Monday, January 30, 2006

The Strangest Near Miss I've Ever Seen

The Yahmdallah family was desperate for a movie last Friday. We had all just finished our latest novels, our usual magazines were already consumed, homework was complete; we needed a flick.

Redbox was a void, offering only the Brad Pitt marriage-wrecker movie (which I'll take in when it hits the manly-man target market channel, whose moniker escapes me at the moment). The grocery store where we rent (less than half the price of Blockschmucker) was picked cleaner than a woman's shoe store after a buy-one-get-two-free sale that coincided with a full moon (nothing left but a few box halves, a couple price tags, and a couple handfuls of hair). So, there we were in the dreaded Blockbuster deathmarch along the outer new release wall (which contains movies over a year in release), with its odd set of social rules where you do not step ahead of the people in front of you, even if they can't easily sound out the words of some of the titles, and will not budge until they do. (The trick to getting away from this without giving offense is to cross the store and work backwards until you run up against more of the challenged.)

We ended up with The Cave, the latest Aliens rip-off, because we had no other choice. We knew it wouldn't be good, but the wife and I have a fondness for creature flicks, and have enjoyed those others have not (such as Van Helsing - it was supposed to be campy, folks), so decided to risk wasting those minutes of our life.

Watched it. Meh. The plot (such as it was) near the end appears to get bored even with itself, and characters who've lost each other join back up by merely walking in from opposite sides of the screen (it was as if the continuity person said, "Aw, fuck it.").

Then watched one of the extras where it comes out that all the cave diving, and the actual peril the characters get into (besides the encounters with alien creatures), actually happened at one point to the cave diving crew hired to do the underwater cave filming. Crikey. Now that's a story! What the hell were they doing cramming some half-baked alien in there? Just these people trying to survive real dangers encountered in a sport only slightly safer than calling Karl Rove fat to his face in public is gripping unto itself.

The biggest shock was that the underwater cave shots were so spectacular I thought they were CGI and had begun to ignore them halfway through. And they were all real. Judas on a Vespa, anyway.

I can't recommend this for the movie itself, but if you want to see some pretty spectacular underwater cave footage, particularly if you have an HDTV or good home theatre, check this out.
Me and you and .... the HELL?

As I mentioned previously, I was SO looking forward to You and Me and Everyone We Know.

And it was SO CLOSE to being a cute lil indie! But, dammit...

<Channeling Sam Kinison>OOOOooohh! Oh! OH! OOOOOOOOOOOOH!</Channeling Sam Kinison>

Every single child in this movie is molested, molests another child, witnesses a molestation, or some mix thereof. Yes. Really.

The romance between the adults is kinda sweet, but it takes up less a third of the movie. The rest is a cringe-fest where you wonder if the parents of these kids were honestly OK with their children saying the lines and performing in the scenes they do.

Ebert wrote:
"14-year-old brother Peter (Miles Thompson) is being persecuted by two girls in his class named Heather (Natasha Slayton) and Rebecca (Najarra Townsend). They are intensely interested in oral sex, but unsure about its theory and technique. They decide to practice on Peter. I know this sounds perverse and explicit, and yet the fact is, these scenes play with an innocence and tact that is beyond all explaining."

Um, no.

It is perverse and explicit. Because they're KIDS. For crying out loud anyway.

To yet again invoke the wisdom of Joe Bob Briggs: I'm surprised I even have to explain this.

Therefore, I can't really review this movie, because I can't get past the content. And I think it's because of my age-old problem that when something really controversial is performed in a movie, I'm ripped out of the moment by the fact that the actors and actresses had to actually do what you're seeing.

When it's in a novel, like Lolita or more recently Until I Find You by John Irving, the fact that these are fictional characters living only in words on a piece of paper, I can get past repugnant parts (especially if they have a point and don't seem gratuitous as in the two novels I mention here) because no animals were harmed, so to speak. But seeing kids mime sex and seeing little bitty kids talk about passing poop back and forth between their butts is just more than I take.

I watched it to the end, because I thought there might be a slim chance that these child sex scenes would be somehow redeemed at the end (while knowing in a sense that wasn't possible given that actual children acted the scenes out), because even if an attempt were made, it would've shown that the writer/director (Miranda July - whom I doubt has children of her own) understood that she had gone so far into taboo, she needed to at least attempt to crawl back out of the pit. But, no, we are just left in the utter darkness of the credits rolling up the screen, feeling like there aren't enough showers in the world to get clean again after that.

Friday, January 27, 2006

And then something makes it all worthwhile...

From a recent discovery, the Quote DataBase:

<Trent> ohh, i saw brokeback mountain last night <_<
<Ngamer> pretty good?
<Come> I hear Ebert gave it 1 thumb up and a reacharound.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

How you doin', Dolly Llama

Was in the midst of a geek quorum at work today, and we got onto the topic of the infamous Buddhist Monk who set himself on fire to protest the Vietnam war (and subsequently end up on a "Rage Against the Machine" album cover).

The youngest, single guy of the group wondered, "How does someone manage to do that? To set themselves on fire and sit there not moving?"

So we kinda gang opined about monks of various religions being able to teach themselves to detach from pain and even release endorphins at will.

And then someone said, "Yeah, they can even teach themselves to talk to girls."

Well, since it was free from the library, I watched Crash (which I claimed was something I didn't want to see).

Sometimes (to the amazement of one of my buddies) I'll watch a movie I know I'm going to probably hate. Which does not guarantee that I will. I've been pleasantly surprised a few times when something turns out to be something other than expected. Though I will concede those are few and far between. (I've seen basically every major movie released due to working in a movie theatre for over a decade, then taking every film class offered in college, and then working in a video store for a couple years, so I can tell with about 95% accuracy from watching the trailer if I'm gonna like something.)

I didn't hate it, but it was everything I expected and worse. I didn't expect it to be so contrived, for one. Contrived is fine, but you walk a thin line and your audience has to know that movie itself knows it's contrived (like, for instance, American Beauty).

The various takes on racism (and that's really all this movie tries to be about) want it both ways, meaning they want to make you like and dislike the racist (and everyone here is one to some degree) at the same time.

For instance, the black thug who comes out of a diner complaining that the waitress (also black) didn't wait on his buddy and him very well because they are black, spouts a few other stereotypical things, and then carjacks a car from a white couple. Thus he complains about stereotypes he has to live with and then fulfills them all.

For another instance, an Asian man is hit by the carjackers and nearly killed. When we catch up with him later in the hospital, we feel sympathetic for him, naturally. But we find out a few scenes later that he was in the midst of selling other Asian immigrants into slavery (or buying them) when he was struck by the carjackers.

I guess some folks would think that's clever, but it just struck me as flat-footed storytelling. Much like the after-school specials this movie's been compared to elsewhere (too lazy to link).

I wasted those two hours of my life on this movie, so it is my hope that you don't make the same mistake. 'cause I'm here to tell you: Yes, it doth suck.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

A laugh, a song, and some perspective

Via, Real Live Preacher (a fun Christian blog that even non-Christians would probably appreciate), either someone didn't get the memo on the cover sheets for the TPS reports, or is purposely being obtuse:

The RLP post itself and the comments are fun.

The two things that mystify me are 1) not ONE PERSON walked in and said, "Guess what, MLK was an American black pastor, not a German religion rebel," and 2) this was on the door of a LIBRARY, ostensibly a warehouse for knowledge and the very place where they might be able to avoid a gaff like this.

If your tastes run to the singer-songwriter sector of the known universe, a new star has just become visible on the horizon.

His new CD is called Almost Honest, and I had that rare experience of liking every song that I heard when I played it the first time. Listen to the title track here (select "launch site"). It plays other songs, too, including his hit from his last CD called "Amazing" - a great song with a sneaky beat and a killer chorus.

I found this great song and video via stumbleupon (where it popped up because the web design site that built it has a wild regressing menu: "Capn Kirk" by Bob Schneider. <------- If you follow no other link in this post, I humbly suggest for your own amusement you don't pass this one up - this is probably one of the cleverest videos I've seen, and the song is damn good.

If only there were an outlet for music videos anymore (at least one that wasn't thugvision 24/7), this would be in the top 10.

Fans of Hitchhiker's Guide the Galaxy (the novels and the original British TV show) will recall an episode where Zaphod climbs into a device that shows you exactly how important you are in the grand scheme of things, the intent of which is to make you feel really really unimportant (since Zaphod is about to save the galaxy, he comes out ok, actually).

Well, that's not the intent of this fun little demonstration of galactic distances, but it still made me want to get a cup of hot chocolate and chill on the couch for a bit. (Keep zooming out.)

And doesn't this feel like the truth sometimes?

Monday, January 23, 2006

More Quick Ones, Jan. 23, 2006

Saw Love Liza starring Philip Seymour Hoffman, based on good reviews and the fact it stars Hoffman and has Kathy Bates in it. Both of those two could read the phone book and make it interesting (even a Midwestern small-town one without any interesting foreign names). However, they couldn't save Love Liza. Essentially it's a movie about huffing gasoline. The bookends of the movie are the suicide of Hoffman's wife, Liza (hence the huffing), but that's all they are, and they contain the exact amount of relevancy that bookends do: They hold up the middle, but only mechanically. This flick is a waste of time, sorry to say.

Saw Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo because the wife likes Rob Schneider, and sometimes sick, cheap laughs are the order of the day - especially when they can be had for a buck at a RedBox. There are about three and a half sick, cheap yuks in the film, all of them provided by Eddie Griffin's pimp character, so don't go out of your way. The highlight (such as it is) is in the extras where we are taken through the audition of the woman who will appear in a throwaway shot where she's washing a window in a wet t-shirt. I'd always hoped against hope that when they were casting a part like that that it wouldn't be a frat boy grunt-fest, but alas one more illusion of mine is shattered. Not only do they barely contain their sniggering as they direct each of the women on how to rub her breasts on the wet glass, but then we're treated to them then watching the tape thereof afterwards and practically tugging off together. It's one of the ickiest "recorded for posterity" moments I've seen.

Saw The Island, which of course nakedly recycles Logan's Run, Brave New Word, and THX 1138. It's a competent thriller because Michael Bay directed it. Yes, he's good at what he does, even if he does get grief from film snobs because his films are too kinetic and blatantly manipulative. But, like King Kong, we've seen this a few times, so one's thoughts drift to popcorn procurement, throwing in a load of laundry, what's that under my fingernail?, and not even bothering to pause it for the trip to the restroom and so on. Fun, but no more mysterious than the 267th time eating Capn' Crunch to discover a funny cartoon face at the bottom of the cereal bowl.

Speaking of King Kong, I got to see the end because a dear friend who's SO didn't want to go see it dragged me along (had to walk out the first time as it was too intense for my eldest daughter). Y'know what? Besides being the retread we all know it is, it's a bit too much. I walked out with a headache from all the fights and screaming. I'll admit the ape's death is done very well - SPOILER ALERT - because we see his pupils dilate, hear his last breath, and when he slides off the platform, he's clearly dead - END SPOILER ALERT. It makes me wonder what kind of research they did to clearly telegraph the death of a living thing - what sort of queues that we all recognize without having to be told. And, this movie could have and should have been shaved down to a 1 hour 45 minute movie from its current 32 hours and 10 minutes. Now that fans are re-editing movies on their PCs, I'd love to get ahold of the "good parts" fan edit of this flick.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Consider the Lobster
by David Foster Wallace

Thus far, DFW has been a better essayist than a fiction writer, Infinite Jest - one of my favorite novels of all time - notwithstanding. I hope this proves to be untrue with time.

Consider the Lobster is the perfect companion his first set of essays, A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again. Though "Consider" is the superior of the two.

Big red son
Is a report on an awards ceremony for porn stars that's typically held at the same time the International Consumer Electronics Show is. Of course it's not a coincidence. Highlights are his aside on the effect of viewing all the nominations for best porno on himself and his fellow male reporters, and the vignette on a female reporter's apparent porn-scene-fatigue near the end, especially when a 12-year-old boy gets up to accept his brother's win for best gay male star. Yes, it's harrowing, but it should be. Here's an excerpt of "Big Red Son" for your enjoyment and consideration. If you like this, you'll like the whole lobster.

TLD: I once worked in a video store that rented pornos. We were asked to view a selection of the titles - if our religions or other life circumstances and opinions didn't prevent it - so we could recommend them. At the time we had this bubbly, vivacious blonde working there who even wore Lolita heart-shaped sunglasses. One day a guy customer calls out from the porn section for some assistance in selecting a good one (whatever that is). He clearly meant me, but Lolita hopped over there before I could stop her and started chirping away about which ones she liked. Now the fact of the matter is most guys who rent porn by themselves are lonely and are going home to deface a Kleenex or two, and by extension are sensitive about this obvious fact. Well, having a beautiful little blonde suddenly pop up and offer commentary is something these guys just don't expect or desire (oddly enough). You could say it was near the top of the list with "my arrest making the best of show on 'Cops'" and "finding naked photos of my mother-in-law." You could practically see the "please kill me now" waves emanating from the porn enclosure. Besides offering a thumbs up or a thumbs down, Lolita was plucking the better ones (in her opinion) from the shelf and placing them in his shaking, mortified hands. If you've never seen one, a typical porn video box has quite a few graphic photos festooned across it. When the guy could finally move, he slammed all but one back onto the self and sprinted to the checkout counter, with a look on his face begging me to set the land speed record in video rental checkout. I obliged. After he rocketed out the door, Lolita turns to me, and in all innocence asked, "Jeez. What was his problem?"

Certainly the end of something or other, one would sort of have to think
A quietly vicious takedown of a John Updike novel, kind of like Twain's famous "Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offenses." Just as funny, too. (I've never enjoyed Updike, and got an icky feeling from his prose.)

Some remarks on Kafka's funniness from which probably not enough has been removed
Nice try, but then I'm not the audience for this one. I think Kafka needed help wish he would've gotten it.

Authority and American Usage
I enjoyed this one, but it sailed about 3 feet above my head every other paragraph. I know that my education wasn't the best there was to be had, but this just made me feel stupid. Still, I liked what I understood.

The view from Mrs. Thompson's
A sketch of his reaction to 9-11. Beautiful.

How Tracy Austin broke my heart
Short version: Jock books are kinda dumb. Perhaps you can't describe what it's like to be a top athlete. (My note: Kinda the same way you can't adequately describe a song to someone. They have to hear it to understand.)

Up, Simba
I didn't have the heart or energy to read this one at this point in time. What with the illegal spying, half the administration under some sort of indictment, and asking the major search engine companies to hand over all their records for a week so they can look at who's looking at what. Dear God. No. Not right now.

Consider the lobster
Part journalism on an annual lobster festival and part rumination on killing and eating things.

Joseph Frank's Dostoevsky
Like, "Authority and American Usage" was a bit higher than I wanted to reach. I liked the Dostoevsky I've read, but Russian literati can be a bummer, so once I finished them, put them down and headed for sunnier shores. All Dostoevsky fans should read this, though.

Report on talk radio, which of course is mostly wingnut radio. I think he does a good job of presenting that odd world and not getting into the partisan side of it. The footnoting method is fun all by itself, and many are a hoot.

Here's another take on it from media consumption, and here's's take.

Consider the Lobster is one of the most enjoyable reads I've had in recent memory. Procure a copy, why doncha?
Bad Medicine

A miserable cold has swept through the Yahmdallah household. If that wasn't enough of a pain in the ass, we discovered that Colorado has a state law that limits the purchase to two per of any medicine that contains Sudafed.

Nearly every over-the-counter cold medicine contains Sudafed.

Apparently you can make the speed du jour, meth (methamphetamine), using Sudafed as one of the ingredients.

So, to save us from ourselves, one of the few remaining over-the-counter drugs to relieve cold symptoms is quasi-illegal because you can use it to make an illegal drug.

Hey, I have an idea! Let's make water illegal because you can use it to do all sorts of bad stuff, like:

- fill your bong
- mix up your heroin hit
- torture enemies
- dampen white cotton t-shirts, thus exposing the nipples underneath
- squirt narcissistic celebrities, causing the launch of frivolous lawsuits, burdening the already beleaguered legal system
- deprive bottled water companies of their revenue stream

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Hopefully we can find those concerned about public health and welfare to get behind this important initiative.

Monday, January 09, 2006

A few thumbnails and a finger.

Saw Gilliam's The Brother's Grimm. Both the lovely wife and I enjoyed it. The critics said it was kind of a mess, and it isn't the clean fantasy we've come to expect, but I kinda liked the hoary way it got around to telling its story. Gilliam is always kinda baroque, and I don't think he needs to fix that. Warning: There are pretty horrific parts in this thing, 90 proof nightmare fuel, so do pay attention to the PG-13 rating.

And speaking of the PG-13 rating, I once again ignored it to my peril, earning yet another black mark in the "bad parent" column. I took MPC1, who's 9, to see the latest retread of King Kong. We had to leave shortly after icky things consume half the crew, though it was the nasty looking Skull Island tribe that did in the MPC1. Friends: She was so frightened she was literally shaking as we left the theatre. That's gonna wake me up at night when I'm having those dark teatimes of the soul. I will not again subject my children to a PG-13 movie without having previewed it first.

Btw, critics and various other media-heads are wondering why KK isn't killing at the box office, so I'm here to tell you why: We've seen it. Yes. Pretty much a tribe gives a blonde to a giant gorilla, who is then captured and taken to New Yawk to be displayed like a freak, so he freaks, climbs a big building and ends up falling down, where he leaves quite the splash. The end. Yeah, this version does that whole cha-cha best of all, very realistic and clever, but we've moved on to the twist, or perhaps the pogo, thanks. (Also, we've seen too many folks fall from buildings in New Yerk to fill a few lifetimes, so I think for many this is working against it on a subconscious level.)

I experienced the "I've been here before" thing again while taking in the stage version of Little Shop of Horrors, which is superior to either movie, of course. Had I come into this play cold, it would've been on my top 10 list for life probably. I still rilly enjoyed it - the music is fantastic, and having a "greek chorus" doo-wop singing trio to move the story along is pure genius (the guys who wrote it went on to do the songs for most of Disney's modern animated hits, like The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast). The spectacle of the huge plant on stage is something else, too. But, darnit, I wish I'd been innocent going in. I'd have had to leave sockless.

Caught The Wedding Crashers finally. It's cute. It's also a little long and maudlin if you ask me. Again, we've seen the "I've lied so much, how can I tell ____ the truth now that I love her (or him)" shtick done before - and better, even. Worth a look, but don't expect it to be revelatory (as the next film I mention is). I do have to admit enjoying the concept of picking up women (or are they picking us up?) at weddings, though, because it's very true. Most of my buddies got married in the space of about three years, and as one of the last to marry, I attended all of their weddings as a single guy. About the second wedding it dawned on me that once the unmarried young women got a couple drinks in them at the reception, it was often just a matter of putting yourself in their way - literally. I still don't know what the mechanism is, but weddings just get the lovely hopefuls in a randy mood. We young guys pretty much considered them the demarcation of the loss of yet another hanging buddy.

The 40-year-old Virgin is one of the more unique and funny movies to come along in a while. See it with some friends if you can. This one, btw, is a hard "R" - and purely due to dialogue. Even so, while some of the lines are shocking, in context they didn't offend even the more sensitive souls amongst the group I watched it with. Suffice to say, most everyone will like this. The ending is brilliant, too.

I've abandoned a bunch of books lately.

No Country for Old Men by Cormac Mccarthy. I hated hated hated the writing style. Couldn't get past page 50. I have a deep loathing of any and all attempts by a smart person trying to write as though they were an uneducated and borderline retarded hick. They ALWAYS get it wrong, because even the stupidest people you know usually have a sort of organic intelligence where if you get them to tell you their story, you almost never think "what an idiot." (Reminds me of the lines in Desiderata: "listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story".) Well, I just couldn't get past the initial narrator being such a backwards fuck while being rather cagey about the situation he finds himself in. Bullshite deluxe is what it is. I cast it from me into the return chute.

Case Histories by Kate Atkinson. I started this one and felt the immediate joy I did when I began Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke. I loved the language, the dry humor, and the detailed painting of a character in a few swift sentences, but with each passing page that very strength grew to be tiresome. Also, both hop around through many characters, introducing them, before getting to the story proper. I've never liked that approach because it demands that the reader hold everyone in memory like a huge canasta hand until they appear later. I don't want to have to take notes.

I had picked it up because of the recommendation of Stephen King. The last few years in his "Entertainment Weekly" column he's given lists of his favorite songs, movies, and books from the year. The first two lists I've found useful, but this is the third year I've been stung by his literary suggestions, which surprises me. I had assumed that since I LOVE his writing, our tastes would be very similar. And they aren't; not even a little bit. I posit that if King were to contract some sort of amnesia, he wouldn't even recommend his own stuff were he to encounter it unknowingly.

Anyway, after I'd become acquainted enough with the characters, and realized I wasn't going to try to keep picking it up and feign interest, I hopped to the back to find out the solution to the nested mysteries that King had alluded to. Well hell, they were pretty freakin' obvious. The big sister killed the little sister because her dad was molesting her, causing her to lose her mind. And y'know what? I am growing very tired of sexual depravity being the engine of a plot. I've never liked it, but if done correctly, it can be powerful. Well, it has now seemingly entered the overused period of its existence as a plot device, like serial killers have been for a while. Meh.

"Scrubs", perhaps one of the best TV shows ever, is finally back, so I now have a show I actually look forward to - other than "Desperate Housewives," where I have a tragic crush on the redhead cutie, Bree.

This happiness ensues because of the dearth of good stuff to watch during the holidays. (Thank God for movie rentals.)

The only show I looked forward to was the Barbra Walters special on religion. I kinda dig her celebrity interviews because she usually has some sort of surprise nugget in there, and then there's the crying game, of course.

It started off promisingly enough. The Roman Catholic section was fair, if not a little spare. She didn't wallow in the recent scandals, which I appreciated. (To do so would be equivalent to every report on public schools dredging up Columbine and Mary Kay Letourneau (who married the student she molested upon release from prison).) The Jewish segment was decent, too - though she didn't delve into the various branches of Judaism, which would have been interesting. She was fair in showing Islam, by talking to an American Moslem who presented the hard to find "peaceful side" of Islam, and then a jailed terrorist who was looking forward to his orgy with his virgins in the afterlife for killing non-Moslems, particularly Jews. She predictably fawned all over the famous Dalai Lama for the Buddhism segment. He's a charming guy, and Buddhism is user friendly in that it doesn't ask you to believe anything that would get you in trouble at a cocktail party. Then, as usual, Protestantism was represented by the Evangelicals, my beloved fundies.

Judas on a Vespa.

And not just any fundies either, but the real loony ones we have Colorado Springs, CO. (It's hard to type when one eye is twitching in rage, btw.)

Researching the show for this post, I come to find out she's operated her whole life ignorant of religion.

Why is the general media of this country so freakin' clueless about traditional Protestant Christianity? It must be a more common question these days, because even Lileks, a Deist, does one of his fun takedowns regarding some of the silliness that results from this utter inability some have when it comes to grasping the reasons we believers do believe. (Kind of off the topic, here's another great takedown I discovered recently: Dave Marshall's review of the putrid The End of Faith by Sam Harris. Pwned baby!)

And, speaking of silliness from nonbelievers, it appears that there's a new show about an Episcopalian pastor called "The Book of Daniel." I've not seen it, nor am I likely to, but I was kinda floored by this description I came across:
You might say "Book of Daniel" is the gospel according to Jack Kenny, an unlikely auteur considering his resume: executive producer of the sketch-comedy series "Wanda at Large" and, before that, the creator of "Titus," producer of "Caroline in the City," and a staff writer on "Dave's World."

But looking to move into one-hour drama, he wrote a pilot script for "Book of Daniel" on spec as a writing sample, "in hopes I could get in some doors. Then it took on a life of its own."

A gay man raised in the Catholic Church, Kenny says he drew on the Wasp-y, emotionally guarded family of his life partner.

"Michael," he says of his mate with a dramatist's relish, "came from a world that is all about what is NOT said — the hidden meaning in the words and sentences."

Declaring he has never seen "7th Heaven" or "Joan of Arcadia" (a drama that had God revealing himself to a high school girl in a variety of human visions), Kenny insists his show isn't about religion.

"This is about a family," he says between bites during a hasty lunch break at the Queens studio where the series is shot. "The fact that Daniel is a priest is secondary. The church is the backdrop. This is no more about religion than 'Six Feet Under' was about mortuaries."


How have these folks not gotten the memo that religious people tend to take their respective faiths pretty seriously, and that using them as a convenient backdrop to a schmaltzy drama is going to offend - and this is just a swag here - MOST OF THE TARGET AUDIENCE?


Well, coming up I have a look at David Foster Wallace's Consider the Lobster, his latest collect of essays. Right now I have to trade frothing from the mouth with the froth of a cold one. Laters.

Real Live Preacher does a great takedown of "The Book of Daniel," now officially cancelled, and a great takedown of Christians who fret over shows like "Daniel." I will respectfully disagree with the Preacher on one point; if someone treats or uses something dear to you with disrespect, it's OK to not be happy about it. For instance, let's say someone you knew back in high school makes it in Hollywood and one night you tune in to discover his/her new show and it's called "Reasons Yo Mama Sucks," and the mama in question bears a very strong resemblance to your actual mom. I think that merits a tersely worded letter or blog posting.