Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Last-Minute Update:

*falls over laughing*

Hitler hears about the DragonBall live action movie.

You know, I saw that for the Dallas Cowboys playoff game last year and just about died, too. Some people have both too much time on their hands and entirely too much creativity!

Not work safe. Hitler drops a few F-bombs.

Dear Charlie:

Okay, I was gonna post a sarcastic and hopefully amusing story about my humble abode being infested with giant, evil spider-crickets... until I started looking for a picture of one and realized that I'm not the first person to coin the phrase...dammit...and that the freaky little buggers really do infest and become an actual problem.


Well, I'll just have to be charming instead of either sarcastic or amusing. I'm sure I can manage if I reeeeeally try.

So I was in the bathtub one night, listening to some tunes and soaking up the steam and good-smelling soap stuff, and I happened to glance up at the clock. And froze in near-terror.

About a foot below said clock was...this:

I was absolutely certain that the mutant spider aliens had finally arrived, and I was to be their first victim. And then it moved a little bit and I realized it had six legs instead of eight. Unfortunately, this posed a different problem, because I was pretty sure that this mamma-jamma was a cricket of some sort, and those giant and thick legs probably meant that it could leap over the world.

And I'm naked in a tub barely ten feet away.

I don't particularly mind bugs, but I'm not fond of being jumped on by anyone or anything, especially something that looks so much like a spider. However, I haven't lived alone for going on eight years now without being a big girl about even the wildest and wooliest of spiders, so I simply kept a weather eye on the monstrosity while I finished my no-longer-relaxing bath, dried off, armored up (well, pajama-ed up anyway) and debated the logic of just throwing a shoe at the damn thing. I have mentioned my superb throwing aim as regards stuff I don't want to get close enough to for hands-on killing, right?

Unfortunately, I don't have a big enough shoe to absolutely get the job done in the bathroom, and the door is even closer to the mutant spider-cricket than the tub. I'd have to walk within a bare two feet of those super-villain jumping legs. And something about its beady eyes...the hypnotic sway of its lengthy antennae...yeah. That little bastard is just waiting for me to drop my guard, at which point it'll rocket straight for my hair, which, while wet as hell, is still just curly enough to tangle around all those legs.


But, needs must when the Devil drives, so I sidled over to the door, opened it up, and pressed back against it as I inched within a foot and a half of the black, crouching gross on my wall. I'm sure it debated leaping at me then. *snerk* I made damn sure it never got another chance at me, though.

Once I was past the immediate danger, I strode calmly to my room, debated between the wooden and aluminum bats on either side of my bed, decided on the aluminum one as more likely to demolish that armored exoskeleton, and simply dispatched the little bugger before it could even think of defying physics by jumping back-sideways at me. Problem solved.

Or so I thought.

A couple of days later, I'd decided to wear a skirt to work and wanted to wear a different pair of shoes that I don't wear very often. I'm not much for "dress" shoes, but these are Harley Davidson brand slides, so they're not so bad. Heh. Anyway, because of my latent loathing of spiders, I've been a shoe-checker since I was like two. And thank God for that.

If I had stuck my bare foot into that HD slide and my toes had touched the ginormous spider-cricket corpse inside, I would have come unglued. Seriously. They'd have had to put me away, and I'm thinking that Thorazine wouldn't have been enough to keep away the nightmares. Just the thought of how it might have felt still makes my toes curl in reflexive disgust.

Dear God.

Then, the night before last, I went into my bedroom -- I always try to go in, turn on the light, set the alarm so I don't forget later, and check for spiders on the walls before I take a bath at night -- turned on the light, set the alarm, turned around, and again froze...this time in outright annoyance. There again was a spider-cricket, antennae twitching as it froze on the far wall.

Again factoring in the leap factor, I debated the logic of looking for some kind of bug spray or just creeping up on it with the aluminum bat. Figuring that it was late enough already and that I had to work in the morning and needed to get my insomniac butt into bed, I settled on the bat. One crunch, and another one bites the dust.


At this point, I started composing a post in my head, planning to look up a suitable picture to encompass the horror. Instead, I realized that I might well actually have a problem on my hands. Admittedly, we're talking about three spider-crickets here, not an army.

But that's three spider-crickets in less than a week, and I've been here for almost eight years without seeing a single one.

Not. Good.

So I may have to hunt up some bug bombs for the cellar and do another good walk-around the inside and outside with some suitable liquid death before it gets much later in the year. Hopefully, this early cold snap will either sluggish them down or kill 'em off completely before they become an actual infestation, but if not, I got no problem poisoning the very air to rid myself of something that looks so like the most loathed and despised creature on the planet.

Otherwise, I may very well have to be committed. At least I'd have ninety-six blessedly spider-cricket free hours in which to catch up on my sleep.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Snicker-Worthy Sidebar:

Okay, rarely does a football game make me laugh until I cry. Offhand, I can only think of one other time, and that was when an announcer said, "That guy has legs like a table", to which the other announcer only paused a beat before asking for clarification with definite laughter in his tone.

But this time....

Twice today, the Chiefs' fill-in punter has had to weigh in on a tackle to get the runback guy down. Bless his heart, but he's filling in for Colquitt, who is a well-known excellent, so he's really putting his back into it.

Or, in this case, jumping on the other guy's back. Heh, that was good for a snicker, but when the announcer, at his most droll, said, "Come on, and take a free ride"....

Yeah. I lost it. I laughed so hard that I missed the next play. Part of it was relief that someone finally got the runback down, but...geez.

My boys may not end up winning this game, but they played their hearts out down to the last man. The fill-in punter. Awesome.


[Edited to add: If life were a movie, my boys would have won that game just for how hard they tried. I mean, Thigpen was darn near perfect at QB, we did all right (but not spectacular) at RB, Tony G was more than reliable as ever, we were on the winning side of the turnover ratio, including points off of turnovers, and for the first time since that fluke Denver game, we played like a team that knew what it was doing. *sigh* My poor boys. They oughtta give points for trying.

It kills to watch them go all out like that and play well and still end up on the wrong side of the scoreboard.]

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Dear Charlie:

Continuing on my horror movie month, I rented the Urban Legends trilogy last night. Dumb, I know, but kinda funny, too. Until I realized that instead of 1, 2, and 3, I had 1, 3, and 3. Yeah. Reeeeeal good filing system they got at the ol' video store.

But when I took them back this morning, they were kind enough to give me a free rental, since it turns out they don't have the second movie at all. So, I rented the first three Jason movies. I mean, it just kinda struck me as I stood there staring with glee at the horror shelf that, while I've chowed my way through such franchises as Nightmare on Elm Street and the Halloween flicks (all but that wretched third one that no one cares about), and I've watched such clunkers as Jason X and Freddy vs. Jason, I've never actually watched the Friday the 13th series.

Say it ain't so!

So, I picked up the first three on a whim...and then stumbled upon Jack Brooks: Monster Slayer. Dear God, it looks like a bad remake of Army of Darkness in a little bit more modern setting. And after watching it, I gotta say that AoD has no competition here. Heh.

Don't get me wrong. It has Robert Englund in it, so it's not all bad. But...oi. It's...pretty darn bad. Heheh. Thankfully, it's that funny kind of bad that makes it not so hard to sit through. Campy good fun for everyone.

And now, I gotta watch Mrs. Vorhees cut her way through a slew of slovenly, pot-smoking, sex-pot teenagers. God, I love October.


Monday, October 20, 2008

Dear Charlie:

Okay, no comment on my beloved Chiefs. They...need some help. Divine help, maybe. Is it wrong to pray for your football team to win a few games instead of just the one?

Yeah, no comment.

So, interesting news here on the DragonBall movie. They might be doing some reshoots for the flick, due to fandom criticism. Maybe if they hadn't picked DragonBall, well known for its planet-wide fanbase, to play around with....

Either way, I'm pretty sure they can't fix much of what's wrong with the plot, but the word "reshoots" does give me a spark of hope. Maybe they can take Goku out of high school?

*crosses fingers*

Guh. At this point, I'm actually kinda tired of thinking about it. Just...get it over with, guys. Seriously.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Dear Charlie:

Watched two more horror-type flicks last night. One -- El Orfanato, or The Orphanage in English -- was presented (but neither written, directed, nor produced) by Guillermo del Toro. The other -- The Invisible -- starred the guy who's gonna play Goku in the travesty of a DragonBall movie.

First things first, my opinion of Justin Chatwin as an actor has gone up, which definitely isn't a bad thing. I'd only seen him in War of the Worlds, and I was too irritated by his character to really gauge his acting skills. I dunno if he'll be able to pull off a plausible Goku, but it really doesn't matter. Even if he nails it -- the possibility of which I'm now willing to acknowledge -- I can't see how they're going to get around the fundamental failure of a plot in which Goku...innocent, naïve, uneducated Goku...is in high school.

Huge. Plot. Hole. A gaping chasm, really. But, oh well.

The Orphanage, though...now that's some fascinating stuff. No fantastical beasts. Just ghosts. Just heavy atmosphere and a grippingly grievous plot twist that, even if you accept the unexplained, catches you so off-guard. Not a trick, just...so very sad.

I also watched a rather bewildering and plot-hole-bedizened The Marsh. I so admire Forest Whitaker's acting, and he didn't particularly disappoint in this flick, but the flick itself was just so...silly. It's like they lead you to certain conclusions, but then don't follow through with them. You're supposed to make certain assumptions, but they leave it so open that you could easily tone down those assumptions to something a little less...yuck. So...I dunno.

If nothing else, it wasn't remotely creepy. The Orphanage has an atmosphere like a wet blanket -- suffocating, close, clinging, claustrophobic. The Marsh? Well, it had some pretty scenery and some quickmud, but that's about it.

And back to The Invisible? Meh. Interesting plot idea, but the follow-through came across as almost tedious after so much of it. Chatwin did a great job of conveying his inability to change his environment, both as a carnate being and as an incarnate one. But it just didn't do anything for me. Those last 20-30 minutes are supposed to be so tense and finger-gnawing, but I just found myself wanting to fast-forward.

It was interesting to watch him affect his environment while in a rage, only to turn around and see that he'd changed nothing. He could swipe everything off a desk, turn around to catch his breath, turn back, and see everything perfectly in place. As if he'd never touched it. As if he didn't exist to make such changes. That was pretty neat to contemplate.

But that was about all it was worth -- contemplation. Some good character moments, some nifty posits of thought, and some great acting. But in all, just meh. It wasn't a horror movie so much as a...a thinking movie. A "what if?" movie. Not bad, but definitely not an October kind of flick.

However, I have one more rental to watch this weekend. The Cave. I'm pretty sure it's gonna suck pond water, but I can't help liking a good creature feature. Heheh.

Oh, yeah! Forgot to mention that I just got back from watching Max Payne. Not bad. Decent entertainment. Had some pretty awesome special effects. But overall, it didn't blow me out of the water. One of the trailers did, though.

Rock-n-rolla. A new Guy Ritchie flick. British gangstas. It's gonna be awesome. Even got Gerard Butler of Dracula 2000 and 300 fame in there. Should be a riot to watch.

To me, it looked like a cross between Snatch and Smokin' Aces. I don't know that you can beat a combination like that. Woo-hoo!

My only complaint? No Ryan Reynolds. Guess I'll just have to wait for Deadpool in the new Wolverine movie. Sweeeeeet.

Of course, there was no DragonBall trailer. That's been pushed back another couple of months. Surprise, surprise. The leaked trailer was...pretty meh. They're trying to put together a more wowie one. Good luck with that, guys. I really mean that.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Dear Charlie:

I totally kyped this from Xero Sky, one of the most talented (and poignantly hilarious) fanfiction writers out there. I usually avoid internet memes like the plague, but I like the structure of this one. Kinda like how I usually don't like writing poetry, but you give me a villanelle or something with that much structure and that many rules (like haiku), and I am all there.

What can I say? I like a challenge. Or a dare. *shrug* Either works.

Ten things I wish I could say to ten different people:

1. You inspire me every day.
2. Thank you for wanting to stand up for me, even though I did it for myself first.
3. If I could pick my family, you would definitely be my brother.
4. No offense. [This is to my actual brother, of course.]
5. Grow up. Seriously.
6. At some point, you have to learn from your mistakes. Ignorance may be bliss, but willful stupidity is a waste of an otherwise perfectly good brain.
7. If you really knew me, you'd either fall head over heels in love or run screaming into the night. I'm not sure which option is more preferable to me.
8. I made you a hat.
9. I quit.
10. Love doesn't always have to be trumpets and fireworks and sighing until you pass out from over-oxygenation. Sometimes, love is quiet. Sometimes, love is trust. Sometimes, love is your best friend. And that's okay.

Nine things about me:

1. I don't like toothpicks. I don't know why.
2. I can pack for a whole month in one carry-on-sized bag.
3. I don't like talking on the phone.
4. I sometimes wish I could just be a hermit.
5. I have this odd fascination with working the word "monkey" into everyday conversation.
6. I like to reply to important work e-mails with gibberish. Keeps people on their toes.
7. I also like to add useless but amusing trivia facts to important work e-mails. Again with the tiptoe thing.
8. I can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue in under 6 seconds.
9. I'm a rotten housekeeper.

Eight things to win my heart:

1. What heart?
2. Develop a sense of humor. Seriously. Laughter is better than sex. Laughter during sex is better still.
3. Open the window to listen to the rain with me.
4. Read. Or talk football with me. Either works.
5. Be snarky and charming. Tricky but entirely possible.
6. Lose the arrogance. It's a severe turn-off. However, cockiness is okay, and confidence is great.
7. Possess at least better-than-average intelligence. I love to laugh, but I also love to have a decent conversation on a wide variety of subjects.
8. Dress like Goku in DragonBall Z. You could probably just skip all the other ones and just do this.

Seven things that cross my mind a lot:

1. It's not fair for cartoon characters to be so damn attractive.
2. I think I might have been meant for a different generation.
3. I should go to bed early.
4. I should've gone to bed early.
5. The entire gas/oil/petroleum industry should be strung up by their toenails.
6. Surely, there's more to life than this.
7. Why are feet so frickin disgusting, and why do so many people love to show theirs off??

Six things you do before you fall asleep:

1. Pray for sleep.
2. Take a bath/shower.
3. Listen to music.
4. Set the alarm.
5. Smooth the fitted sheet. I can deal with tossed covers (I'm a serious tosser-turner), but I need the sheet under me to be smooth or I lay there obsessing over every little wrinkle.
6. Toss and turn.

Five people who mean a lot:

1. My beloved sister.
2. My mother.
3. Dave.
4. Pesh.
5. Kristi.

Four things you're wearing right now:

1. Underwear.
2. Boots. I am only without some form of shoe in the bath or in bed. Otherwise, I am shod.
3. My favorite old, ratty, fatigue-green sweatshirt.
4. Comfortably worn jeans. God's gift to man and woman alike.

Three songs you listen to often:

1. "Getting Smaller" - NIN
2. "Bye Bye, Blackbird" - Joe Cocker
3. "Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting" - Carl Douglas

[This list could literally go on for days. I love music, and I have no problem repeating a song or particular group for weeks at a time. Never get tired of it.]

Two things you want to do before you die:

1. Visit all 50 states.
2. Own my own used-book store without needing a profit, so I can truly enjoy being surrounded by so many works of literature without worrying about losing it all.

One confession:

1. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Sometimes, that makes me sad.

Hilarious Sidebar:

*giggles until it hurts*

Remember I said something about fake trailers for movies by the main characters in Tropic Thunder? To be honest, I don't remember if I did or not. I meant to.


Anyway, "Tugg Speedman" had his Scorcher VI trailer. "Jeff Portnoy" had his Fatties: Fart 2 trailer. "Alpa Chino" had his Booty Sweat energy drink commercial, complete with Bust A Nut energy bar pimping. And "Kirk Lazarus"...

...had Satan's Alley.

Give it a watch. It's a little blurry, but that's probably because it was kyped from the theater by some very bad person. Yes, my name is Pot. No, I'm not black. And keep in mind that this is supposed to define Lazarus' Method acting background and his "serious" acting bent.

And then proceed to laugh hysterically. And watch aaaaaallll the way to the end. The very last line is my absolute favorite. I'm seriously.

Might not be work-safe. Depends on if your boss has a sense of humor or not. Heh.

If anyone's interested, links to the other characters' trailers are in that "related videos" sidebar. I'm just sayin.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Frackin' Awesome Sidebar:

Dude! Luther Reigns -- he of the lovely legs and astonishingly perfect proportion for such a big WWE-type -- was just on Heroes! Did I happen to mention that I love that show? It's the only regular TV program for which I'll actually turn on the tube.

If possible, I love it even more now. God, I hope his is a recurring part. The bartender for a Star Wars cantina-like gathering place for "specials"?

I can totally see that coming back around. *crosses fingers*

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Dear Charlie:

Okay, so I took two much-needed days off work to run to the hometown. First things first, I...*swallows hard*...cut my hair.

Yes, I know. It's stupid to get worked up over something as dumb as whether or not to cut my hair when I so rarely care what it looks like at all, but...it's just so long. And I like it long. No one ever says, "Oh, your hair's so cute!" when it's long. When it's short? Yeah. ALL the time.

So, I haven't cut it more than to trim off the bad ends in probably three years. Give or take. It was just a few inches shy of the waist of my jeans when I straightened it.

I didn't cut it completely, though. It's still juuuuust past my shoulders. Not nearly as short as I usually cut it when I get the weird urge to do so. I asked Uwana -- the only person I trust to cut my hair after a reeeeeally bad experience in college -- to cut it back to the healthy hair, then trim off a little more when it was a weird mid-length. In all? Over eight inches hit the floor. Maybe ten. I honestly don't know. I refused to look when she was done.


But I like the new cut, and since it's basically a simple blunt cut -- though there's a bit of shaping that's nice -- it'll grow out easily whenever I want. That's all that really matters. Plus, it looks much healthier -- shiny all the way to the ends and without that kind of ragged, thinned-out look. Definitely better.

I will most likely change my mind the first time someone says its CUTE.

Anyway, then I went by Kristi's house to congratulate her on her incipient identical twins -- this is the same practically-family friend who had fraternal twins just three-ish years back -- and enjoy a weenie roast. The current twins are fricking adorable, and it was good to smooch on them a little.

Then, I hit Mom's. Her birthday is Tuesday, so I wanted to get down there for a little celebration. My beloved sister came over on Saturday, too, for the pseudo-party. I got Mom some of those nifty reed scent diffusers -- sandalwood (my favorite) and fresh linen (one of Mom's favorites) -- and Sis got her some awesome coffee. That's one of those things that they share. Coffee love.

And Mom reminded me how to crochet. Yup, crochet. It's been a long time. I couldn't remember how to do anything but chain. It didn't take long to fall back into the habit, though. Single crochet, anyway. I had to take double lessons on double crochet, because I kept forgetting the second yarn-over. Heh.

At any rate, I'd brought down a pattern for a crocheted stocking cap-type hat, and as of today, I've made three. The first two were practice -- and they're lumpy, crooked things -- but the third one is for keeps. I love it. I'm keeping it. As usual, once I got the hang of the design, I changed it for my own. I left out the middle part of the hat that I couldn't get to look like the pattern picture I'd printed out and just single crocheted a stovepipe-type striped section, instead. If I wanted, I could make a Cat in the Hat kind of hat now.

As of this moment, though, I don't want. Oi. Three hats in three days is too many. My fingers are darn near arthritic from the unaccustomed activity. Typing, I can do for hours on end. Crochet is a whole different level of finger exercise. Yeowch.

Anyway, I'm home and safe and, if not particularly looking forward to work, I'm at least willing to slouch my way in for another day. It'll do.

I guess.

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Dear Charlie:

Well, it's Wednesday -- or close enough for government work -- so I think I'm far enough removed from the incident to finally talk about it. That dreadful 0-34 blowout at the Panthers.

God, it hurt to watch.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: when your punter's having a great day, the rest of the team is not. One of the few good things I can say about Sunday's game was that Dustin Colquitt was, as usual, in fine form.

But seriously. He shouldn't have to earn his paycheck quite so fully.

Like I said in a comment to The Poz's article -- I've never commented there before, but I couldn't help myself this time -- that game was like someone came up with a new reality show where they steal all the Chiefs gear, put it on a bunch of average joes, and make the Joes play a real NFL team. The winner isn't the best player, but whoever's left standing after the beating.

I think it's safe to say that Bernard Pollard and Derrick Johnson were still standing -- I remember not wincing when their names were mentioned, anyway -- and Colquitt was definitely still on his talented feet, but that's about it.

Well, Tony Gonzales achieved the last remaining tight end record he hadn't already smashed to bits, which is pretty cool, but...seriously. He only needed 2 yards to get it. And it's gotta hurt to own every tight end record available and still not have a SuperBowl ring. I can understand why he's looking elsewhere, though I'll be sorry as hell to see him go. He's a class act, so far as I know.

But between the continual juggling of the quarterbacks, the seemingly insurmountable youth of the team as a whole, and this odd laissez-faire coaching strategy from Herm Edwards that boggles my rational mind, my beloved Chiefs are sinking faster than a lead balloon in a quadruple gravity well. At some point, it's gotta stop. I know good and well from the occasional glimpse of past Arizona Cardinals games that 34-0 is not rock bottom, but it's been a damn long time since my boys sunk that low.

Let's not test the bedrock.

These young players showed heart and the building blocks of discipline against a bewildered Broncos team a week back. I know they can do it again. But Herm is gonna have to get his two fingers out of his mouth and get over being "puzzled" about his team. We're gonna have to watch those penalties and, for the love of the goalpost gods, we gotta capitalize on turnovers instead of just turning it back over.

Is there a record for how many times a ball was turned over in a single quarter? Because I think we came close. We threw it, they intercepted. They dropped it, we picked it up. We dropped it, they picked it up. Unfortunately, they scored...and we totally didn't.

Yes, it's a rebuilding year, but even rebuilding from the ground up wouldn't excuse what happened on Sunday. That was like a tune-up game from hell. We can't let it happen again. I don't care if we finish up 4-12 again, so long as we're not 1-15 because of a one-time blitzkrieg that gave us an excuse to not care about the rest of the season. It doesn't work that way.

Not if you wanna ever get out of the cellar. And I know my boys, whatever iteration they may be. My boys don't like the cellar. Even if we go one-n-done in the playoffs, we usually...ya know...go. At least a few times a decade. Anyone got stats on that?

Doesn't matter. They'll get better. They always get better. And hopefully, we'll soon say bye-bye to Herm Edwards and hello to...well...just about anyone else. But Shottenheimer.

Guh. Run, run, run, punt! Run, run, run, punt! Run, run, run, punt! Anyone see a pattern? It's called Marty Ball for a reason. Oi.

Let's...not talk about it anymore.

Go Chiefs!

Sunday, October 05, 2008

Dear Charlie:

Continuing my horror movie month -- and conveniently ignoring the 34-0 shutout of my beloved Chiefs, who are surely having a worse week than I am -- I rented Poltergeist.

Now, remember when I said that scary movies terrified me and gave me nightmares when I was a kid, but I grew out of that? Well, this is one of them. I can't tell you how many times I dreamed of being eaten by a tree. How long I was afraid of storms (which I now love). Thank God I was already creeped out by clowns, or this flick and IT would have really done some damage. Heh.

But I did grow out of that terror, and now I love watching the movies that once scared me to death. And Poltergeist is one of the very few that can still affect me, if not in particularly the same way. And I think I know why. I think it's because both the mother and father actually care about their kids, would honestly do anything to see them safe.

Remember The Amityville Horror? The original one, not the rewrite? It just never worked for me. It took the remake to show me why.

In that original flick, Kathleen Lutz was more interested in saving her marriage -- her second -- than in keeping her children alive. Worse, George Lutz himself came across more as sullen and distant, even before moving into the house whose atmosphere changed and possessed him, than the much more charming (and far more sympathetic and worthy of saving) Ryan Reynolds character that came later.

It's this iffy family bond that makes the Lutz' situation falter and thus makes whatever happened to them seem...a little flat. Add in all the speculation of the "real" story, about them just wanting out of a mortgage that was too much for them and such, and there's just not much there to tingle the spine.

But in Poltergeist, both the mother and father are fully devoted to both each other and their children. When asked to walk into the unknown with no guarantee that she would either succeed or ever be able to come back, Diane simply grabs the rope and heads in. Her baby is in that nowhere, and she will by God bring her out if she can. Nothing short of the infinite will stop her.

That scene where you hear Carol Anne running from something, and she invisibly runs right through Diane, and Diane starts weeping as she realizes she can smell her baby on her clothes, on her hands...that brings a shiver even now. Not a bad shiver, though. A good one. I mean, I'm not sure Kathleen Lutz even knew what her kid looked like, let alone smelled like.

That familial connection makes everything that happens to the Freeling family that much more terrible. Because you don't want anything to happen to them. You want them to stay a happy family. You want Carol Anne to snuggle up to her mother and for Steven to put his fatherly arms around them both. You want Robbie to beat the crap out of that sadistic clown doll -- who the hell has a creepy-ass thing like that in a kid's room, anyway? -- and to spit in its strewn stuffing.

You want them to stay safe. You want them to win.

The Lutz family? Meh.

Now, in the Amityville remake, they fixed that error, and it's still not quite terrifying. But at least you care whether or not Kathleen cracks open George's head. You don't feel like he deserves it. And you believe that she'd rather save her children than spend one more night in a money-suck of a house that threatens them at every turn. And it just about breaks your heart when George yells at her to kill him before he kills all of them. He's pleading with her. He doesn't want to hurt them. He just can't help himself.

Or maybe I just like Ryan Reynolds.

Either way, it's better but still not a great. Like Poltergeist. Doesn't mean it isn't entertaining, but...I'd rather watch Carol Anne and wonder how Heather O'Rourke would have turned out if she'd lived past the age of 12. Bless her heart.

Friday, October 03, 2008

Dear Charlie:

You know, I always thought there was a finite amount of snot a humanoid's body could produce. Apparently, I was wrong.

But I've been wrong before. I admit it freely.

So, ignoring the disgusting fact of the Creeping Crud once again crapping up my nose, throat, and chest, I think I'll move on to a much more fun and less gooshy topic of conversation. Yes, I bought Iron Man. And, while pretty much anything Tony Stark says is gold, I actually think that the best line/exchange in the whole movie is thus:

Scientist: To power the suit...sir, the technology actually doesn't exist. So, it's...it's....

Stain: Wai-wait. The technology? William, here is the technology. *gestures* I've asked you to simply make it smaller.

Scientist: Okay, sir, that's what we're trying to do, but...honestly...it's impossible.


Heheheh...God, that cracks me up. Could be all the snot.

In short, this movie is just as fun to watch on a small screen as it was on the big one. I've been through it three times already. I'll probably watch it again before going back to my more month-appropriate horror flicks.

Now if I could just talk them into putting Tropic Thunder out now instead of in December....