The Hunger Games template.

I could not have been more impressed with the film adaptation of The Hunger Games.

I expected it would be good. We’ve seen popular reading transform to theater with a high level of production value in the recent past. Whether it be the hyper-budget blockbusters for Harry Potter and the Marvel films or the meandering romance of those universally despised vampires, great effort has been committed to sustaining  fundamental elements first demonstrated in the written predecessor.

The Hunger Games accomplishes that. It also outdoes those other films – because it focuses on being a good movie rather than the perilous sideshows of pandering to devotees or offering newcomers heavy-handed explanations.

It ignores a fair amount of ancillary characters. It doesn’t include them as backdrops. (No boss battle with Deadpool or origin story for The Leader here.) Kat’s father gets a gentle nod during a hallucination. But the Avox, Madge, and Peeta’s father are not included. Because they don’t contribute to the movie. They may find a roster spot in a 350 page novel, but they’re left on the farm after Spring Training.

So the story gets a slight tuck job. Characters pick up extra tasks, we learn less about the various breads of the districts. We’ll survive.

In contrast, the Marvel movies constantly introduce S.H.I.E.L.D. They spell out the acronym. They are vague and speak in officious tones so we know this is a confidential government project.  If they didn’t superglue a commercial for The Avengers following every standalone film the audience would still know that the super-sequel is inevitable. But instead I have to watch Samuel L. prattle on, in a Captain Ahab eye-patch that always causes my mind to wander to his Deep Blue demise.

The movie uses sound, silence, gritty landscapes and brisk film shots to tell its story and illustrate its cultures. It doesn’t waste time explaining all the rules of the game, the tesserae and oil, or Rue’s district 11 responsibilities.

It even approaches the manipulated relationship between the district 12 tributes with the audience’s perspective, shedding Katniss’s internal conflicts. The movie accepts that they can’t retell the wandering mind of its heroine, so it doesn’t.

My mind keeps going back to the opening scene in District 12; the images of kids peeping through the broken wood of old doors, coal miners trotting off to work, the unstable camera, the sabulous deactivated electric fence. It doesn’t seem like a scene from a book put on film. A choice was made to make a film on this specific dystopian future. And that film boldly abstains compromise.

Katniss, trekking the jungle, would never know of District 11′s revolt, the depth of President Snow’s vileness or even Gale looking wistfully over hills of pine. But the movie let us see the book from another angle, and while it did lose some of the specifics, it provides a strong supplement.

Most importantly, the movie was good. It was good because someone made the decision to eschew the distractions, and make a good film that, by the way, was largely true to the book. Film-makers would do wise to go to school on this.

Now, on to read the other two.

The Joe Pa Article that wasn’t

The news concerning Joe Paterno is a big deal. It’s big in the unique way that if you took all infinite possible sporting news scenarios this would probably be in the one percentile of ‘enormousness’. Right behind “Tom Brady killed ten children”. It’s enormous.

We’re not watching the fall of a coach. Or the fall of a superstar head coach. We’re watching the ultimate defamation of an American Icon. And I don’t even really like America. But I do like Joe Paterno. Or at least I did.

I grew up after Rockne. After Lombardi. After Landry. So if you asked me what a coach looked like. Not a college football coach, just a coach. Or what a coach was supposed to be. I would point to Joe Pa. A moral pillar. A man of tradition. The patriarch of a great family. Even his name – Paterno, so close to paternal, centered on the Latin ‘pater’ for father – rang in harmony with his identity. In addition he represented a dying age of football – an age of fundamentals and leather helmet hits and a grueling ground game. He was a footprints drying in the mud, fading in the snow.

But his involvement, which leaves no believable moral high ground regardless of legal rulings, is so unforgivable – so grotesque that everything he stood for instantly is forgotten. People forget that OJ Simpson wasn’t just a great runningback. He was literally one of the greatest of all time. Now people don’t even know what team he played for. And even still, this is worse. This is not someone just fortunate to be blessed with ability. This is a man who was revered on the field. Off the field. As a human. As a teacher. As a coach who built men. And his choice was somehow more disgusting than murder.

And while it may be difficult. It may be more difficult than any of us could imagine. Using anything other than a zero tolerance policy regarding Sandusky’s actions is unacceptable and unforgivable. The fact that this is wrapped in a case that involves clandestine Universities and a presumed dead District Attorneys makes it even more interesting. ‘Interesting’ as used in the sentence “The Wire is interesting”.

And that is when I realized that I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to talk about it. I get it.  The light is shed on Penn State and it’s all going to crumble on top of all of them. I don’t need to cheer it on. I don’t need to evaluate how this affects the crimes committed.  So for my official insight on this particular issue – I decided to write about something else.

My roommate recently asked me if I wanted to go mountain climbing.

I did not. This is why:

Mountain climbing is literally the worst thing I can think of.

First off it’s cold up there. I ski. I can endure the cold. But I don’t love it. I’m not doing anything “for the cold”. And also, and this is important not to forget, you’re hanging from rocks miles above the ground. If you fall you are looking at an impossibly scary and painful death. You’re not falling flat on Earth in some parachute nightmare ended in a blunt “thud”. You are going to fall on pikes and harpoons reaching out of the mountain like devils with pitchforks. Hard and jagged granite with icy spots to slap your skull as your arms fling about from your falling body’s wildness. Still conscious? You get to watch the fall, the waiting period interspersing this fantastical violence.

“But you won’t be conscious”

It’s ridiculous to assume I’m going to factor that into my imagined death. I mean, if I went mountain climbing, I probably wouldn’t fall. I’d probably be fine. But I’d be thinking about that every single step. And the story my brain tells my soul has the main character experiencing every sensation, concluding with me wedged in some rocky gorge bleeding, freezing, and maybe there are wolves. But my body gives me no assuage in screaming. Just silence. And a cruel paralyzed panic. So I’d be thinking about that every step. Angry and miserable and what’s that? It’s getting colder. Cold enough to freeze rocks. To freeze rocks? Anyone? Earth’s most likely candidate to be portrayed as a solid gets frozen. Tell me you’re starting to see this.

Furthermore the fundamental act of mountain climbing seems like an exercise in painful finger injuries. Sometimes I recklessly joust my arm forward for one reason or another and my thumb hooks on some intrusion and bends too far back. When that happens I pretty much want to die. And while I know that your legs do most of the work, I’ve seen people hanging from  those dreadfully flimsy ropes and key chains with their fingers latched tight to the grizzled terrain. That looks like a situation where I might hurt my fingers. Especially in the cold, which is always most prevalent in, yes you guessed it, your fingers.

Also mountain climbing equipment is like ski gear on crack, and I already can’t afford ski gear. And if this is a multiple day trip, as it would have to be (because at this point we’re pretty much talking about way more serious mountains than my roommate probably meant) that would mean bringing food. Bringing supplies. Bringing oxygen so we can breathe near the summit. That’s a lot of luggage. I get angry when I have to carry my coat because it got warm.

But honestly, I actually think the reward might make it almost worthwhile. Think about what it means to be at the top of a mountain like that. I think that kind of sense of accomplishment would change your life. I don’t know if you’d ever conjure a notion to which you’d think “impossible, I couldn’t” after seeing the sun devour the frozen horizon deep in the distance. There’s one place on Earth that nature went out of its way to make sure you didn’t get there – and you got there.

And then you have to climb down.

America’s Next Sweetheart: Stephanie Morgan.

Television’s most beautiful star has just been taken off the air.

No she’s not one of them.

Vegan food truck, The Seabirds, found themselves at the business end of Food Network’s culling blade. But Rob, Reality TV’s merciless eliminations are what keep the American public nipping at their TIVOs after grueling days in the coal mines – what makes this so exceptional?

Because that team was lead by the classiest of all broads.

I nominate Stephanie Morgan for America’s next sweetheart.

Stephanie Morgan: The most beautiful woman on television.

Looks: Hey, is that the most down-to-Earth NYU Art school student that may or may not be dating whoever the young Matt Damon of today is? No. It’s America’s Next Sweetheart, Stephanie Morgan.

Tattoos: Tasteful.

 Job: She runs a vegan food truck. Which is awesome. And not through that gold-chains-to-the-casino make-me-a-sandwich  lens, either.

In America you fit into one of two categories. Possibly both. 1.) You are vegan/ think it’s an admirable lifestyle and 2.) you enjoy (at least the idea of) food trucks. What’s that? Something for everyone. Oh, that’s because it’s America’s Next Sweetheart Stephanie Morgan.

Friends: Well, I’m assuming she’s close with her fellow truckers:

Most importantly, none of these girls are Nicole Richie.

Neither of your friends seem perpetually coy, vapid or pretentious? You must be America’s Next Sweetheart, Stephanie Morgan.

She's really really pretty.

Makes delicious smoothies: Check.

No Ray-Jay sex tape where Ray-Jay raps in the beginning: Double Check.

Stephanie Morgan – 2

Kim Kardashian – 0.

I don’t know if Kim and Paris were really ever America’s Sweetheart, but I think you get the idea. In unrelated news, I hope you appreciated my subtle foray into Microsoft Paint.

I think you’ve had enough.

Have you started drinking Club Soda? Have you gotten into that little health trend yet? It’s the perfect drink. It gives you something to drink thus quenching those pesky

Drink up.

anxieties. And it bolsters the experience because of its abrupt texture. It doesn’t matter your poison. If you like alcohol, it satisfies that craving. If you can’t stop drinking sweets it satisfies the need. Cuts off the fixation, blocks that urge. A durable panacea with no drawback.

No stomach ache or liver damage or the chalky teeth feel from sugary juices. Probably why Perrier is popular.

Took me a while to figure out why it existed.

The SNL Experiment.

For a while now, iconic Saturday Night Live has unfortunately adopted floundering dribble as a misguided struggle for cheap laughs. But that’s only its current iteration. In its entirety it’s still monolithic – as both a staple of childhood memories; one that told the viewer that they’ve arrived on a level of humorous maturation that could be shared with the wizened upperclass of adulthood; as well as a launching pad for comedic careers.

It’s common knowledge that the show has been dwelling in dark times, but I haven’t been watching it. And if you follow this blog, you know my narcissism convinces me that everyone of you experiences the universe exactly as I. So, here I stand, pulling up the gloves about to do the dirty work of watching an entire episode to fill you in on exactly what’s happening on this show. Because frankly, I know this is going to suck, but I don’t know what is going to suck about it. This is the hard-hitting journalism that’s made this blog reach over 300 hits over the course of its year plus of existence.

First Skit {Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!, you remember.}

This skit’s premise is that Bryant Gumble (Keenan) and Jim Nance (another guy) are reporting from the sports desk on some bracket. The twist? Instead of “March Madness” the bracket tracks actual madness. Like crazy celebs, tyrannous dictators, et al. Just to change things up a bit, I’ll leave the judgment to you here. I’m being generous to counter my killer instinct; but there are some decent impressions here. Hader does a solid Charlie Sheen – even though everything about that media infatuation is frustrating on a base humanist level. Most of the actors don’t carry their role well, but the Nance/ Gumble relationship comes off as authentic. The cast comes close to rescuing this premise, but the talent level is just a little too shallow to nail all the different roles in an unfocused sketch. Has it’s moments.

Monologue {Zach Galifinakis}

I picked the Galifinakis episode, because I wanted to give SNL a chance to succeed, and while like SNL Zach has clearly peaked, he’s still a genuinely funny guy who injects some more talent onto a roster with far more question marks than sure things. The monologue is a snippet of Zach’s stand-up, which I would rather be watching so it works. Some of it is B material. There’s a good bit about Zach’s faux-busy schedule the highlight is probably our host telling us his DVD is selling like “whatever the opposite of hot cakes are”. It’s hard to complain about this all things considered.

Skit {The Talk}

The pre-requisite here is that a show called “The Talk” exists, and it’s a rip off of “The View”. Our cast of four actresses portray uninteresting personalities for cordial round-table discussion. It seems a little late for a Sharon Osborne impression, and the Leah Remini jokes scrape the bottom of the barrel. A lot of weak dialogue to characterize the group as wacky and stupid. It’s skits like this where you think this in fact, IS, a show for children – making fun of that seems in bad taste – but I think that this show does aim to capture an older crowd so I’m not going to discard my objective. Or maybe I was just mistaken when I was younger, and it’s the show’s history that allows these pedantic escapades to flower in the light of an illusory hay-day.

Sorry about that, I digress – ZG makes a late appearance as someone who is upset that this isn’t The View. He’s been tricked. It’s only a little bit funny, but sooner than expected Bill Hader dashes dirt on those embers with a Steven Tyler armed to the tooth with really weak material.

Original Kings of Catchphrase Comedy

This is a fake commercial for a DVD compiling four touring comedians who are known for their reliance on a catch-phrase (You Might be a Redneck, Git-R-Done, you got it.)

It’s funny.

The characters aren’t particularly well thought out, but surprisingly accurate. It’s a little thin and when they go through the rotation a second time you realize it’s not as good. The skit relies on the characters. The Slappy Pappy one is regrettably the funniest, even though it’s entirely too stupid to catch on.

They briefly introduce the less notable catch-phrase comedians. There are some laughs there too.

Scared Straight Skit.

You already know. The premise is introduced with our police officer talking to three kids and welcoming in the criminals who will scare them straight. Not exactly nuanced.

Keenan is unforgivable as Lorenzo Macintosh; a traditional scared straight criminal. Host, ZG is in full-on Hannibal gear; so if you were wondering how this is going to be different from the clichéd Scared Straight skit; that’s pretty much it. Excruciating and long, this skit misses with every step and includes bad sing-speak rhyming ala Andrew Dice Clay.

The problem with Keenan is that he’s still pandering to children. He’s always moving and making wacky eye gestures to the audience. I expected some kind of personal growth over the years he was off camera, but realistically these are the exact same performances he gave when he was Nickelodeon’s go-to guy.

There’s an all-to-brief moment where the cop tries to generate an affable relationship with one of the criminals. Anyway, this is a really bad skit.

AN SNL Digital Short: Zach Looks for a New Assistant.

Zach Galifinakis interviews children to be his assistant, who give genuine accounts of their lives which Zach takes seriously. It relies on the interviewer taking a fanciful scenario seriously. Inevitably Zach begins asking more bizarre questions making the situation awkward but the kids always respond straight faced. One of the kids does a “Live from NY it’s SN” and Zach is confused. Zach pretty starkly announces that he’s doing this because he’s been depressed. It’s a winner.

Weekend Update:

Evaluated story by story.

Obama update: Not good.

Football Lockout piece: Not good.

Something about Pope: Not good.

Mardi Gras/ Women’s Day on the same date: Horrible and easy.

Thing about ex-gf being like Spiderman Play: Sure, it’s fine.

Guest from Broadway: Embarassing.  Goes on for a while. Eventually gets to this part about doing a HS play, which is good but short. Then she sings, which is exactly as lame as you’d expect. If I was a comedic actor and writers gave me this bit to perform I’d be livid.

Electric Chair revealed: It’s alright.

Deep Voice thing: Not good.

Teacher Scandal: Not really a joke, just the natural progression of the concept.

Moose kicks Woman: Not good.

Guest (Liam the teenager who just woke up): He kind of sounds the part but it immediately just gets too silly. Some of this stuff isn’t even creative. Nor is it clever. He starts doing the “I’m actually informed” thing but then he falls asleep and gets silly again. Oh, this is getting bad.

Italy Fugitive thing: Bad.

Strippers in pool: Alright joke.

Bike Café: Actually kind of funny.

That’s a very generous 4 out of 14; including 0-2 in big segments. This time would be better spent watching anything with Norm MacDonald in it.

Celebrity Scoop:

The skit is two stereotype Canadians (Wigg and Portlandia’s Fred Armisen)  politely gossiping about Canadian celebrities. Refuses to show pictures of stars. Zach is Bernard, he’s stationed in the weatherman/ off camera area. No one is good here. Joke seems to be that Canadians are really nice to celebrities. Producer is a moose. Zach gives advice about being stuck in the snow. Blah blah blah.

Fake Commercial (pro-corn syrup):

A motherly Kristen Wigg asks about serving juice with corn syrup at her daughter’s birthday party. The host gets defensive and combines sound logic with sardonic recounts of  Wigg’s family life and perceived lack of intelligence. Commendable dialogue.

Turns out the birthday girl is played by the fat male actor. So Wigg ends up being right, which you don’t see coming. There’s no reason to be mad about this skit.

Titanic thing: Alex Baldwin might be the narrator in the intro.

Group of women are glad they put women and children first, but Zach Galifinakis clearly is a man pretending to be a women and the women have found out. Now he won’t admit he’s not a women. Turns out Zach is the captain, they get his notebook – he knowingly hit the iceberg while doing tequila shots. Another man is pretending to be a baby.  The ending isn’t really worth mentioning.. Tough to give this more than a C.

Ending:

Zach apologized for not getting to the “Mr T” Sketch and he clearly cut his hair into a Mohawk. That’s actually kind of brilliant.

So after wasting plenty of time writing this article, I realize Saturday Night Live has split its demographic. It’s trying to be an authentically funny automaton that churns out winning skits to impress a large demographic, but a lack of talent in both the writing and execution can’t thrive with that goal in mind. To rebuff the audience they talk down to Middle Schoolers who are staying up late for the weekly regiment of glucose. Nothing fundamentally wrong with that, but its problem is that the good stuff isn’t worth wading through the garbage. Maybe that is how it’s always been – but it doesn’t make for a show one can really appreciate.

Also – for those keeping score right now, looks like I was wrong about Lykke Li. Y’all are sleeping.

Lykke Li is about to blow up Black Keys big.

I’ve been a ghost as of late, but I wanted to get this in before it became observed and declared by hip people, a couple months before it gets observed and declared by everyone. This declaration probably identifies me as delusional and self-centered, rightfully so.

For those of you not familiar with the Finnish songstress, she is the coolest female lead singer not named Neko Case. The newest album, Wounded Rhymes, has a bit of an eclectic feel – and brings the melancholy, but not before establishing soon to be ubiquitous bangers.

The album has ten songs. Right off the bat the first song, Youth Knows No Pain, has a good beat – and an intriguing sound, that tells you the kind of atmosphere you’re getting from the album, not similar to Everlasting Light the first track of The Black Keys’ takeover album Brothers. And again like Everlasting Light the song stands unapologetically on it’s own as just good music.

The song titles are admittedly more melodramatic than they should be but I Follow Rivers will be instantly popular. You’ll be hearing it soon enough and likely for a while.

Songs like Jerome, Unrequited Love, and Rich Kid Blues all pull on the heart strings in varying degrees, but it brings far more pop than depressive Elliot Smith sounding artisans. In a genre that gets bogged down by the desperately hopeful voices, Lykke Li’s voice evokes hope as an objective fact as it prominently does in Love Out of Lust.

Most impressively is the sheer amount of coolness Lykke Li brings to the stage. Watch her performance on Jimmy Fallon for proof.

http://idolator.com/5787102/lykke-li-drops-by-late-night-with-jimmy-fallon-to-get-some

She dominates the stage with style. She’s going to be America’s next indie crush.

The collection has a soul, eclectic rhythms that brings jungle basin sounds in tune with ambient sounds, a voice that dabbles in the ethereal.

Accessible, dynamic and profound, Wounded Rhymes has an early grasp on Album of the Year.

Fierce Cave of the Shipwrecked

My fearlessness was recently mangled against the hard steely railing on the side of a highway, along with the front bumper of my Jeep as it fishtailed, sliding in the snow. The feeling is terrifying. You remain absolutely powerless as your vessel wanders away like a lost marble on some child’s wooden floor. As it moves slowly you’re in no physical danger. But the careening, wavering toboggan just sails along the ice and snow. You sense the impending misery. Your car will go away. You will lose a lot of money. This is a serious problem.

And up until now I faced that problem with no consideration for the descent of the other boot. I have an unappreciated tendency to follow my heart through fate’s closing teeth. Watching a blizzard whirl into the front window of my Jeep reminds me of this everytime I foolishly wonder to my Vermont cabin for skiing. After my fore-mentioned encounter with the adamantine fangs of the universe, I find myself paralyzed by the idea of shifting gears over these arctic plains.

Furthermore America has shifted the lens of it’s marketing towards the jarring images of cars hitting against one another. There are a lot of crashes on commercials. Watching these causes some onset not dissimilar to PTS, or so I would assume, reverting me to the scared boy who couldn’t control his mechanical mount. I don’t like it. Don’t like it one bit.

Cash Money

And for a tip he slid her five twenties.

A more than adequate tip for a dinner for two, but you still leave the table like a chump. Patchwork millionaire, please. She miss-glances and it looks like a Hamilton. Five twenties. Its value to any street vendor is the same as the C-Note, but we abandon that custom made American swagger.

I was reading this article until I grew weary of its prattle. The hundred dollar bill isn’t only for criminals and psychopaths, it’s for people who want to look like a boss.

Ask the Cash Money Millionaires the same question and you’ll receive the same answer.

Lil Wayne won't even touch a fifty.

Men have figured out what women and billion dollar industries have always known. An illusion is just as good. Entire lines of cosmetics exist to deceive men. This isn’t new, although I present it as a discovery, it essentially aligns itself with our value system. The $100 dollar bill is the last stronghold for men to play dress-up. We go to the gym, but that doesn’t count. That is actual work and achievement. Plus, it goes across gender. So if we’re going to conform to antiquated gender roles, where a woman is allotted privilege to deceive the man based on her type casting; shouldn’t males be given the same opportunity?

The one hundred dollar bill serves as another accessory. Not as limiting as the jeweled cross, or as gaudy as the big car. But its sex appeal is in its slickness. It’s not a disguise. It’s worth the actual $100, but the lie is in what it represents. We use $100 to show that we have thousands.

I did not intend for this article to sound this bitter, but Jim Beam has quite a way with words. Sorry for another poor showing. I’ve actually been doing a lot of writing if you are keeping track. I’ve been thinking about adding sports articles to the show. It’s where my head is right now.

Most of the writing has been good, sorry you got this. Maybe next time, right?

Feminism – now for nerds

Inquisitive males approach feminism waving a torch and vigilant eye through its decrepit tomb; one rich with intrigue and danger. It’s fluid incarnations may define it as an exclusive tribe, while other times it resemble la revolucion, and finally others as just the end of a long string of common sense.

This probably does not qualify.

It’s an issue of perspective I suppose. As an ethos it is prone to metamorphosis. First you take a subjective view on gender based oppression, than you repel it. Whatever that counterweight is the individual’s version of feminism. No?

So trying to understand it through icons is difficult, because some sects glamorize aspects that are villainous to others.

Anyway. Rihanna probably represents a strong feminist icon. She rebounded from getting the shit kicked out of her by her beau only to leave tabloid rhetoric to the wolves as she pumped out sexually explicit bangers that take ownership of gender role paradigms.

Space Pirate Rihanna.

So that is two pluses on a checklist that might be relevant. Being a white male makes the mindset of the oppressed flicker like a distant star. What is it you want? We ask like frustrated children.

Whitney Houston let abuse and rehab hell define her. I’m not blaming her, but Rihanna’s return came without a limp. Strong showing.

What seems to be a major factor is that, despite recovering from physical abuse and combating a caste system, she still looks anorexic at fuck. That can’t be healthy.

Like – I’m suppose to be writing about feminism and my two pictures so far could find comfortable homes in Maxim. Fucked up, right? Well first off all celebrities lean toward the sexy side of the spectrum.  But cultural biases creates the way we assess beauty, and that may lead to eating disorders, undue stress, various dependencies more specific to the fairer sex.

Question mark AND an exclamation point?!

So a couple months ago I found the biggest progressive movement to unseat antiquated gender roles.

And it’s not this guy.

Anyway, instead of trying to find an icon to represent feminism in isolation, I found a video game.

So together, we’ll break down the six playable characters of Final Fantasy 13:

The only character burdened with a back story of parenting is Sazh. A black man. Usually considered the weakest member of the team.

Hope, an adolescent boy, is a low HP punk.

Than you have a traditional badass in a trench coat, sweet hockey hair, and stubble. Yes, a male. But he gets knocked down by swings to the face some forty-odd times by the female characters. Duke is a total chump. Whines over his girlfriend. Constantly claims himself to be a hero. He can actually summon two Ice goddesses that FORM TOGETHER INTO A MOTORCYCLE and he’s still delusional. How do you even do that? This guy could have been real memorable based on style alone. Swing and a miss, though.

From left to right Fang, Serah (unplayable), Lightning, Vanille.

So we move to the lasses. Women have always played a role in video games. They heal, or they cast magic, or they summon bigger monsters to fight for them. Or they spend the entire game acquiring new outfits. But FF13 changes it up. Lightning – the leader, protagonist character is a straight up brawler. Look at her. Totally fierce and focused on her task. Fang, is a tough as nails stoic type who just tanks out damage. Her job is to literally direct aggression toward her. And then swing her war club. Is it phallic? I don’t know, does that have to matter? And Vanille – well Vanille is pretty much the chick character of yesteryear.

Not one of the trio is remotely interested in romance, at least not with the three suitors that follow them around. I think that’s a first for the genre.

But the game gives you that diversity from the female characters. An opportunity to be successful without a single male on the team. And decides to skip on casting triple sexpots for the leading ladies. Yes they’re still attractive and probably dangerously thin – but it’s a step in the right direction.

So what’s the point? I think this would be cool curriculum for a progressive women’s studies class. But realistically – no one cares and it’s fine because I’m still wincing in embarrassment that I wrote this.

Planet 51′s long overdue critical analysis

I recently identified Pokemon as the television show playing on a car’s TV. Doing things like this is how I impress myself.

Anyway, I think some movies are good because at multiple times in the writing process the creative unit clearly just said, “Yeah well fuck it.” And that neglect dictates the atmosphere of the film.

Alright – so Planet 51 puts The Rock on another planet where the native creatures are scared of him because, get this – he’s the reluctant alien invader.

You know he’s on an alien planet because it rains rocks. Architecture and fashion are suspiciously human. But that’s okay. Castigating this particular film does seem a little petty. And a lot unfair.

My serious problem comes from the way they chain their dogs. I mean – they urinate acid. They have to be at least partially aware that he’s going to pee on the chain and escape, right? Someone needs to hop into their lab coat and through training or technology figure out a better way to keep your dog from chasing the mail man. Who’s with me?

They also add a Wall-E inspired subplot to triple the length of a 30 minute movie. The apathy turbine whirls at full speed.

Guess if this character gets scared and pees oil.

Nothing could possibly matter less than this post. I just wanted to add something to the blog I’ve been neglecting. I started off writing about how letters could be making a comeback, and all we need to do is start using the mail. This spawned from teaching Pride and Prejudice to an AP class in conjuncture with my inability to sustain proper pacing and tone during phone calls. My next option was an expository response to my role at clubs being “bothering other people”, a recent discovery rich with oh-no-variety-laughter. Don’t hate me, I’m a little out of it.

It’s a deep insouciance.