Does my mom think about me all the frickin time, still? I kind of doubt that and I hope not, so that I have a future of peaceful mind to look forward to.

On the mommyblog front, it seems like most of them have young children. If there are mommybloggers with older kids, kids that you know, cause you insanity and to lie awake at night, wondering if their brains have become the equivalent of that frying egg in the pan on the commercial… I wish you’d link to me, or comments, or email, so I can read about someone else’s problems for a change.

I will keep everyone updated on the job thing.

I will probably not say a lot of dark and horrible things about myself, since a lot of “real life” people that know me read this. In the case of secrets and skeletons, I’ll just have to keep posting on the True Wife Confessions blog. HA HA! That really was a joke.

So good or bad, I don’t know. But for those of you who have requested it, here you go. All the Kaat Litter and the unidentifiable lumps that it contains. Check it!

Hornet's Nest Book Review

2006-11-23T14:23:00.000-08:00

Hornet’s Nest

By: Patricia Cornwall

Published By: Putnam Adult, January 13, 1997

337 pages

Happy Thanksgiving to all and to all a good night…. Or something like that. I always get my holiday clichés messed up.

Anyway, with a (rare) day off, at least until I lose my job, I picked up a book I’ve had sitting on my desk for a couple of months. Hornet’s Nest, by Patricia Cornwall, is not a Kay Scarpetta novel. As some of you might recall, I have a weird, fascinated/repulsed relationship with Cornwall’s Scarpetta. I find Cornwall to be a good, maybe sometimes even great, writer, but her characters, Scarpetta in particular, leave me cold. Kay is self-centered, whiney and constantly in a state of personal psychoanalysis as she trots around examining brutally murdered people and solving cases that in real life, would probably be handled by the police. The secondary characters in the Scarpetta books are just as annoying. Still, I find myself reading these books whenever they come out, annoyed and exasperated, but able to follow the storyline with ease and interest. It’s a strange addiction, and I’m not proud of it, but until they come out with Cornwall Anonymous, I’ll probably go on in my crazy way.

Hornet’s Nest doesn’t take place in Scarpetta’s town, Richmond, and the main characters are not medical examiners. Virginia West is the deputy police chief in Charlotte, and the other main character, Alex Brazil, is a journalist and sometimes-volunteer police officer, assigned to cover the cop beat. Yes, it is hard to imagine the police department allowing a journalist, and a rookie one at that, to actually ride around with them while they fight crime, but in Cornwall’s world, this is a perfectly normal thing to do, especially if the rookie is a cute, young guy who looks good in a tshirt and has won many tennis championships… why is any of that important? It’s not, but you’ll read all about it in this book. You’ll also read about how he plans to (when he grows up and is really important) be nice to the little guys because everyone is so meeeen to him, and it’s just not fair at all! Sulk Sulk. Moan Moan.

Yeah, in other words, my hopes that the people in this story would be a little less petty were sadly dashed within the first couple of chapters. If anything, they’re even worse. Cornwall jumps from each one’s perspective, and the entire book is filled with their mixed-up perceptions of the other- motives, thoughts, and actions are constantly misinterpreted and taken offense against. Brazil, twenty-two and full of himself, is supposed to be a sympathetic guy, a young genius who works hard to make a name for himself among the newspapers and police department alike. This is spoiled by his childish personality. The dude is always getting his feelings hurt and dodges quickly between resenting West for being “cold, unfeeling and hateful” and wanting to get in her pants, although she is also old enough to be his mother, eats junkfood and smokes, all cardinal sins in the young, impassioned view of Mr. Brazil.

West isn’t any better. She hates the young reporter, then she likes him. She ignores his existence, and rues the day she ever met him, and then takes him to the shooting range on her day off. These people make no sense!!!! The only admirable character is the chief of police, Hammer, a tough older lady who can kick butt while wearing pearls. But I don’t think I was as impressed with her as I was supposed to be, either.

Cornwall obviously tries to write Real People, folks the reader can relate to and understand on a personal level. Maybe I’m a Pollyanna of the greatest degree, but I don’t spend even a quarter of the time these people do, trying to figure out why life is so unfair to me, and minutely describing in my own mind how evil and just plain mean others are. News flash right here and now- Life is not fair, and no one pretended it was going to be. Someone should tell Cornwall’s characters this little nugget of info.

There is no real plot to speak of. A serial murderer is on the loose, but that plotline seems less important than the relationship between West and Brazil, with all its convoluted misunderstandings and hurt feeweengs. There’s a lot of time devoted to exploring the relationship between Hammer and her husband, fat, angry, of course pathetic, Seth, who resents his powerful wife and thinks killing himself will show her how wrong she’s been in treating him like a fat, angry, pathetic man all of their married life. Alex’s mother, a grossly disgusting alcoholic, watches daytime tv an hates her son while worrying that he might leave her to fend for herself. A pervert makes obscene phone calls to Brazil on a regular basis, for no apparent (plot-related) reason. A gay colleague dreams about him. (And at one point, Alex goes on to dinner with the guy, although I do not know of ANY straight men who would go out to dinner with a gay man who is in love with them, under any circumstances, as a way to “get even” with the woman who has spurned them and made them feel rejected. Yes, that was his reason.) Actually everyone dreams about him, because he’s so good-looking and so strong, and so hot… apparently, in Cornwall’s world, personality has nothing to do with attraction, or the young writer would have fewer admirers. None of this leads anywhere reasonable approaching a climax of the novel. Storylines twist and intersect and leave the reader with nothing truly concrete to follow. It’s just like reading a few people’s personal diaries and alternately pitying and scorning them.

The only redeeming character in the whole thing is actually West’s cat, Niles, a crazy Abyssinian, into whose insane little feline brain we the readers get to peer. He worships the bank building, he treats his owner with all the scorn she deserves, he fishes wet panties out of the washing machine to tell his mistress there’s money laundering going on (The bank building told him this, of course). Still, Niles is more reasonable than the human characters, infinitely more interesting, and a whole less self-centered… and he’s a spoiled cat.

I give it a yucky green on the Reader’s Rainbow.

Review of Looking at Possible (as in Really Soon) Unemployment

2006-11-21T07:26:00.000-08:00

The second post in a row that has nothing to do with any kind of entertainment. The second post in a row about the lameness of my incredibly lame and getting lamer life. I will tell you honestly, faithful readers, I haven’t been reading, or watching so much. I’ve been stewing and brewing ideas in my strange little brain. Facing unemployment will do that to a person, I’ve found. So here’s another “personal” post and I’m pretty sure it will be the last one …for at least a few days. Hehehe.

But first. Am I the only one who hasn’t made the switch to blogger beta? Am I so lame? Have I fallen hopelessly behind the times and the chances of me ever catching up are miniscule at best?

Uh huh… I thought so.

Blogger Rightnow can bite my ass… every time I’ve gone to post, there has been some sort of problem. I read that a technician or someone like that has apparently been “notified”, but do I ever hear from a technician? HELL NO. Does anyone ever explain to me what’s going on? I don’t THINK so.

Anyway, I’m pretty afraid of switching to the New and Improved Blogger that has “all the features I’m used to plus new post labels, drag-and-drop template editing, and privacy controls. And, it's a lot more reliable.”

Yeah… well, we’ll just have to see about that.

But I’m going to go ahead and bite the bullet.

Blogger Beta, here I come.

In the meantime, seeing as I’m probably going to be out of a job sooner rather than later… I’m facing the future of unemployment with a great deal less enthusiasm and excitement about the future than I’d anticipated me showing in a situation like this. In other words, I thought that if I was going to lose my job, which was INCONCEIVABLE, let me just tell you, because my employers could not possibly run the business without me, and there's the little fact that I'm a good "Friend" of theirs and I ran the whole kit-n-kaboodle for them for so long that I just knew I would always have "Job Security". ... well I thought I’d be a little excited and really confident.

Turns out, not so much on the excitement or the confidence issue.

Job Security turns out to be much the same as the legendary unicorn or the mythic leprechaun as far as reality is concerned.

Turns out I was correct in the They Can’t Run It department. Problem is, they’re not going to try to, they’re going to sell it instead.

There’s a lot more to the long and incredibly tedious story, none of it showing me or my employers in a very favorable light, so I’ll just skip to the end. It ends like this….

No Job.

Recent rumors are swirling that there has been an offer made on the business, but I haven’t yet been informed of this (possibly) important development. Now, one would have to ask why…. Why wouldn’t I be told, seeing as it’s my life that’s going to be pretty screwed by the whole thing?

Several theories abound.

But none of that matters. What does matter is that dragging out my dusty-ass resume has given me a knife-like pain in my head, right above the left eye. I’m thinking that this resume is pretty ancient, and should have been put out of its misery a long time ago. I’m thinking that I really have no clue how to write a resume any more.

Do people still list it like this:

Name

Objective

Experience

Skills

… nadda yada nadda, and so on and so forth?

Do you still come up with a delightful “Cover Letter” that goes all squishy on how much you love the possible employer and job idea and how you salivate at the thought of them hiring you? Something like… Hire me because I am a kick-ass person and I will make you so happy and I have lots and lots of transferable job skills and you will never, to your dying day, regret it… that sort of stuff? Eek… it’s been so long since I’ve written that kind of letter!

What I really wonder is how many people have found themselves in this rather unenviable position …of looking at an old, dusty-ass resume and then glancing at the want ads and then back at the resume and then at the wantads and saying, really softly, but with enough emphasis to get the point across… “oh shit.”?

You think that’s the norm?

If it is, then I’m still in with the in crowd after all.

Review of My Life As a Mother of a Teenager

2006-11-15T12:02:00.000-08:00

For those of you reading this who are the parents of young children, let me give you a spoiler. The news aint good.

What happens to children when they hit puberty? I mean, what strange mixture of hormones and chemicals raging through the bloodstream changes them, seemingly overnight, from your little darling… to your big pain in the ass?

I remember a post I once made on my personal blog, about my thoughts on “teenagers”. I wouldn’t allow my children to become these mythical creatures, I declared with pig-headed, blissful ignorance. Oh no. Not my boys. My sons had been raised to be respectful and loving toward their parents, and I couldn’t possibly see them morphing into these awful people I’d heard about, sullen, uncommunicative, acne-faced and squinty-eyed. We would always have a close, loving relationship. They would talk to me, confide in me, and most importantly, listen to my never-ending wisdom. HA.

Little did I know that I had no say in the matter, one way or another.

When my older son first hit puberty, when his baby fat melted overnight and he shot up to stand towering above me, I was thrilled. All I could do was look at this magnificent young man that had come from me, from me, and be overwhelmed at his vitality, his health, his gorgeousness.

It wasn’t long after the first signs of impending teenagehood that he apparently lost the ability to hear. At first I thought nothing of it, I repeated myself, once, twice, three times. I even considered the possibility that he had an ear infection or something like that, to explain the fact that every time I spoke, I was answered with either silence or, more often, “Huh?” This clever phrase was usually accompanied by a bored glace as he ripped his eyes off the screen of the television or computer. Once or twice, I had a “long talk” with him, brimming over with positively insightful utterances, to which I believed he was listening raptly, only to finish with, “Well? What do you think?” I’d nudge his shoulder.

“Huh?” Blank stare as he lifted the tiny earphones of his I-pod off his head.

His language became peppered with obscenities. I’ve never really cared if my kids said the occasional “bad word”. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and I, proud and idiotic as always, knew enough to “pick my battles.” But now, now it seemed very other word out of my little boy’s mouth was “shit” or “bitch” and even the horror of all naughty words, the king of them all…the cringe-worthy “fuckin’”. When I complained that he had become a regular potty-mouth and could he please clean it up, a little, at least in front of his Grandma, say?… I was met with the now-familiar blank stare. And, “Huh?”

Then he became Mr. MIA. Where once this child begged to go along with me even to grocery store, now I hardly ever saw him at all. From the moment he got up last summer, at the crack-o-dawn hour of one in the afternoon, he was gone. He would arrive home at one second until curfew, stomping in the door and straight past my come-talk-to-me-my-son smile to his bedroom as I sniffed the air swirling in his wake. Was that cigarette smoke I smelled?? Or a different kind of smoke?????

I suddenly didn’t know who his friends were, and the occasional shifty-eyed boy waiting for him in the front yard didn’t look too promising if this was an example of his new crowd. Family trips were tortures we’d devised to spoil his important plans. Invitations to family get-togethers, the same. The last time he ate with us, I thin he was sick and couldn’t leave the house.

His clothing began to morph, too. All of a sudden his jeans and t-shirts seemed to have as much of a growth spurt as he had. All of them grew baggier overnight and as if he didn’t have enough problems with the onset of young adulthood, he now faced the additional trouble of trying to keep his pants from falling off him as he stood. Then there was the hooded sweatshirt that had apparently melded itself to his body. I don’t think he’s taken it off in six weeks at least. To wash the damn thing, I might have to challenge him to pistols at dawn.

My child, as white and middle class as wonder bread, now listens to rap, and I’m sorry, I know I sound old, but damn, have you ever listened to the lyrics???? I’ve puzzled over why he identifies with this music, what parallels he could possibly draw between the rapping, gun-weilding thugs with their hoes and niggas, and his pleasant little small-town life where the biggest excitement happens when the local flock of turkeys invade someone’s yard and won’t back down from a broom. I mean, that’s what da damn pigs deal with in this hood.

I slap bitches in the face and give em Jay-Z lips
Make them sign their life off so they can pay me chips
I cut hoes so much I should sell band aids
Give bitches sandwiches with handmade mayonnaise
I put bitches on the stroll hall
Plus I control hoes like remote control suped remote controlled cars
Code blow hoe on 'em like the internet
Got my dick in her neck and ain't even took her to dinner yet
Fuck that I ain't taken her to dinner
I'll bring her to a diner get behind and go up in her
You fuckin' with losers
I'm a winner I'm gone in summer hot in the winter
Fuck hungry I'm ready for dinner HA!
Bitches don't know the low
'Bout to slap your ass off the endo smoke
I'm in the club straight goin' for broke
Sellin' bitches everything even low key dope

This boy used to tremble in fear when anyone ever said a cross word to him. Lately, though, he’s spending more time in detention than in the classroom and the eye-popping, enraged teachers complaining about him affect him in the manner of annoying, little flies buzzing around his head. So a word to warning for those of you with small children… it’s coming. You can fight it, you can plan against it, but oh yeah, it’s coming, so get prepared.

He’s always been smart, but you’d never guess it to look at him now. He’s always been kindhearted but if I mentioned the word “nice” to him nowadays, I already know the response I’d get.

“Huh?”

I’m now dreaming of the day when he steps through the door on the other side of adolescence. I’m curious to see what remains of the original personality he grew in there.

In America Movie Review

2006-11-11T10:51:00.000-08:00

In America

2003

Directed by: Jim Sheridan

Written by: Jim and Naomi Sheridan

Starring: Samantha Morton, Paddy Considine, Sarah Bolger, Emma Bolger, Djimon Hounsou

Rated: PG-13 for sexuality, drug references, brief violence and language.

105 minutes

The irish family in this movie, In America, is slipping into the United States. As they pull up to the border in their battered old station wagon, the parents remind their two young daughters, “Remember, we’re just on holiday.”

As the border guard leans casually in the window to speak to the father, the youngest daughter, Ariel, shouts out merrily from the back seat. “We’re on holiday!”

Dread clutches the viewer as the guard nods at his partner, closing the gate firmly in front of the car. Oh shit, we’re thinking, she’s ruined it all! And yet within moments, the sunshine-bright personality of this child burns the doubt from the guard’s mind, or perhaps charms him into not giving a crap that they’re illegal immigrants, and the family is let on in with a, “Welcome to America.”. We are immediately in love with Ariel, horribly, hard in love. She is such a representation of everything precious and precocious in children, that not-quite-describable characteristic- that makes you want to kiss them and squish them… that makes us want to protect her from everything, and at the same time, lift her up high to see the world, just to watch her reaction and live a little, through it.

Can you tell that I loved this character?

Her older sister, Christy, is equally beautiful, equally enchanting, but in a quieter manner. Ariel is bubbles bouncing off the surface of the world, popping in loud delight. Christy is a sweet melody winding its way softly, unobtrusively, through experiences, as she records everything on her beloved camcorder. It seems that she spends more time behind the camera than facing the world. It is her odd, modern-day security blanket.

A struggling actor father, Johnny, and a gentle, wise mother, Sarah, are both doing the best they can for their children while not-quite dealing with the recent loss of their son, Frankie, who died of a brain tumor back in Ireland. They seem foolishly optimistic, and yet we are enchanted. They seem gullible and naïve, and yet they survive, no, thrive, in their harsh surroundings. They have come to New York City to escape, to start fresh, and their dreams are equally hopeful and frightening as we the veiwers cringe and expect the worst for this family at every turn.

Yet the fears don’t quite materialize. The ugly old tenement building they move into, which we expect to be filled with dangerous druggies and gun-weilding maniacs, turns out to be a fairly tame place, with other families, and seemingly harmless eccentrics filling the hallways. The transformation of their apartment, from a disgusting, pigeon habitat into a colorfully-painted, lovely home lays the path for the rest of this movie… the underlying theme, that change can happen, that beauty can be found, that there is hope, after all. We gasp as the parents allow the children to run through the building alone on Halloween, again, expecting the worst when they pound on the door (Marked KEEP AWAY) of the angry, mysterious Mateo, an artist who appears nothing other than crazy and furious with the world. Again, we are surprised -or perhaps not… maybe we’ve begun to see that this is a fairytale on screen by now- when Mateo turns out to be a gentle giant, sweetness and insight practically overflowing from him as he spouts little African-accented words of wisdom to the family he quickly falls in love with.

The family struggles, they face overwhelming difficulties, especially when Sarah discovers that she is pregnant, and the doctor advises her not to have it, because, as he implies, her health is shaky and if the baby doesn’t die, she might instead. They are poor, they are trying to adjust to the strangeness of their new home, and yet they are the epitome of what everyone wishes for in a family…close, loving, secure in their identity as a whole, rather than separate individuals. The affection they share is plain to see, and just try to watch this without getting damp-eyed in a few places!

I had no idea what I was in for when I popped this one into the DVD. I knew nothing about it, and I was unprepared for the sweet, simple story that unwound in front of me. As I said, this is a modern day fairytale, the many-times-told American Dream story, with a handful of heroes … bold little Ariel, sweet Christy, struggling Johnny, gentle Sarah, and wise Mateo. I was totally enchanted and I’m not afraid to say so.

If you’re looking for a no-holds-barred look at immigration, a real-life drama with no magic sprinkled on top, this one’s not for you. But if, on the other hand, you’d like to escape for a couple hours, to laugh and cry and let yourself believe in dreams for a little while, then get your popcorn and some Kleenex, and press “play” on this movie.

I give it 4 &s…

& Ariel!

& Christy!

& Mateo!

& I’ve forgotten how nice it is to watch a happy story sprinkled with tears, instead of the other way around

I’m off for the weekend and won’t have a blog Sunday tomorrow, but I promise to be back on track by next week!

Three Book Review Tuesday

2006-11-07T08:55:00.000-08:00

I’ve been having bad luck with books lately. Every one I’ve read has either been stupid, or badly written, or… and this is the big one lately, filled with unsympathetic characters. At least, to me, they are unsympathetic.

For instance, I just finished Distant Shores, by Kristin Hannah. I thought it would be a quick, smooth read, nothing dangerous, nothing deep… and in that I was right. What I didn’t figure on was the main character being a woman filled with middle-aged angst who is desperately unhappy, while living a life that other people would KILL to suffer through. Her husband, a former football star, who supports her, by the way, she’s a housewife… has just landed a spectacular job in New York City, the chance of a lifetime, and all she can think about is the house they’ll be leaving, which she redecorated herself.

Example… “Birdie looked around the room, at the wallpaper she had chosen, the french doors she had ordered, the slipcovers on the furniture that she had thought of and then paid someone else to do… this was hers, all of it, and now she’d be forced to leave it, to go somewhere new, like a bigger better house, and start all over with the decorating? How unfair, she thought to her tiny-minded self…” Yes, that is my writing, not the author's, but I'm trying to make a point here.

Her two daughters are in college, fully grown, mind you, but when she leaves her husband (to “find herself”, although finding herself does not include supporting herself, she doesn’t get a job and continues to write checks from her hubby’s big bank balance) the biggest problem she foresees is “how to tell the girls”. They predictably (at least to me, they are, after all, their mother’s daughters) actually cry and throw FITS when they are told their parents are separated, and promptly stop speaking to either of them. Ohmyyyyy….

Birdie (the finder-of-herself) starts painting again (her long-lost passion that we presume she sacrificed on the altar of wife and motherhood) and weeble-wobbles about her marriage. Turns out her painting isn’t even that good! Meanwhile Jack, her husband, is living in New York, going on The Tonight Show, being featured in People’s 50 Most Beautiful issue, and stoically sleeping alone, although gorgeous chicks are hurling themselves at him left and right, while he waits for his poor, confused wife to decide what she wants. If it wasn’t all so unrealistic, I would barf. I was thinking the whole time, “Jack, my friend, you deserve someone who appreciates you, dude”… and somehow, I don’t think that was the author’s intention.

I also just finished Therapy, by David Lodge, a much better book than the above, but there was still the issue of the main character being highly unsympathetic.

“Tubby” is a popular sitcom writer in the UK who is going through- yep, you know it- middle-aged angst. Although he is immensely successful, has more money than he knows what to do with, a lovely wife who likes sex, and two healthy, happy grown children, Tubby is soooo sad. He even gets into a whole bunch of Kierkegaard crap and decides that he is, in fact, the “unhappiest of men”. Oh man, I wish I could have the opportunity to be the unhappiest of women, if this is how good you’ve got it in that position! He drives around in his luxury car, finding things to be upset about, while basically ignoring his friends and family. I’m serious. This is the basis for the story, the first half, anyway. He doesn’t even hear his wife when she tells him their daughter is pregnant. He’s too wrapped up in his own poor-me thoughts to listen to one word coming from the mouth of anyone else. When, mid-way, the wife leaves him, well, he practically has a breakdown, and he's actually shocked. He decides she must be having an affair because she couldn't possibly be leaving him just because she can't stand to live with him anymore. Me, the reader, didn’t even feel a shred of sympathy. I was all cheering the wife on. Yea, you GO girl, and leave that pathetic, self-centered shit! Anyway, like I said, it is a better book. It’s well-written, and very humorous in parts. It was just the scene of it that I couldn’t get into.

I dunno… maybe this means I’m still young, since I have so little sympathy for people going through mid-life crises. I have an equal amount of sympathy for teenagers who think that their lives suck, while they listen to their I-pods and wear fashionably dirty designer clothing. When I read a book like this, I can’t help wondering how the character would cope if they were plopped down in the middle of a real life, you know, the kind with bills, and problems, disease, death and true unhappiness.

Or maybe it’s just that my real life has been filled with a series of unfortunate events lately, such a crapful of crap that I think anyone who can 1. pay their bills 2. claim good health and 3. have a healthy, happy family, are lucky beyond words and should be thankful, not whining about how to “find” themselves, or pathetically trying to sleep with people half their age. I don’t know… I do know that I’ll try on the middle-age angst books later, when I have a better perspective, when things are looking brighter for yours truly, and maybe then I’ll have a bit more sympathy for their “plights”. See? I’m snorting again! I can’t help it!

Needing a change of pace, needing to read about someone who really has something to be upset about I dived into The Deep End Of The Ocean last night. When you need to quit feeling sorry for yourself, grab an Oprah’s Book Club selection… that is one of my rules for living. It never fails. Right from page one, I knew this one was going to grab my guts. Beth has a three year old son, Ben. Ben wanders away from her in a crowded hotel lobby while she’s at the front desk for a few tiny, short minutes. Beth can’t find Ben. Ben is gone. OUCH. In addition to facing a nightmare that makes my own problems look like, um, middle-age angst, this book is really well-written. Identifying with the main character is like slipping on a pair of comfortable shoes. So I am going to immerse myself in it and when I come out the other side, perhaps my perspective will have changed, the world will be brighter, and I’ll give my kids a little bit harder of a hug. I’ll let you guys know how it comes out.

Distant Shores- Blue

Therapy- Orange

Deep End of The Ocean (as of page 119)- RED

Hey you guys- Don't forget to VOTE!!!!!!

District B-13 Movie Review

2006-11-03T18:32:00.000-08:00

Banlieue 13 (District B13)

Starring: Cyril Raffaelli, David Belle, Dany Verissimo

Directed by: Pierre Morel

Writeen by: Luc Besson and Bibi Naceri

Rated: R for strong violence, some drug content and language

85 min

Last night, I watched District B-13, or Banlieue 13, as it is called in its native France and I guess, from the expensive promo site, that it was some big deal in France. Or I could be making a generalization about a movie in a country that I know nothing about, admittedly and happily. I watched it on the recommendation of one of my brothers.

Now normally, I would explain the entire plot of B-13, with spoilers and all. But I can’t do that this time. Because I really don’t know what was going on. See, it’s not sub-titled, it’s dubbed. And that right there, that causes a problem for me, because I’m so fascinated by watching their mouths move and not match the words that they are saying… or because I am so tickled and again, fascinated, by the particular voice they choose for each character, like the black guy who has a very whiney, white, mid-western voice, or the giant germanic hulk who speaks like he’s straight outta Brooklyn. Then in the midst comes the cop whose cockney dialogues jars with everyone else… it’s hard for me to pay attention to the words. I prefer subtitles and my own imagination for changing up the voices, but hey, whatever.

Honestly, I don’t think the dialogue was very important in this one. The basic plot was interesting... here you go: it is the future, and Paris has put up big walls around their ghettos, called “districts”. One man in District 13, the baddest of all them, is trying to fight back against the rampant crime that has taken over his little hood. His name is… um, I need to look it up, because it’s French, ok? I don’t know how to spell French names. Ok, his name is Leito, and he is a one-man army trying to stop crime in his home district. The opening of the film has him ruining some mobster’s many, many bags of heroines, yet outsmarting, out running and totally outmaneuvering the bad guys coming after him. When my brother said this was a good action movie, he wasn’t exaggerating. There was this kid once I saw on You Tube, who did all of these amazing jumps and leaps and ran up walls and clung to buildings and amazing shit like that… well, throw in some fighting moves and you’ve got Leito, vigilante supreme. Well, we already know how I feel about vigilantes! Problem is, most vigilantes have to go through a painful period of naiveté and getting totally screwed over before they turn into the hard-asses I so enjoy. No exception with Leito. This time, when he actually captures the bad guy and turns him over to the cops, the cops not only let Mr. Evil go…they let him take Lento’s sister along as a snack. Yeah, no kidding. Pretty bad. Leito does get him some justice, (in a pretty sick and brutal manner, for those of you with tender tummies) however, and fade to black….

Now, it’s six months later… if I read the French right… and Damien, a wise-but-bad-ass cop is fighting against those same old bad guys, including the walking mountain that is called K-2, presumably because he has that shaved into the back of his head. Damien has just gotten some freaky news… the gang has stolen a nuke and it’s his unenviable job to get the damn thing back. Undercover, he helps Leito escape, because who better to help him kick butt on the baddies than the brother of the poor girl they still (we think) hold hostage, now probably a zombie-like crack whore? Ok, I think you can see the direction I’m going with this.

Now when I say that I liked this movie, I need it to be understood that I liked it for the action, plain and simple. The dialogue sucked. I dunno, maybe it was better in French, but once translated, it lost all possible appeal. The storyline, although pretty good as far as action movie ideas go, was sadly transparent and the build-up to the big surprise was no surprise at all. Anyone who head to rent this imagining an “american-type” action film might be a tad disappointed.

But if… you like martial arts, and fight scenes galore, car chases and big booms. If you are amazed, like me, to see someone using his body in a way that most people never ever dream of using their bodies, like it’s some kind of liquid steel flowing over the screen in a series of unbelievable and jaw-dropping moves… then hey, you might just like this one. Rumor has it that 90% of the scenes were shot SFX-free, Jackie Chan style.

Hey reading above, it looks like I explained the plot, spoilers and all. Guess movies aren’t so hard to break down, even the foreign jobbies.

I give it 3 ½ &s…..

&… it was no-fall-asleep time from start to finish

&… the slippery-slidery moves I mentioned above…they were boggling.

&… the sister was a tough nut to crack, even under baddest of circumstances

½ &…. It had a good enough storyline, even if the acting was labored.

Review of My Crappy Halloween

2006-11-01T08:48:00.000-08:00

Review of Halloween

Note: due to crappiness of blogger, no pictures could be uploaded to this posts for your viewing pleasure. I apologize.

I used to make a half-hearted stab at decorating for Halloween. Christmas is really my forte, but occasionally I’d put up a skull or two, stick a black lightbulb in the overhead porch light and throw around some of that crappy cobweb stuff that you stretch out all over. But there is always someone in town, or someones…who really go ALL OUT for Jack-o-lantern Eve. I wish I had a picture of this woman’s house we were at last night. Every square inch of her (very large) home and yard was decorated with bats, blood, skulls and broomsticks. A lit up, life-sized graveyard filled one side of the front porch and to their horrified delight, kids could go through a dimly lighted maze in her yard, occasionally stumbling over a hand or foot planted in the ground while creepy sounds played from hidden speakers. Seriously, I have to admire dedication like that. And the woman gave out KING sized candy bars. I was wondering how the hell she could afford to do that, especially considering that every damn kid in town makes a beeline for her front door on October 31^st. But then again, she lives on Snob Hill… I’ll get to that in a minute.

So, another Halloween is over and done with. Due to the insanity that was my job in the last few days, haven’t watched anything good, and I am still reading the book I’d planned to review. So, for lack of anything better to talk about, let’s talk about last night. I don’t know about yours, but my kids are suffering from sugar hangovers and are still lying sluggishly in bed. I know it’s going to be a battle royal to get their butts on the way to school. My youngest was pissed, as usual, that they dared to have school on such a holy day, and as a fifth grader, declared too old for classroom Halloween parties by the school administrator. Can you imagine? When is a ten year old too old for a Halloween party? I had to agree with him that it sucked big, and it sucked majorly.

Halloween, ahhhh…. a time of breathless running from door-to-door, crisp autumn air, the feeling of your back teeth stuck together with some gummy, taffy substance. Kicking through leaves, breathing in wood smoke, having perfect strangers admire you and then reward you for looking so cute…. It is the perfect childish holiday. Of course, there were the dark sides of Halloween, as well. As Patrick mentioned, we probably all remember the razor blades in apples, how we couldn’t eat anything homemade or unsealed. But still, like Jay reminisced, those were the GOOD FRICKIN’ DAYS.

The planning of the costumes went on for the entire month of October when I was kid. Every detail meticulously planned and then executed at the kitchen table. No one wore store-bought costumes when I was young. If you were extraordinarily lucky, your mom might make you a costume, but store costumes were for an un-seen subgroup (definitely rich kids). When I was four, my mother made me , of course, a cat costume. I wore that damn thing until I was seven, until I had cut off the feet and the legs came down to about my knees, until the sleeves cut off the circulation in my arms, and that tail was just a straggly, sad little nubbin of fabric dragging behind me. But come on. I was a KAAT. That was one damn cool costume. Otherwise I was something like a “Robot” (big box painted silver, with holes cut out for head and arms), or a “Hobo” (grubby old clothes, bandana full of socks tied onto a stick). There was always the old “ghost” stand-by, but who the hell wanted to wear a stifling sheet over your head all night? As I got older, my costumes got more sophisticated, but I think I stopped trick-or-treating when I was twelve or thirteen.

Last night, trick-or-treating, I saw kids that I swear were college students. I was trying to figure out what this one guy was, and I was admiring the realistic fake stubble he had put on his cheeks… until I realized that it wasn’t fake. This dude, who was sprouting facial hair, and thick facial hair at that, was holding out his bag, shoulder to shoulder (or rather hip to shoulder) with my 5 year old goddaughter.

And the store-bought costumes? Well, apparently not just for the rich or unusual anymore. Three-quarters of the tricksters last night were decked out in obviously pre-made and purchased outfits. Lots of Supermans. Lots of ninjas. More fairies and princesses than you cold shake a magic wand at. My son, who had dressed warmly in a hoodie sweatshirt and jeans, and broke a fake blood capsule open in his mouth, was asked again and again, in total confusion… “What are you?”

The answer…“I’m a kid in a sweatshirt with a bloody lip,” made me laugh, I have to admit. He and his friends, a leprechaun and a “maniac with a bullet hole in his forehead”, respectively, went sprinting out as soon as dark fell over the neighborhood. Once they’d made the rounds of our street, already carrying approximately ten pounds of candy, they begged me to drive them up to Snob Hill. I didn’t name the place, no, that’s what everyone calls it. The houses up on this hill are big, they are lit-up with pumpkin-scented yard candles and purple and black rope lights, decorated with artistically-rendered skeletons and frankensteins, and strung with designer cobwebs probably spun in France. Most importantly, they give out Full Size Candy bars up there, none of those snack-size snickers like I’d bought. The maze-and-graveyard palace I mentioned before is up on Snob Hill.

Unfortunately, it became clear quickly that the little niggling thought that I might have a leak in my truck, that I might have been smelling fuel for the last week, in fact turned out to be a definite yes last night. People ran, choking, away from my vehicle as we drove slowly from house to house. I heard one boy yell, “Watch out you guys, it’s that gas truck” when we pulled up to one driveway. It was lovely. Keep the windows up and choke on the heater-driven gas stink? Shut off the heat or roll down the windows and freeze (and still smell the gas stink)? All of us were dizzy from fumes by the time the last house had been hit and I am getting a frickin migraine, courtesy no doubt, of the leaking gas and the stinky air I breathed, all in the name of getting cavities for my kid.

So today I look for a mechanic, and some drugs to combat my head. I envy those of you who, dressed to the nines, went out to crazy Halloween parties and got really, really drunk, without feeling sick today. You’re my heroes. I went out and froze last night, and I’m sick today, from gasoline, not alcohol, but it was worth it to watch my son spread out his amazing pile of crap food with glistening eyes. The things we do for our children. Of course, it helped that he gave me a popcorn ball. I can be bribed. Quite easily.

I want to point out that if my post is dull today, I can claim the Butterfly Teddybear Defense. See, I was innocently working yesterday when this woman, an acquaintance of mine, came in the front. In her arms she was holding a teddybear with what looked suspiciously like a butterfly perched on the end of its nose. Heh, I’m thinking, that’s kind of stupid… I mean, cute. At the same moment, a friend of mine, with her six trillion children, came in the back door. They met in the middle and amid much squealing over the bear it was revealed that the bear was a gift for the woman’s sixteen year old daughter. She was going to take it to the school in a minute. A sixteen year old, ok? Next, to my absolute puking-guts-disgust, it was revealed that this bear, when its paw was squeezed, played, at a VERY high volume, the hideous country and western song known as “Butterfly Kisses”. A very badly recorded, scratchy version of it. And did I mention that there was no volume control on the bear and it was playing very, very loudly? The butterfly on the bears nose waved its wings slowly, in time presumably, to the music squawking from within the bear’s chest. The children were charmed, I was immobilized in confusion and alarm from the loud sound of the song, and the paw was squeezed, over and over, and over… and over… again. I hope to be over the experience soon. Hopefully no tumors were created. I have cat-scans scheduled for tomorrow, and I pray, my friends, that you never face this creature like I had to.

P.S. I found him. Online. His name is Henry…second one down. Oh god, they’re going to be everywhere….

"Nate Is a Blog" Blog Review

2006-10-29T01:00:00.000-08:00

Nate Is a Blog Blog Review

http://nateisablog.blogspot.com/

blog by Portland, Oregon comedian who has a long list of chuckles up his sleeve

I’ve been remiss, my gentle readers. I haven’t brought Blog Review Sunday to you in several long, lonely weeks. I am aghast at my own heartlessness…when I think about all of the people who depend upon me to direct their blogging on lazy Sunday mornings… the horror and confusion you all must have felt when there was NO BLOG TO GO TO… I am ashamed. Deeply. Contritely. Please forgive me.

Hehehe.

I love to bring out the drama.

Yet here I am again, to help you find a chuckle, a giggle, a grin.

So if you do want me to review your blog, go ahead and email me. Don’t expect superfast results because I cook my blog reviews slowly, over time, tasting and sampling and sniffing from day to day, week to week. But I’ll get there eventually. Guess you’ll just have to keep coming back to see if you got lucky, huh?

Alrighty then….

On this fine Sunday I bring you Nate Is A Blog. One Mr. Nate Smith, from Portland, Oregon (a city I happen to adore and visit often, giving old Nate a little bit of a boost in my ratings system) makes his living as a comedian. It takes about three nanoseconds of reading his blog to understand that he must be successful at this.

The blog has been around since August, when he launched with the debut post “Blogs are stupid”. In the first (very few) posts, it looks like Nate intends to write a typical blog, you know, recording of thoughts, actions of the day, etc…. but by the time he got to “In My Head”, he was beginning to show serious signs of a sense of humor. Next up come the other perspective posts, some of my personal favorites, where he writes from the perspectives of wide-ranging things such as a ham sandwich, a dog, God Himself, and Toucan Sam. (Yes, that Toucan Sam…how many do you know?)

One of my favorite aspects of Nate Is A Blog is when he does the Best Nate Smith Ever Contests. Hahaha…excuse me, I’m laughing my butt off just thinking about it (and that is much preferred over something sweaty like a Stairmaster in removing those pesky pounds back there). Nate goes in search of other men of the same name and has a little internet showdown with them…deciding which of them is the “better” Nate Smith. In his own words:

“I am pretty aware that Nate Smith is a very common name. I've met several Nate Smiths in my day and heard of many more. I was sitting around the other day being extremely vain when I began to wonder where I ranked amongst all the other Nate Smiths in the world. I went to school with a Nate Smith and he was a total tool. So I know I got him beat. But how many other Nate Smiths am I better than? How many of them are better than me? I've decided to find out in a segment I call "Best Nate Smith Ever!"

The first installment of this grand idea can be found here.

(Currently, our Blogging Nate holds the position of Number Two, beaten out by the piratey, less-shallow, wiser, and better at creating beauty from fire Nate Smith. You have to admit, that’s pretty damn cool. And our Nate admits it, too. )

…if your name is Nate Smith, I totally encourage you to enter the fray and send him a challenging email.

Another regular feature on the blog is his F.A.Q. posts where he answers the legions of emails pouring in from his curious fans. Example:

“Q: What is more magical, a Dragon or a Unicorn?
A: This is a very good question, and I am honored that you think I can even answer this. The truth is, Dragons are not actually as magical as most people give them credit for. Rather, Dragons are legendary. Unicorns on the other hand are the most magical creature to ever exist. A big distinction between the two creatures is that many a dragon has been slayed, while Unicorns are so magical that no one would ever even want to slay a Unicorn. A Unicorn could spear you straight through the chest and spin you around on his horn, and while you were spinning around with your blood and life gushing out of you, you would still say, "Isn't this Unicorn beautiful!" If Unicorns wanted to, they could take over the world, but they are so magical that they don't need to take over the world. But then again, maybe they have taken over the world and this is exactly how they want the world to be. GOD I LOVE UNICORNS!!!”

He also takes the time to ask his readers’ opinions on some very important subjects, such as the recent “Should I Buy a Prosthetic Limb?” query, where he explains that no, he doesn’t exactly need one, but….

“I think you are being way too hasty and aren’t looking at the big picture. But you’ll just ignore that and try to tell me that buying a prosthetic limb when I don’t need one is immoral and an insult to those who really do need one. You’ll probably give me some sob story about little Jimmy who lost his leg in a freak Easy Bake Oven accident and needs a brand shining new leg and I might be taking the last one. Well first of all, Jimmy and I are probably not going to need the same size leg, so don’t worry. But again I tell you, you aren’t looking at the big picture. Haven’t you ever heard of supply and demand? If I buy a prosthetic limb, that will create more demand for prosthetic limbs, which in turn will force the prosthetic limb manufacturers to create a greater supply of them. The hike in supply will cause the price to go down. And then Jimmy will be able to get his tiny little fake leg for a much cheaper price. There you go Jimmy. Mobility is on me.”

Recently, Nate has tackled some stickier issues, political in nature, such as the well-thought-out post Where Have All the Ninjas Gone? He also has some great suggestions for halloween costumes for all those Last Minute Larrys who want to be an original. It’s worth the time to click on his links, especially his Myspace profile, where you can watch Mr. Smith in action via You Tube. My personal favorite remains the top one, where there’s some very fancy dancing.

I look forward to this blog having a long, illustrious life. Never fails to make me grin, even on a rainy Sunday. Nate Is a Blog. Check it!

Post Scripture... props have to go out to SQT's blog, that Nate pointed out, where there is a beautiful, touching story about a man and his mustache. Read it and just try not to be moved.

Click Movie Review

2006-10-27T11:58:00.000-07:00

Click

Directed by: Frank Coraci

Starring: Adam Sandler, Kate Beckinsale, Christopher Walken

Rated: PG-13 for language, crude and sex-related humor, and some drug references.

107 minutes

DVD

I hate to start a review with a question, well, actually that’s not true, I don’t mind at all… anyway, in this case I have to ask… did anyone else see this movie and immediately say “WTF? I thought this was supposed to be FUNNY!?”

If you did, take happiness in the fact that you are not alone. In fact everyone that I’ve talked to in the flesh who has seen this flick said the same thing, although most of them, considerably less vulgar than I, left out the WTF part.

In case you haven’t seen Click yet, and plan to, let me be the first to give you the warning. This is not a “typical” Adam Sandler flick. Yes, you have your juvenile humor moments, dogs humping stuffed animals, Adam in a really, really fat suit, some parts where people hit/fall/strike in the balls/etc…. you know what I mean. But all in all, I would have to say that this is more of a drama than a comedy, perhaps what is labeled a dramady, and a “lesson-teaching” dramady at that.

Lesson? Don’t rush through life. Stop and smell the roses. Family is more important than money. If you don’t appreciate your life and family, you’ll end up a lonely old man, dying in the rain.

Oops, that could be a spoiler. Ok, you know there’s always spoilers.

I like Adam Sandler playing serious, don’t get me wrong. Spanglish was one of my all-time favs. It established Sandler, at least in my mind, as a versatile actor who could handle a heavy role with the same ease as a slapstick knock-em-down. Yet this time, I wasn’t expecting heavy, probing, soul-searching… I was expecting Happy Gilmore, and laughing til I cried, not choking back tears that were manipulated out of me by the damn filmmakers. Sorry if I sound bitter. It’s just that I am. Or was. By now, I’ve had time to settle down and stop feeling so used.

Sandler plays Michael Newman, an architect on the fast track to success, constantly choosing work over family. His hot wife and two adorable children are quite understanding, but you can see, right away, the central theme for the movie. One day, he’s going to wish he’d picked the other way.

On a trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond (isn’t that an awesome store, by the way? Where else can you get high thread count Egyptian cotton sheets for a hundred bucks or less?) Michael goes through a door marked something like, ‘Way, Way Beyond” and runs into Walken, a mad-scientist type who introduces him to the Universal Remote Control. Now from the previews we already know what it does. He can pause time, to move the baseball mitt of his son's bratty friend away from his face, thus resulting in ball hitting the bratty face. He can slow down a female jogger going by to better appreciate her bouncing, generous assets. He can fast-forward through arguments with the wifey, leaving him basking in the afterglow of “making up”, without ever having to do the heavy lifting of arguing. All good ingredients for a comedy.

It gets serious fast. See the problem with the Universal remote (and of course we knew there would be one) is that it starts to take over. Walken explains that it is adjusting itself to Michael, making choices for him based on his past behavior. This means, for example, that he cannot enjoy leisurely lovemaking, because it’s programmed now to rush right through the foreplay and get to the good stuff. This is a drawback Mr. Newman didn’t count on and he tries to avoid doing his “regular” things, (which adds some funny scenes, such as him going to work in his bathrobe to sidestep the regular routine of dressing) but to no avail. Time slips out from under him and he starts waking up with gaps of years behind him, where he was on “auto-pilot” and actually remembers nothing. Has experienced nothing. You see what page they’re leading you to read, right?

At one point, Michael wakes up enormously obese, his children grown, his wife remarried. Yet his job is better than ever… he has advanced to the position he always dreamed of. Another slip-n-slide and he wakes in the hospital, after having a huge tumor removed. His ex is visiting him (and of course he loves her, to him she’s his wife, not ex-wife) and he has had several stomach-reducing operations. He “flaps” his belly skin incessantly at her. This was one of the “funny” moments, but by this time, the moments aren’t funny anymore, because every viewer is imagining how they would feel in such a stupid, sucky situation. In each of his stops through the race-of-his-life, there’s a new family dog, humping the same stuffed duck-and that’s what all the humorous moments start to feel like. Heh heh….yeah, that was funny, the first time.

Before we know it, Michaels’ fast-forwarded right through his entire life and is full of the obvious regret and heartbreak. I won’t tell you how it ends, because I’m going to leave at least that bit unspoiled, but trust me when I say it’s totally predictable and you can GUESS how it ends if you put forth any amount of effort toward wondering. I was also completely disgusted that a movie, an Adam Sandler movie, was going for the cheap emotional route, sending in scenes of such heartbreak and sorrow that you’d have to be a stone to not feel something, anything, even if you didn’t cry like a lil baby. I don’t mind my emotions being manipulated during a film, as long as the film is up front in the previews that it’s going to do just that!

I wish they hadn’t packaged this, preview-wise, as a comedy. I wish they hadn’t tried to make it into a weird hybrid of comedy and drama, because it just didn’t work. I wish I had known, before I started watching it, that it was going to be just another movie in the A Christmas Carol tradition, scrooge morphing into a decent guy because he sees how screwed his life has been.

If you want dramady with humor sprinkled sparsely throughout, sure, go ahead and rent it. But if you want a Sandler Special, funny-so-funny with a wee touch of feelings, then save your dollars or spend them on Big Daddy.

I give it 3 &s...

& I happen to believe the moral of the story is true…I just didn’t want to find it here.

& the fat suit part was grotesquely hilarious

& David Hasslehoff plays his boss in the perfectly slick Hoff way.