Confused Symbolism

It is hard to believe that the Presidential Campaign that started in 2007 is all but over. It is even harder to believe that we are left with two less than enthusing choices.

My man Thompson, Better Fred Than Dead, came in to weak and got killed off early in the fight. I didn't even get a chance to vote for him in our local primary. I had to scribble the box for Romney. And even that was to no affect after McCain and Huckabee teamed up to sandbag that honorable mormon. And the shu-in from the start of the campaign, Conventional wisdom's choice, Mr. Mayor, Judy Ruliani, went down in flames early. Which was really no great loss to me. If he had been the nominee instead I would have been still holding my nose as I scratched my opposition to Democrat Liberalism. The lesser of two weevils, you know.

When Thompson "suspended" his campaign, I was downhearted. And then when it became apparent that McCain was going to become the nominee for the Republican party, and by proxy the best candidate for us Conservatives Firsts, I became politically morose. I even thought about not voting this year.

But I soon got over that. Not voting, is a vote for the opposition. It's true. Even for those of us who are lost on a sea of blue. We can take some small conciliation in knowing that one red vote will cancel out one blue vote. And if enough of us red coats turn out, we can send those Blue Rebels packin'! Miracles do happen you know. You Betcha!

And then that happened. Palin was summoned from the Great North Country, the land that the contiguous forty-eight forgot. At first I was skeptical. I didn't know hardly anything about her. Except that she was in her early forties, and I had recently seen a picture of her at an Alaskan State press conference, very pregnant with her fifth child and looking good. I knew that she was a Republican, and that she was doing good works there in Alaska, but that was it. But as the days passed I began to grow more confident in the choice. And by the time we arrived at the RNC I was convinced that she was a good choice. And then I heard her speak. And I KNEW she was the best possible choice that McCain could have ever made. If for no other reason than by hearing what all of the media elites and the political pundants had to say: "Oh, this it the biggest mistake McCain could have ever made!" But we know better, don't we, my fellow Bitter Clingers.

It was also at that conference that my boy Thompson gave the most rousing speech of all the has-been fellas. I turned to Belle and said "Why wasn't he talking like this in the primaries? Could you imagine a Thompson-Palin ticket?"

But then McCain, or his advisers, depends on who you listen to, got ahold of Palin and said, "We have got to tone her down. We have to appeal to our beloved moderates. That conservative saber rattling will never do." And the rose bloom had a dark, wet blanket thrown over it. BUT, about three weeks ago the Bulldog chewed a hole in that dirty packing tarp and came out snapping. Just in the nick of time.

But was it enough? We'll know tomorrow night.

You have pro'bly noticed that I haven't said anything about the opposition ticket: Obiden. What's there to say? There's not much to say except that anyone who votes for Obiden is willingly ignor-let me be more blunt: Stupid On Purpose.

I have a good friend, used to be anyway, who is voting for Obiden. And in my rousing conversations with him, I became aware that he was not voting for Obiden out of a logical, conclusive, reasoning, deducing mind. (I know that sounds really bad, but I really do love him. He was closer than a brother for years and years.) My friend is voting for Obiden out of simple emotion. He has been seduced by the image that is Obama. The appearance that he is intelligent. That he is well spoken. That he can restore our standing in the world. I don't doubt that Mr. Obama is smart. The fact that he has gotten as far as he has proves that he has some kind of smarts. However, I believe that they are the smarts created by brawling in the gutter.
And it has served him well. Politics is war after all. If only our combatant had been aware of that.

But the race is not to the swift, nor to the strong, but to him that endureth to the end (NLIT - New Living Incomplete Translation-see how easy it is to create your own version.)

Undoubtedly this has been a race of mixed up mascots. The GOP has the Elephant and the Dems have the donkey. But it has been the great *ah-hem* white Elephant that the media-wing of the democrat party has been pushing toward the wire, and it is the stubborn maverick donkey that you and I have been left with the task of dragging across the finish line.

If you are eighteen. Vote. And when all the rhetoric is boiled down, you are left with only two clear criterion for making your final decision: Your pocket book. And your conscience. If you don't fully understand the greater impact of the financial debate, ask someone you trust to 'splain it to you. And if you don't have a conscience: shame on you.

One final thought. Look everywhere, and they all say that Barry's the next President. Conventional wisdom has thus declared it so. I don't subscribe to that magazine. I believe that McCain and Palin are going to pull this one out of the bag. And I don't believe that it is going to be by 500 votes in Florida. It will be undeniable. This will be the October surprise, only in November. It will be contested by the Dems, but just like in 2000, every time they count the votes, the winner's lead will increase.

Conformity

Soo very rarely does something come across the net that I find genuinely interesting. You know, all those quizzes and test that you can take. Like "What does your front door say about you." As if you, if you're still living with your parents or with someone else, even chose the color of your door, or even worse, chose your house BECAUSE of the front door. Or the "What kinda mocha are you." Or there is the quizzes that you can take, but never answer every question honestly or at least directly. Come on, you know what I'm talking about. For example: Q: What is your favorite color? A: That color that is like orange but without the yellow, and like pink, but without the white.

Now imagine that the question is not about colors, but something that is actually important. Come on, you know what I'm talking about!

You've prob'ly noticed that I have never done those. What's the point, if I'm not willing to answer each question with the same degree of directness and honesty? It would feel like taking a test but failing it on purpose.

But then I saw something that was being passed around that I thought was really cool. The Blog Readability Test. The concept of something external looking at my blog and judging it, for some reason appealed to me.

So I bounced around to everyone's blog (yes, the entire blog-o-sphere) and saw the collective results. And then I tried mine. And nothing happened. It said "We were unable to check the URL you entered."

"What?" I squinted incredulously at the screen. So I tried it again. Same result. "This stupid thing," I muttered and navigated away. But that wasn't the end. I couldn't help but think about it. I was faced with a problem and I wanted to find the answer. Silly. I know. Then it hit me, lets try it without the preceding web directions. You know, the http and the www. thingies. So I did that. Copied my url without the webdircts and bounced over to the readability test sight. And what did I see? DU-UH! They had already hardcoded the http:// into the page!

So it should come as no surprise that my readability is:

TV Reviews

Go figure. I am in agreement with CowgirlE and Daisy, the lower the scoring the better. If only I could have gotten a Preschool level! Then all my *ah-hem* nemeses would be vindicated.

But Belle and I couldn't figure out how MY blog, with it's monster posts and big worded rants rated an Elementary School comprehension level and hers, with short observations and lotsa pics got a . . . well I'll let her tell you for herself, if she wants to.

. . .

So it has been almost four months since I last posted. That's pretty lousy. It hasn't been for the lack of action to report on, that's for sure. If I was in the service, I'ld probly be drawn up on charges of "dereliction of duty." You know, not getting my paperwork turned in.

So here's what's happened since I last rambled on about a stupid movie.

On July 10th, I rolled my van. Yeah, I know. Stoopid. It was crazy. Long story short, I'm alright, the dog's alright, and the van was totalled. But, God is good and I was in a new van by the 2nd of August. A newer van. A bigger van. One with a bigger motor that actually moves when you put you foot down.

This is the old van

Sorry, no pics of the new one. It looks just the same as this model, only a little taller. And obviously without the rusty scratches.

Then on July 15th, Puggles, or Mea as some call her, was born and I stayed home for a couple of weeks watching film noir and taking care of Belle. That was the week that the kids had camp. It was nice and quiet. Verrry Niiiiiice. I recommend it for all parents of multiple children. Definitely farm them off whenever you have the chance. That was also the week that that I almost posted. It was a post that was going to be titled "Why I Shouldn't Be A Stay At Home Dad." I'm used to leaving everyday, going and strenuously laboring in some far off place and then coming home every night to a wonderful loving wife and family. I was glad that Belle was back up when she was. Not a moment too soon. Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind doing the dishes and making the meals, lunches and breakfasts anyway, but I was beginning to get a little stir crazy.

Those are the two things that stand out the most, in a non-spectacular three/four months filled with the hum-drum of normal life

That, and The Dark Knight! I was pleasantly surprised when I heard Doug Redenius, Vice President of the Ian Flemming Foundation (don't worry, I had never heard of him before yesterday) on the radio agree with me that The Dark Knight is the best movie ever made. If you haven't seen it yet, then what are you waiting for? Come on, you gotta help push it into One Billion. That's right, last I checked, the movie that cost them 1.8 million has grossed, world wide, 980+ million. HooYah!

I was going to post about Film Noir also. I may yet. Our local library is growing it's DVD collection (I think they are planning on putting BlockWood Video out of business). In their stacks they have a burgeoning number of true classics. You know, black and white, before the moral morass of the late sixties, early seventies.

Hey Jak, don't change the name of your blog. You have got a great original name. flowershop girl. It's quick, concise, to the point. It's WHAT you are, not WHO you are. It's a like a scullery maid. It's just her job, it only describes her current position. Not what she wants to be, not what she dreams and hopes and is striving to be. And I think that you have done a pretty good job at telling us what the current flowershop girls wants to be. Something more than she is. If nothing else, it has been good therapy for you.

Saturdays Gone

What did you do last Saturday? I hope it was more than I did. And more than I am doing today (I started this last Sunday) All I did was lay around and read, and fend off climbing, clambering, screaming, squawking, tricycle motors. (That is actually an accurate description of one.)

I spent the morning reading up on G.I. Joe. When I was about six or seven I was given my first second hand G.I. Joe action figure, Mutt, and that was it. It was on. Until I was thirteen that was all I spent my money on: Joes, and G.I. Joe Comics. Of course, the comics continued past 13.

What got me started on my Joe diving last Saturday is that I bounced over to IMDB (which KitKat has still not answered my question about). They have finally made a G.I. Joe movie, due to be released in '09. And much to my chagrin, I think that they have messed it up but good. I am SO TOTALLY looking forward to being proven wrong. I was whining to Belle that I have been waiting for this movie for ten years, and it threatens ominously to be another X-men.

Now, I was never a big fan of the X-men comics as a whole, all those crazy mutant "powers" with their pretentious, ostentatious galactic conflicts between good and bad mutants while normal humans squabbled in fear and stereotypical prejudice in the background, suffering the consequences of "homo-superior's" actions. But there where certain characters that I did like.

I always liked Wolverine, the tough, military anti-hero who was paternally protective of the defenseless teenage girls on their own. I always liked Storm, her black skin and white hair and ability to control air currents to fly (among other weather related abilities). Who hasn't wanted to be able to fly? I think that it's a Divine inspiration that has managed to prevail in popular literature. But I digress. Last but not least (did you know that Shakespeare coined that phrase?) There's Rouge, who could absorb the abilities of others; the villain who saw the light and was filled with remorse for her wrong actions and, like a good Catholic, sought to make reparations for them.

But then Brian Singer came along and mulluxed it up but good. "I don't want you to read one comic!" he emphatically told his actors. What brazen stupidity! How can you seek to remake something that came into existence before you were born and that, by popular consent, is not even broken? (We won't even bring up his travesty of a Superman) Contrast that action with those of Sam Raimi, of Spiderman. He took stacks of comics to his actors and said, essentially, "Here is your source material, this is what people expect." And boy did they ever. One of the highest grossing movies in the US and the World (7 and 17 respectively).

Don't get me wrong, I'm not against change in movies. With one caveat: the movie must stay within the confines of the source materials "flavor." Unfortunately, from preliminary observations: publicity stills, notation of six different writers (the more writers, the messier the script - many cooks ruin the soup), selection of actors, etc. I am deeply afraid that G.I. Joe is going to be like so many horrid Marvel creations, and NOT like their good ones. Of course, there's only two that I can think of at the moment, Spiderman (that includes all three, yeah, I'll go ahead and put the last one in there) and Ironman, which may be the best superhero movie ever made.

That last statement is hard to make as I love Batman Begins, Chris Nolan's reboot of the Batman franchise which was much needed and anticipated. (Tim Burton trashed it and it just went from one bad garbage dump to the next worst until we were served Batman and Robin on a dirty, fetid plate) But Nolan left out one major story development in Begins that I have always loved. In the movie, Bruce Wayne learns all of his arcane knowledge from Ras al-Ghul. But in the comics, the canon source material for all things Batman, he doesn't even encounter Ras al-Ghul until after he has become Batman and then only because Ras al-ghul's daughter, Talia, introduces them. In the comics he gains his knowledge from a wide variety of sources. He learns his martial arts form a Japanese master, illusion from a Master Stage Magician, detective skills from a Scotland Yard inspector, etc. Batman becomes possible because of the wealth of information that he gathers from many different instructors all over the world through years of study. In the movie, it's like he leaves as a college drop-out and wanders the world as a petty crook (yeah he picks up some martial arts training) but then in a very short frame of time, learns everything he needs from Ras al-Ghul, all in less then ten years, I guess. Now, I'm sure Chris Nolan, who did an awesome job and is a brilliant director, just didn't want to go the montage route or the narrator route, which is old hat for an adventure flic and would be awful for a Batman movie. But it could have be done. That's my only gripe with Batman Begins, and unfortunately, it's big enough to keep it out of the running for Best Super Hero Movie Ever

But I said all of that to get to this: Last Saturday I finished Bull Hunter, that I had barely started the night before and started on the sequel, Bull Hunter's Romance, which I have since finished. (I am now reading Mere Christianity and The Millionaire Next Door.) I thumbed my nose in the stern face of responsibility and maturity and the fact that my shed is a cluttered disaster that I have been needing to clean out and organize all spring and the fact that I haven't gotten into the bees since I hived them in the middle of April. Of course, I can only claim sloth for the last two weekends. Every other time, when I could have actually done something productive I either was, or the weather was not co-operating. But that didn't finish my day: stir craziness set in about at four-o-clock. So what did I do? Five hours later I kissed my girls good night, and told Belle that I loved her and that I would be back in a couple of hours and Cuz and I went to town at nine-o-clock.

Which is why SC wasn't updated. Instead of being productively creative, I was at the shows, watching the reboot of The Incredible Hulk. If it has caught your interest this is all I have to say: Saturday Morning Matinee. Or better yet, twilight pricing. But ONLY after you've watched your paint dry, and your grass grow.

It's not a bad movie, as pg-13's go. It does have some funny parts "You're making me . . .hungry. You won't like me when I'm hungry" Bruce Banner says in stumbling Portuguese. And some other scenes played to the American Pie crowd which WERE NOT funny at all.

Of course, Cuz and I whispered back and forth the whole show, laughing at different points, much to the disdain of our fellow movie goers. Oh, we weren't loud or obnoxious, there were others doing that for us. At one scene, involving a rain storm and a white shirt, one fellow threw both arms into the air and cheered. He was disappointed. hehehe. But one woman did give us a long look after the credits began to roll and the lights came up. It wasn't the hairy eyeball. But almost. I think she was undecided on what to think about us. Perhaps she was reserving judgement because she held similar opinions about the movie. But that's probably transference.

I was not disappointed with The Incredible Hulk because there were several scenes where I felt like the ushers had come in and flipped over to the Soap Opera Chanel or because of the cliches or the convenient rains storms (there is one scene where there is this massive explosion and subsequent fiery inferno at the end of a big fight and it starts raining, out of a clear blue sky) or because I felt like I should be in the front row with two robots. My problem with the movie is two fold: One - it is a Total Reboot. Two - the shocking lack of fidelity.

On the first matter. Ang Lee produced Hulk in 2003, a movie that I have seen once in it's entirety, when it came out on rental. I have never had a desire to see it again. Oh, I've watched it for a few minutes on TV and frankly I do love the scene where the big green guy is being hounded by Comanche attack helicopters and the General, from his command Huey says "Turn it into a parking lot" and the attack choppers launch their rockets and level a big portion of desert monument property. That's pretty cool.

But Ang Lee's project is only five years old. I was expecting this new version to be a sequel, picking up where the last left off and this thought was only encouraged by the fact that the movie opens with Bruce Banner in South America, where we see him in the last scene of Ang Lee's Hulk. But no, as the movie progresses, the writer and director make if very plain that their film is no sequel. As a builder, this really irked me. I would never in a thousand years come to a house that is only five years old and say: "Tear it down!" just because I don't like the trim or the paint colors or how the interior flows. If I was given the task of remodeling or adding to the existing structure I would find a way to correct its weaknesses, improve upon its qualities and leave its perfect parts alone. But that isn't what the makers of The Incredible Hulk have done. They stuck thumb to nose, waggled their fingers and said "Thbbbbbbbbbt!" to Ang Lee. And after they tore his infant house down, they built back a house that was exactly the same! And in some points, worse. One such is demonstratively noticeable. How Banner became the Hulk.

In Lee's version, as a child he was experimented on by his psychotic father and then as an adult he intervened in a lab experiment to save his companions, exposing himself to deadly gamma wave radiation which combined with his fathers previous medlings to produce the rage induced monster. In this current product, Banner's hardly controllable transformation is brought about by experimenting upon himself. You tell me, which is better?

On the Second Matter. The lack of fidelity. We discover that Bruce has not talked to the love of his life Betty Ross in five years (further muddying Ang Lee's waters). When he goes back to society he checks in on the girl of his past, and discovers that she has moved on. Met a new man and is apparently in a relationship with him, as is demonstrated by their mutual affection. But the moment that Betty discovers that not only is Bruce still alive, but that he is within reaching distance, she dumps the new beau as fast as you can say "Jack Spratt." As a dude, observing this action, I would have instantly been put upon my guard. "Wait a minute now . . . I'm out of you life for five years and you've moved on to a new man and now that I'm back you're just gonna run away from this guy without a word? What happens if/when I have to run again? Are you gonna go back to him?" I would have preferred to see that love expressed differently. Either she hadn't moved on, was still single, saving herself for her man, or "Bruce I love you, I'll always love you, like a very good friend. By the way this is Joe, my whatever. Anything you need that I can do for you, I'll do it." Instead, it was just plain ol' lust. "Oh, the object of my old desires, lets get it!"

The one good thing about The Incredible Hulk was the casting of Edward Norton. He is a very good actor and it helps that he is this short, scrawny man who then turns into this giant green monster. The polar differences are pretty cool. The advancement of computer technology helped also. This Hulk looks much better than Ang Lee's. He doesn't look like an over grown, simple minded farm boy. More like a professional wrestler, complete with lowered chin pointing down from broad shoulders to tapered waist.

So that's what I did last Saturday. And today is not shaping up to be much more exciting.