Happy New Year--here's a nice video.

Well, with a wee bit of cartoon violence:



Makes you feel all auld-lang-syne-y, nu?

Have a Happy New Year, peoples.

Culture Club--War Song

You'd have to be made of stone not to groove a little to this.

Have A Zesty Generika!

Okay--I don't like doing Christmas cards. This is an issue I have--it's an obligation to mail a thing that serves little value to a person or persons who may have great social value to me, or, you know, I only have them sort of randomly in my address-book. If I really wanted to stay in touch and wish people really well and all that--I could send them an e-mail. Even attach some kind of festive clip-art. In minutes, I could design something that says "Yay, this time of year!" and "Thinking of you!" with a touch of genuine-ness.

Christmas/Holiday cards don't have this thing. I don't like them. Sometimes, they are too religion-specific for me. I don't celebrate the Baby Jesus' birthday at Christmas. I don't assume this is what other people are celebrating--so I want to keep my cards just a bit generic. I think of my December-based holiday as "Generika". The "k" means it might vaguely have something to do with culture, but otherwise, I am a very "happy holidays" kind of girl. Except for my feelings about happy....and holiday.....

See, "happy" is overused in greeting cards. Happy Valentines, Happy Halloween, Happy, Happy. Are we on uppers? Also: "Merry". Does this ever get said in real life? Have you ever said, "You know, eating pork rinds with a good chardonnay gives me a merry feeling"? Obviously, this pairing would be awesome. A crisp, sharp tang of white wine against the greasy, salty burst of porkulence? Hello? Sleigh bells in your mouth! But "merry"?

No. You don't say that. "Merry" has been subsumed into the linguistic category of "things you only say around Christmas". Christmas killed "merry". It's just a ghost haunting the word "Christmas" anymore, except in the UK, where they use "happy".

I think we need to petition for another adjective, too. Not "happy". Not "merry". I'm going with "zesty". It means piquant, lively and flavorful. I am down with the zest. And not "holidays". No. "Holi-" day is just giving in that the day has been hallowed, and I'm not about it. My card-sending has, for years, been sort of a "return-receipt" for other people sending me cards. It has basically come down to a literal message of: "I have received your Greeting Card, and return one with thanks that you provided me with your return address. We may do this again next year." So I am about "Generika". There isn't a reason for the season, I'm just performing a perfunctory courtesy demanded of me by culture and the existence of the post office, and while I'm at it, I'm going to make you accept "zestiness".

Have a Zesty Generika. Enjoy the taste of a new, more random, holiday.

I'm wishing you all a Zesty Generika. May your deepest wishes have positive outcomes in a manner more frequent than random chance alone can account for. May you also experience a pleasant terminus to the calendar year. And a very satisfactory and non-catastrophic calendar year to come!

The reason for the Season--Random Carno:

Um. Meat art is so often so wrong. And yet, I want that as the picture on my Generika cards.

Random Meat--just in time for Chanuka

Okay, it's seasonal and other blogs have posted it, so it really isn't that random--




But I can't help it.

Iron Abbey--if you are in/visiting the SE PA area.

I like to review good restaurants every now and again, just the way I review movies and books--you'll mostly get really good reviews from me, because I'm interested in pointing people to something good I've found. A place would have to be super-awful for me to give it an Internet-thrashing. So I want you to know: Iron Abbey is one of my favorite restaurants in the world. I am giving it a serious recommend.

Take my lunch experience today as part of the reason I love this place: they are a gastropub, which means the emphasis is on good food, but they have a beer list that is really comparable to Monk's Cafe in Center City (which is really damn good). So you really can't go wrong if you like some good food and some seriously great beer.

Me and the spouse started with the Mezze Platter as our appetizer, which is a generous spread of roasted peppers, prosciutto, salami, cheese, some absolutely fabulous fried green olives with blue cheese, hummus, pita, onions, water crackers, and....sheer deliciousness. The hummus was chickpea heaven. The manchego and Parmesan cheeses were good quality, as were the prosciutto and salami--this is a thing I look for in a proper anti-pasto: quality. It was a generous portion for two; my husband remarked that we really could have eaten just that and made a good lunch, and I have to say, we are both what you would call "good eaters". When a spread like this is accompanied with great beers like Fegley's Brew Works Mad Elf Reserve, which is a Holiday Ale with some really good use of "noggy" spice flavors and a heady, malty profile, or Southern Tiers' Unearthly IPA, which is a smooth, hoppy, crisp, brew of incredible drinkability for it's crazy-strong 10% ABV (that was what I was having--I am a sucker for IPA's--a total hop-head) you have a wonderful experience.

Then I had an awesome Blue Abbey burger--which won me over with conforming to some of my hard and fast burger requirements:

Good bread.

Actually cooked well-done when I said well-done.

Crispy, not chewy, bacon.

Cheese used as a flavor--not a cover (I hate when condiments smother!)

And the fries that accompanied it were flavorful and crisp, of the regular size (not steak or shoe string, but the in-between) and starch-bathed for crispness variety. They were a total "yum". I "boxed" half of the burger and most of the fries for a re-heated snack later. I also enjoyed, as my second beer, Port Brewing Company's Old Viscosity. This is a high-test Imperial Stout with strong flavor and a syrupy mouth-feel (Viscosity--indeed!) It's not a bad beer to have a dessert with--and I opted for flan. I'm a flan fan. The smooth, but rich and alcoholic flavor of the beer went really well with the caramel-custard of the flan. It was a major mouth-happy.

My spouse had the chili, which was pleasantly meaty and also quite flavorful. Because the Mad Elf was a strong beer, and he was the designated chauffeur, he declined a second beer. But I'm serious, when it comes to choosing beers at Iron Abbey--you could seriously make a day of it if you had someone else driving. There is plenty of novelty and truly tasty-sounding selections to be had if you are a beer hound--and I totally am! And even if your love of beer is just a wee thing, you will still enjoy the food: good portions, properly cooked, with great attention to the quality of ingredients. I definitely give them my seal of approval.

(And the service is always top-notch--another plus! And they are knowledgable more often than not about the beers they have, which is great if you aren't used to such a bodacious beer-menu.)

Leslie Neilsen, R.I.P. (1926-2010)

He left us so many hilarious on-screen memories. He will be missed.



I think his unique comedic gift was always that he had serious acting chops, and went about comedy in a serious way--the absurd happened around Lt. Drebben, and he took it in stride. His silliest lines were delivered dead-pan.

I kind of want to Netflix all the "Naked Gun" pictures, right now.

Anderson Cooper wears Bunny Suit for Bonobos.

This is a little funny when Cooper, who is such a serious interviewer, puts on the bunny suit to interact with the bonobos, but this piece actually is really fascinating for showing how our fellow primate near-relation does have some cognitive capacity for understanding language. This sort of thing always fascinates me because to my mind, when we think of homo forms of primate as tool-users, the thing that probably sets us the furthest apart from any other variant seems to be language.

It's impossible to know how far back this useful knack was acquired. We only vaguely know from artifacts like cave paintings when we developed an ability to express ourselves symbolically, but our vocal ability must have anteceded that by hundreds of thousands of years. Which makes me wonder if some earlier form of primate, other than homo sapiens, was the first talker.

I know for sure our less-near relation, dogs, definitely develop an impressive voabulary for spoken commands and read situations in context with surprising precision. Also, I have found that dogs and cats in homes where they are regularly spoken to, will not only sort of look like they are listening, but understand more basic things like pointing and being told to sit or go away even if they aren't inclined to do either, as if they can also "read" what is going on.

Sometimes it seems like a dog can understand "walk after dinner"--even in situations when that isn't the habitual, Pavlovian order. Do they have a sense of time? I've known dogs that have hidden treats "for later". It seems like they can strategize. My parents' current dog, Buster, seems to agonize over the decision to eat a treat or hide it under his cushion. Wheels really do seem to be turning.

For pure "squeee!"--the video has an adorable baby bonobo.

Random Meat--what is the punchline with this, anyway?

People are made of meat. We, too, are flesh. We could totally be eaten by bears. Think about that. Or sharks. You know what? Piranhas. Totally. Could be eaten by piranhas= us. That's poignant, okay?

Could we be that pig? Is that pig, us? Is it? It that pig even any Swino-Americans you've ever met?


That's just wrong. A pig, slicing itself, defies all conventions of discourse. No pig does this. We, the humans, like ham, and we kill pigs to eat it, because we are like wolves and bears and sharks: predatory mammals. Pigs don't accomodate us by self-slicing. This is just wrong and weird. It also defies physics.

A neat Youtube Lesson! I'm teaching you things!

Okay, this is a thing I learned that I wanted to tell all my blogger friends about, so I put it on my Number 2 Blog that no one reads because I am a total ass and no one should like me. (You should love me.)

Are you tired of your embedded Youtube videos being of ginormous size so that they screw up your formatting and look like this:



Of course you hate that shit. It sucks. And it seems like most of your Youtube embeds used to fit just fine. That was because most of those earlier vids were posted with the size set to "width='480'" and "height= '385'".

Recently, more videos have been posted to Youtube with format of "width='640'" and "height='385'". But you can fix that to make your embed more blog friendly--here's what you do:

When you have copy-pasted your embed html, look at the end of the code where the size turns up:

allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385">....

See the "width" and "height" tags? You can fill in your own specs. I have found that width "475" and height "289" work out pretty well with most blog formats. You want to keep them in a consistent ratio so you don't elongate or widen the screen and distort the picture. The end result will be this:



See? Way better fit.

Random Meat

Yes, it is a meat Starship.

Jukebox--Milkman of Human Kindness Billy Bragg--

Just saw "Red"--liked the heck out of it.

Okay, this was one movie I had to see right away because of the cast: Bruce Willis? John Malkovich. Morgan freaking Freeman....and Dame Helen Mirren? Mary Louise Parker and Karl Urban, who I last saw totally "being" Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy in Star Trek? In a spy movie based on a Warren Ellis graphic novel with the promise of things exploding and witty banter? It has Ernest Borgnine in it? Ernest Borgnine is still alive? (And he looks great! Yay, Ernest Borgnine!) And Richard Dreyfuss!

I was so very, very in. Looked quirky, action-y but fun.

And it was!

Willis plays Frank Moses, a retired CIA Black Ops superman who is so lonely he tears up his pension checks to have an excuse to call up Sarah Ross, a pensions bureau customer service cube-rat who is bored with her life, cynical about romance, and yet reads goofy awful romance/thriller novels. (I identified with this character just a little.) His life is depicted as being terribly normal, ensconced in a nice little not terribly fancy suburban home on a nice little suburban block, who pads downstairs one fateful night to have a wet works unit try to ammo the living hell out of him.

When he handles this in a "been there, done that" fashion, dispatching the first squad of "baddies" with smooth ruthlessness, and drawing in the assumed back-up team by "cooking off" some ammo on a skillet to simulate a firefight--all to kill their asses, whilst walking out with his reserve ID in a briefcase he had carefully set aside against the day?

It takes about ten minutes to recognize that whoever is after Frank Moses is about to catch hell. But then there's that matter of the girl he's been calling--

He totally doesn't want her to get caught up in his business. So he kidnaps her.


That bit was a little rough. But it laid out that this movie wasn't about survival, and it wasn't really about revenge, although those things fit in. I consider this kind of a romance. And it's also kind of about how do people navigate in a world that declares them outmoded? That might reject people of great skill for being "too old"? Where lovers make hard life and death decisions, where people really do embrace mayhem constructive, and where young snots seem to discount what the seasoned professional can do in his sleep? This movie is witty, pretty, has explosions and lots of gun play, but it also seems to say stuff.

There's a scene where Frank Moses wails on William Cooper (The Karl Urban character, whose mission is to kill Frank Moses). It seemed kind of like a fantasy-fulfillment: The old guy showing an upstart how it was really done. A lot of the movie is about how people can do surprising things. Helen Mirren is amazing as Victoria, a very feminine, petite, and cold-blooded highly trained assassin. Her character's romance/intrigue with Ivan Simanov (Brian Cox), a Russian, um, diplomat, unfolds in the background of the movie. And that is a story good enough to be a story on its own, too.

And then there's Morgan Freeman, as Joe Matheson, kind of the elder, the voice of wisdom--a seniors- home resident with late-stage cancer who is not interested in going gently into that good night. Being introduced to his last battle, he's ready to fight!

And then there's John Malkovich, as Marvin Boggs, a guy who was deep in "Men who Stare at Goats" or even MK-Ultra territory, who was dosed with LSD on a regular basis for 11 years and as such, is more than a little traumatised. His role is comic because of his oddness, but also tragic. You see a deadly competent professional who has paid with his mind.

I liked the heck out of this movie. The plot leads up to the question of just who is powerful enough to order hits against citizens--which might be a Macguffin for the plot of this movie, but isn't an unreasonable question altogether. Are Vice-Presidents or war-profiteers special people who get away with more? The movie just presents this idea of who the bad guy might be so innocently.

I hope it sinks in and spins around some brain-pans.

But long-story, short? Loved it. Fun. And I like Bruce Willis in things, unless they are Hudson Hawk, which I never could convince myself to like or even watch all the way through. Or Unbreakable, which is an M Night Shamalyan joint and I only watched one of them in theatre all the way through and didn't entirely like it even though by rights I should have thought it was teh awesomes. I think it's the bald head. I have a fetish. Him. Jason Statham. My hubboo, all sporting the Daddy Warbucks look. I dig the smooth. My fetish might go back to envisioning the full monty Sean Connery when I was a wee lass. A look he should have rocked straightaway. Like Patrick Stewart. Mmmmm. Patrick Stewart. But Willis is funny and physical and romantic in this ("gooey", even).

I thought it was a fun one. I recommend it.

RIP, Barbara Billingsley, age 94

She was best known for her role the "the Beaver"s" mom on "Leave it to Beaver", but I think I first saw her in this clip from Airplane!

"'Bleep' My Dad Says"--SHATNERIFFIC Autotune

For a show that seemed to have a thin premise, this one does have a pretty good cast going for it, and it has found a quirky niche--it's about a kind of generation gap--which is a thing I think hasn't been said for sometime, But maybe there is a generation gap between I think they are going for Boomers and X-ers. Although I am not sure. I don't actually care. I just think Bill Shatner is the funniest actor ever, having read his books. Not that he isn't a compelling serious actor as Kirk--especially in STII.

I understand D.H. Lawrence better when watching this turtle--

(The blog-title is only funny to other lit majors, probably. The video is probably funny and poignant to most people, though.)

Strange Meetings--Pavarotti and Tracey Chapman

This works for me right now:

Appropos the previous, Lady Gaga has Explained her Attire--

Lady Gaga Says She's "Not a Piece of Meat":

"If we don't stand up for what we believe in and if we don't fight for our rights, pretty soon we're going to have as much rights as the meat on our bones," Lady Gaga, 24, told talk show host Ellen DeGeneres on her TV program broadcast on Monday.

"And, I am not a piece of meat," she added.

There. That's been said. And I think she has a really great point there--we aren't just objects. We think, we feel, we want things--and we are too often objectified, carved into who we ought to be according to someone else's ideas of what our "select" parts are. That makes me say this: I am not your Filet Mignon. I am the whole heifer. And my happiness lies in kicking down human veal pens, personally.

That was insanely metaphorical. But I hope my drift carried.

Anyway, I stole fair-use "borrowed" this picture of Gaga hugging Cher, I love Cher. She's been like, a constant source of awesomeness for me, ever since the Sonny & Cher Show which I was riveted to as a kid, and I honestly sang along to her greatest hits like a weird loner throughout my adolescence, acting out karaoke-style performances. She is iconic and one of my favorite folks.



For what it's worth, I appreciate that Gaga represents all of her "little monsters". She's young, but her heart is totally in the right place--and no, not just a piece of meat.

Slightly less Random Meat--Again with Gaga---

What is she trying to say with the "carnographic" duds? I think it might be a commentary on the transitory nature of fashion, and how fashion is a form of "consumption" and has little to do with practicality or even attractiveness, but then again, I could just be getting too deep.

Something really inspirational about a dog--Oogy!

I'm both seriously disgusted with people when I can fathom the idea of a fellow creature being used as a "bait" dog, and then warmed right back up to humankind to know a dog with the serious drawbacks Oogy had could find a "forever family" to rehabilitate him and let him have a happy doggy life. I kind of hope there are more nice people in the world, who would take in Oogy's, than the kind of people who would make a dog like Oogy suffer, hurt, be alone, and even let them die that way.

There are two things that actually make me feel violent--and those things are the injury to innocent animals, and to children. I just think mature, well-adjusted people shouldn't ever want to see any sentient being suffer. And that people who abuse the helpless are bullies--and to me that means "Scum of the earth". You are among the worst of people living if you feel better knowing someone or something is beneath you, and especially so if you act from that. And my experience with dogs mostly tells me that dogs are pretty good "people". They are honest, they are loyal, they are empathetic, and considerate. They try to get along, they show courage, and always return affection.

There are humans who really don't get all that I think dogs know instinctively. They don't get that they are their brothers' keeper, the way guidedogs know. They don't understand that they are a part of a pack--which every dog I ever knew knows.

It's funny--I feel happy for a dog like this who is rescued from certain destruction, but I know people get used, too, and also need rescued. And do we hear those stories, too? Or those of used and abused people, rescued, and called back to our gentle world?

But we understand a dog so much better--how he was misused, and how he was rescued.

And we might let our recognition of what it truly means to be used like a dog, let alone be talked about as one, simmer for another day. Once we grasp what that might mean. And how awful it can be.

Now, this could even be a 'shop, but still-- BIG FISH!!!

Now, this picture is of a mind-bogglingly big goldfish. Something about the hand-position, particularly the left hand's fingers, if you can see'em, makes me think this is a really, really cool Photoshop. But I've raised Comet fish, which are the Koi's boisterous American cousins as far as goldfish go, and I think the fish in this pic is too still to be alive. If he let that thing go, it floated, because what I know about big old goldfish like comets and koi is--they are all swimming muscle. If you snatch them up in a net to move them to a tank for quarantine or whatever, they writhe and make a hell of a fuss. They do not pose for a picture.

On the other hand, I have experienced the weirdness of goldfish growth. It seems like the more room you give them to grow, the more they do. I know they can be pretty self-sufficient in man-made ponds, so I can easily imagine them thriving in lakes given the opportunity. But part of their coloring is enhanced by the commercial feed they get. So I kind of think if they were let go in a lake or large natural pond, they wouldn't be as pretty as the big ol' boy in this pic is because their color would fade a bit. But maybe having been bred for color, a truly orange/red koi might hang on to the color, too.

Anyway, as a fish-fancier, I thought that was a really neat picture.

Duck and Cover (from the 1950's--shown to kids)

I think the grown-ups of the 1950's very well-meaningly messed-up some young kids' minds with this sort of thing. I went to school in the '70's and '80's--we didn't go through this. We just understood we could be vaporized, but it never felt real. We understood "duck and cover" wouldn't really do anything--you'd just be dead.

But what are they talking about? A coat? Getting under a table? Really? What was the point of this?

"Glass may fly through the air, and it may cut you!" "Even a thin cloth can save you."

WTF? I mean seriously--WTF? Were they trying to calm kids down by making them feel like they had some control of a possible scary situation? Or were they pre-conditioning them to adopt a defensive posture in the face of potential threat--that "duck and cover" would become a coping mechanism that would be generally used in disasters not necessarily as dire as "the bomb's coming?" Get down, follow instructions, avoid danger.

I don't get it, myself. My world was entirely different growing up. When I was six, I had a first grade teacher who would count down the days of the hostage crisis in Iran. My dad and his contemporaries went through the draft during the Vietnam War--most served. I watched M*A*S*H* on tv. War was a thing people did to each other, and the idea of a nuclear war was just....in hindsight, not anything I absorbed as plausible. This film doesn't talk in terms of "if" but "when".

I wonder if stuff like that programmed some people for feelings of inevitability about nuclear war. I wonder if the enormity of that legacy makes people search out another big enemy on the horizon because it feels more natural than just assuming that various actors on the international scene are playing roles so much as trying to sort out various needs.

Just weird stuff I think about. When I'm not reading sf and eating weird things.

Today's Random Meat Brought to You by--Lady Gaga.

We presume that that bikini in question is intended for one wear and is then....barbecued?

Orinoco Flow--Celtic Woman

This is totally pretty.

Hope for me yet?

Why Do Heavy Drinkers Outlive Nondrinkers?

The sample of those who were studied included individuals between ages 55 and 65 who had had any kind of outpatient care in the previous three years. The 1,824 participants were followed for 20 years. One drawback of the sample: a disproportionate number, 63%, were men. Just over 69% of the never-drinkers died during the 20 years, 60% of the heavy drinkers died and only 41% of moderate drinkers died.

These are remarkable statistics. Even though heavy drinking is associated with higher risk for cirrhosis and several types of cancer (particularly cancers in the mouth and esophagus), heavy drinkers are less likely to die than people who have never drunk. One important reason is that alcohol lubricates so many social interactions, and social interactions are vital for maintaining mental and physical health. As I pointed out last year, nondrinkers show greater signs of depression than those who allow themselves to join the party.

This is entirely weird. I'm not going to suggest this says anything positive about the habits of drinkers, except that I'm not liable to be a daredevil because as a practised toper I know my limits, and know very well it's hard enough to play pool and imbibe, let alone skydive or participate in parkour. But those straight edge folks are always up to something, thanks to the feelings of health and well-being they enjoy in the morning (what's that gag--"I feel sorry for those folks who don't drink 'cause when they get up in the morning, that's as good as they're gonna feel all day long"--probably Dean Martin). This lets them believe that climbing mountains and crossing streets are perfectly normal activities one should take for granted.

A practiced drunk takes nothing for granted. The floor could move. Furniture could decide to plot against you. Your e-mail account could be hi-jacked by the absinthe fairies. Shit happens. Naturally one wants to guard against it by staying in poorly-lit rooms away from loud noises and stupid people whenever possible. One wants to reconnaisance any new environ for potties and exits. And one looks for soft landings. It's educational--drinking is.

And if there is any truth to the idea the religious have of repentence being good for one, the biologically mandated repentance of the hangover at least makes your dedicated boozer more of a homebody than not. You don't decide to take up jogging, which is what did in Jim Fix (pounding the pavement is unhappy for throbbing heads) or fiddle about with steroids, since your liver is already tender. You are disinclined to especially overeat, it taking away from valuable alimentary real-estate that could fit a few beers, and the result of overeating having probably been broadcast against shining porcelain on a few occasions, anyway. One's taste for going a-roving diminishes apace, and although some take to fighting when in their cups, the majority of drinkers find a peace that passeth understanding, shantih, shantih.

And I'm not even sure that this post is entirely smart, or just a tribute to Kingsley Amis, or what, since I have, after all, been drinking. And in the interest of furthering my art and my health, I subscribe to the likelihood that I will at least have another before bed.

Random Meat--this is so wrong.

Meat meet feet? Feet, meat. Meat on feet? Not very neat. Would socks help? (Maybe if they were sausage casings....)

New turtle species discovered in US river

FLAGSTAFF, Ariz., Aug. 25 (UPI) -- Scientists have announced the surprise discovery of a new turtle species -- not in some far-off exotic location, but in the southeastern United States.

Northern Arizona University researchers say finding the new turtle in a familiar environment proves that even in a country considered well explored, more new species could still be awaiting discovery, a university release said Wednesday.

Discovered in the Pearl River that flows through Louisiana and Mississippi on its way to the Gulf of Mexico, the newly named Pearl Map Turtle had until now been mistaken for one native to the neighboring Pascagoula River, scientists said.

UPI.com

Nice and small and green. Squee-worthy.

SQUUEEEEEE!

Wee froggies!

Okay, I think these are adorable. Also, it's always fascinating to me that we are still discovering new species. Now, these little guys were seen before--

I saw some specimens in museum collections that are over 100 years old. Scientists presumably thought they were juveniles of other species, but it turns out they are adults of this newly-discovered micro species.

Neat!

There is an obvious connection between vagina-trees and the Lotto.

If only you will look for it!

(I'm obviously posting the picture for scientific interest.)

According to the story the this picture comes with, the tree somehow picked winning Lotto numbers.

Right. Because a tree that looks like recumbent lady-business is only really interesting if it can pick the lotto....

Dear God, Texas is even frying the cocktails, now!

I am in awe of the Texas State Fair, and one year, I will journey to Texas, probably because I'll eat anything, and they, bless their hearts! will fry anything. And each year they find new things to fry.

They've gotten through all manner of meats, buns, candy-bars, donuts. And now, they've begun frying beverages. I'm fascinated by this description of a fried margarita:

Deep Fried Frozen Margarita - Sweet and creamy funnel cake batter is deliciously coupled with margarita ingredients. Fried, dusted with a tangy lemon/lime mixture and lightly spritzed with south of the border flavor, it’s served in a salt rimmed glass. 21 and over, ID required.

It's boozecake! Booze--and cake! Only fried!!! Since they've long been deep-frying Coca-Cola in dough, can the deep-friend Cuba Libre be far behind?

What will Fry-o-later technology come up with next?

The Majestic Plastic Bag--

I have a thing about plastic bags. I try to use a bunch of recycled plastic or canvas, more permanent types of non-disposable bags, which many stores sell now, for shopping. This short is clever, but sad.

Random meat--you know it would also make good aromatherapy--

MMmmmmmm, bacon smoking on a hot lightbulb.....

Damnit folks, I'm a dreamer.

"The Expendables"--oh my, my, oh hell yes!

I'd been looking forward to this one from the first moment I caught a glimpse of the movie poster--Stallone, Li, Statham, Willis, Lundgren....

I thought I died and went to action-movie heaven. The promise of a movie that also squeezes in Schwartzenegger, Roarke, Eric Roberts as a bad, bad man, and Randy Couture, Steve Austin, and Terry Crews, and oh by the way, also has kickboxing's awesome Gary Daniels (not a big enough part) and Charisma Carpenter who I adored on Angel (I have unresolved feelings about how her character got handled, is all....)

It's like Christmas! (Um, that's actually the Jason Statham character's name. Although Stallone's "Barney Ross" is a normal enough name, we have Randy Couture as "Toll Road", Mickey Roarke as "Tool", Jet Li, somewhat awfully as "Ying Yang", and Terry Crews as "Hale Caesar"....yeah. These aren't names, they're wrestling handles. Although Randy Couture wins by having such a great name in real life. It's what I would totally name a lingerie store, if I were gonna start one.) There is no way in the universe that such a movie could ever suck with so many awesome people in it, I found myself thinking. In fact, even if it was brainless action nonsense, I would love that it was the quintessence of the genre of brainless action nonsense. More, bigger, faster, things exploding, muscles pumping, dialogue getting chewed up and spit out like a used, whatever those gun cartridge-thingies are called.

And then I saw it, and it was actually good.

Now, by "good", you could be thinking all kinds of things; it was a good action movie. It was a meta-action-movie, also. We begin with a vision of how the "expendable" team works as they bloodily handle a hostage situation involving pirates. It's there that we learn, by way of terse dialogue and loads of action, who the team is and what the character's specialities are. Ross is the leader. Christmas the cocky one with the blades, and Lundgren's Gunnar is a bit of a head-case. But it isn't until the most meta scene in a church where Bruce Willis (or, "Mr. Church") offers a mission in a South American fictional place to Ross's team, or to his rival Trench (fun cameo by Arnold) that the movie is really "set". The Schwartzenegger character immediately thinks the job smells like bad news and exits, and this leaves Ross ready to take up an ugly job with his band of mercenaries.

I'm going to elide over all the plot-bits. You can go watch the movie if you want to know about them. The things I want to point out are that there are some pretty good scenes by Roberts and especially Mickey Roarke. There's this one scene where the camera just focuses on that beat-up face as he goes on about how a life of violence makes you lose your soul--that was deep. Also, a scene I found provocative was where the courageous and dissident daughter of the General of the country where the Expendables are charged with wreaking their havoc is water boarded by the bad guys. To me, this was almost like a statement that this is the kind of thing bad guys do. I don't know if because of my biases I read more into it than was there.

Things blow up, massive quantities of ammo gets used, males bond over smoking, drinking, and getting inked, women are rescued from bad men and there are some pretty righteous fight scenes. Dolph Lundgren and Jet Li get into it in a scene that demonstrates why size isn't always an advantage, and thankfully, there are two good fight scenes with Steve Austin--one with Stallone, which was pretty good, and the one I was waiting for, with Randy Couture, that had some awesomeness but unfortunately, probably because of the tight timing of the movie, couldn't have been longer. That was the match-up I'd have wanted to see more of, just as a long-time wrestling fan.

Anyway, although the violence is ridiculous, the plot could be seen as contrived, and the characters for the most part remain sketchy--I think for your summer action movie dollar, you're really getting bang for your buck. There's some good jokes and if you like machismo or just watching muscle-y guys shoot and/or blow up stuff, which is apparently a fetish I have, you'll enjoy the hell out of this. I sure did.


Although I will say, I sat through a half-hour of adverts before the movie, which almost put me in the wrong mood. Hey--cinema-people! I am not interested in buying a phone or having a Coke. By all means show me previews of similar movies to insure I come back for another motion picture, but don't subject me to such a downer of adverts that I am almost too irked to like the movie once it starts--

Grr! I brought in outside drinks, fools. I wish I brought candy, too! Think about that next time you want to rob me of my experience; I will not eat your nachos, no! Those overpriced nachos are being paid for with what? Cell-phone ads? Adverts for HBO shows that aren't even the demographic of the movie I came to see?

What? I'm sharing my outside candy, too. I'm going to pass out M&M's. And you won't stop me.

No, I kid. I don't share candy. That was just me with my testosterone up from this kick-ass action movie....

Eating Stuff that is or isn't food.

I've eaten ridiculous things in my time, which I recently was reminded of when I responded to a thread at Shakesville regarding what food one could not be paid enough to eat.

I eat anything. I seriously mean, anything. And this lead me to look back at a Democratic Underground post I wrote on the same:

I ate a "Rio Snapper". That's the brand name for a little thingie they sell in playing-card-size boxes around Independence Day--you know, the little bit of gunpowder and sawdust wrapped in a spit-ball sized wad of paper and you throw it and it goes, "BANG!" or "SNAP!" when it hits the ground? Or like, if you step on it?

Well, I got dared to *bite* one when I was ten or eleven. You have to know, I was a bit of a tomboy, and a dare was a meaningful debt drawn upon my honor, so I had to pay in full. My problem is being, if you'll allow the oxymoron, a "closet exhibitionist"; once all eyes were on me I had to elaborate upon the deed. I took the "snapper" between my teeth, inhaling so as to suck my teeth dry and then drew back my lips as far away from the snapper as I could. I bit down, causing it to "snap" weakly, which should have been enough, but for an imp of the perverse that let the snapper then fall back upon my tongue.

Whereupon there was nothing left but to roll it about in my spit until soft and swallow. Naturally I displayed my empty mouth in pride.


I have naturally eaten paste, Elmer's glue, wax (as in "wax teeth"), and the brownish, syrupy glue known as "mucilage." I have undoubtedly swallowed countless gnats. On impulse, I have sample cowslips, dandelions, sliver of a jade plant, grass, and acorns. Acorns are a little bitter. Was *not* impressed, not much like filberts, really.

I once ate an entire rotisserie chicken, including most of the bones to unnerve an uptight relative. The bones were softened by the slow-roasting process, so it really was no problem. The spine and ribs I mostly balked at, but the wing-bones were barely there. Drumsticks were impossible, but I left them extraordinarily clean. In Italy, I downed two-and-three inch smelts, heads, tails, bones and all, having taking my husband's advice regarding "picky eating" (this was four years ago, when he didn't yet know me as well) to the extreme.

All of which is actually true. I've licked buttons and amber jewelry. I have a bias that the tentacles is where all the flavor is in calimari, and I really don't understand picky eaters. I've swallowed the bitter choke of artichokes and downed my share of scales, claws, bones, and hair.


And I suspect there are more true omnivores out there--people who can easily discuss the merits of licking envelopes and sampling papier mache, and can confess to even swigging the odd cologne or licking especially food-like soaps.

I hope. Unless I'm a complete lunatic. Which I've also expected.

Sesame Street--Gimme FIVE!

This is so awesome that if you were not about during the '70's and early 80's, you totally missed out--



I think more modern sounds prevailed in the late '80's etc.

That sound was down. This was a great way to learn. I'm ridiculously pleased that was something I saw and learned from as a kid.

Easy Reader (aka Morgan Freeman) from the Electric Company--

With Rita Moreno! We didn't know back then the awesome talents who decided to teach us how to read and learn phonics and sound things out. I know I should be tickled with some of Morgan Freeman's recent serious roles, but for me, he won't do a thing cooler than Easy Reader. That was the bottom line of cool when I was a kid learning to read, and I'm still mightily enamoured.

Fred Rogers About PBS

Fred Rogers was the man when I was a small child watching television. I think he taught and demonstrated compassion and understanding, and set a positive example of managing feelings. He understood what being a kid was like and how to talk to us. I really liked feeling I was part of his neighborhood when I was a kid.

I saw a sanitation truck, and was reminded I'm in one of the great cities--

I'm from Philadelphia, City of Brotherly Love. We are ridiculously diverse, culturally rich, gifted with theater, art, music, and we have a reputation for being especially rowdy sports fans. But I saw a pretty trash truck that reminded me what I really love about my city:



That's one of several sanitation vehicles that have been made into art here in the city. This article misunderstands the point, but shows the pictures--

Philly’s Mural Arts Program partnered up with The Design Center of Philadelphia University to transform 10 city garbage trucks into pieces of movable art. Sadly, the murals do nothing to disguise the trucks awful fucking smell.

Garbage is what it is--but why can't we have trash trucks that are beautiful? They do a necessary job, and that part is beautiful. There are a few million households making trash in this city, and none of it smells nice, not even the garbage of the guy who commented on the "awful fucking smell"--hey, stupid--there are people who work on those trucks who put up with the awful fucking smell of our garbage everyday. But when I saw the artistic truck, I felt a little lifted--this is a Philadelphia thing. I know Japan pretties up their sanitation trucks, too, because I looked into it. But it's useful art. It surprises you with a new possibility. It reminds you there is room for beauty anywhere.

And that's something my city has learned. The mural program is a thing I really think is smart--where there is urban blight and grafitti, why not make art that everyone can respect and really enjoy as part of the community?



The best thing about this is how it tells the stories of our neighborhoods, and how thoughtful the placement of the art often is. We are like a tattooed city. Just like people might have tattoos that cover scars or tell the stories of their lives--we have art that fills the interstices, that describes our people and covers over the fraying nature of all human endeavor--

And then there is the personal art--the art of specific space:



This mosaic form is found here and there and especially in South Philly, not just on South Street. And it, too, has a story. But where you see the mosaics, you know people are representing an ideal--the uniqueness of Philadelphia and its art. And there is pride to be drawn from that--

The ugliness of blight is fixed with native creativity. The creations made reflect our diversity, and remind us of our strengths. They reflect the individuality we have as citizens who are creative and quirky and real--

And all of that makes me like my city a little more. Although there are mysteries regarding us--artistically. We are a great jazz city, but have no jazz radio station. We have a vibrant foodie culture and several microbreweries--but I worry about the availability of righteous beer. We have Monk's. There's Iron Abbey just outside Philly. But more restaurants need to take up the banner of promoting better beer. Grey Lodge does a great job in promoting local beers and beer diversity--more of this, please! (I will vouch for the really awesomeness of their jukebox, etc. This is a bar par excellence).

I have a city where we bother to paint the trash trucks. Where we have an awesome beer culture, where you can eat ridiculously well, for a not ridiculous amount of money. And where we decorate to commemorate. Where "sacred space" (such as corners where people met with accidents or violence) is made creative space (where art performs the function sometimes of explaining, healing, commemorating). And the price of admission is only your desire to look.

Random Meat Picture of the Week--

Meat baby--yours maybe?

So round, so firm, so fully messed-up. I like the idea of the meat-poppet. It's a meat dish that doubles as a centerpiece, alarms the alarmable, and it just feels right when you season it to perfection and slam it in the broiler. Be sure to call dibs on the part of your choice!

If we wiped about mosquitoes, they'd never be missed.

I have no love for mosquitoes, but they love the crap out of me. Well, to be more precise, they love the blood out of me. When I go out in my backyard lately, I get ambushed. Right now, my legs are a hive-y mess that remind me vaguely of when I had chicken pox when I was six. I'm torn between a desire to not scratch, because it only triggers a new wave of horrible, skin-crawling itch, and to basically claw my skin open until I look like raw meat.

Even pain is preferable to a maddening itch.

Now, when I was a little kid, mosquitoes left me the hell alone. I saw them literally hover by me, and take off like I was nothing. Not even chopped liver. What changed? Eh--I got fat and I drink. No, seriously. The way I see it, I'm a big target, exuding lots of CO2, and my skin is probably tasty with cholesterol and uric acid from a pretty burger and beer diet.

So, I know why they like me according to the science, but, here's a good question--why does the world have mosquitoes? I mean, what niche do the serve in the world's ecosystem? I know fish think mosquito larvae are pretty tasty, but really--

Couldn't we do without the little blood-sucking bastards?

It turns out, maybe we can.

There are 3,500 named species of mosquito, of which only a couple of hundred bite or bother humans. They live on almost every continent and habitat, and serve important functions in numerous ecosystems. "Mosquitoes have been on Earth for more than 100 million years," says Murphy, "and they have co-evolved with so many species along the way." Wiping out a species of mosquito could leave a predator without prey, or a plant without a pollinator. And exploring a world without mosquitoes is more than an exercise in imagination: intense efforts are under way to develop methods that might rid the world of the most pernicious, disease-carrying species (see 'War against the winged').

Yet in many cases, scientists acknowledge that the ecological scar left by a missing mosquito would heal quickly as the niche was filled by other organisms. Life would continue as before — or even better. When it comes to the major disease vectors, "it's difficult to see what the downside would be to removal, except for collateral damage", says insect ecologist Steven Juliano, of Illinois State University in Normal. A world without mosquitoes would be "more secure for us", says medical entomologist Carlos Brisola Marcondes from the Federal University of Santa Catarina in Brazil. "The elimination of Anopheles would be very significant for mankind."

I know, just because we don't see any unintended consequences doesn't mean there wouldn't be any. But on the other hand, after watching these spindly-legged rat finks pierce my epidermis despite DEET, OFF! Patchouli oil, citronella, and a host of other things, stinky and pleasant, trying to ward them off, I really could contemplate biological warfare.

Damn. I'd probably have malaria right now if it wasn't for the vodka tonics.....

Glow Sticks + Toilet = High Art

(H/T HuffingtonPost)

Wow man, the colors!

Awfully cool free site that helps people--

I'm talking about Free Rice. The idea of the site is that you play a cool vocabulary game (although there's other choices) and for every right answer, they donate 10 grains of rice. That doesn't sound like an awful lot, but I find the game pretty addictive. It will totally add up--you can set your options to keep a "running tab" of how much you've helped donate. One of the cool things about the game itself is that the word choices repeat, so after awhile, you learn new words and actually come away a little smarter.

There are also other really interesting options for multiple choice quizzes on math, art, etc. (I'm actually doing the "art" one while writing this blog--it's educational, in that the paintings might not be ones you are familiar with, but you start to recognize the individual style of a given painter. I'm loving this!)

So, you feel like a bit of a challenge? And you want to feed hungry people? And you don't mind learning new things?

Then, this is totally a thing you will enjoy.

Random out of Context meat-related picture that is on my hard drive for some reason.

Careful who you fire that at!

Okay--Roland Gift Appreciation Society, here.

The Fine Young Cannibal's version of "Suspicious Minds":




You might have to put it on "pause" and let the thing download a little--I did. But it was a fun video.

Nostalgia 2

Nostalgia!!

You never know when it'll strike.

Okay--I have to blog about a toy spaceship.

The picture is from www.Tintoyarcade.com, which is one of the places that sells this unique item that my spouse purchased at a brick and mortar store on impulse, and has so far given him three days of actual pleasure. If not joy.

Joy. That is a rare quantity for a toy to provide, especially for an adult. But this thing is pretty neat.

Okay--it lights up and it flies like a helicopter. That is all it needs to do to be really cool. It operates by way of eight AA batteries, but it seems to hold a good charge, and if you are under the propellers, it feels like a fan on the "High" setting. It makes some noise, and there is no way to control the direction of it (there have been nail-biting moments as it drifted near the ceiling fan in the kitchen, or threatened to dip somewhere over a sink full of dishes and washing-up water) but there's something innately thrilling in that unpredictability. It behaves like a thing with personality. I haven't played with it myself: first of all, it's his toy, not mine, and second, if I played with it, it totally would get stuck behind the fridge, or end up in the sink, or get smooshed. So I just watch. But that's fun, too.

And this is just an example of the sorts of things we are doing on our summer vacation.

Well, that answers that!

I write like
H. P. Lovecraft

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I also write like Arthur C. Clarke and David Foster Wallace. It totally depends on the post I feed the "bot".

Some of my old fanfic is Margaret Mitchell. I also came up positive for Stephen King when I fed in some dialogue I wrote. This is weird fun.

The answer to a long, hot summer? Read something chilling!

I'm like anyone else who likes to go on vacation, get out in the sun a bit, and try and have a relaxing time--but the problem with me is, I never relax. I like a bit of stress and discomfort to keep my alcohol-thinned blood pulsating through my cholesterol-thickened arteries. That's why, instead of choosing romances and such for my lighter summer reading, I like to read books with monsters and vampires and the odd Apocalypse, and things like that. After all, most romance novels are far too unbelievable. I've gotten part of my summer-reading done this week, and I'd like to share my "recommends". (I'm listing them in the order I got them, not necessarily in any sort of ratings-system. )

The first I'm recommending is Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, by Seth Grahame-Smith, who is listed on the book cover as "New York Times Bestselling Author of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies." Although I know that book exists, I haven't picked it up yet, not being all that big on Jane Austen or zombies. Well, that's not entirely true. I liked what little of Northanger Abbey I read and generally approve of costume drama films, and I do like mindless dumb zombie movies of the "They get nourishment from the noorons of the human brain" type. The mash-up just didn't appeal to me on the right level, though, in quite the way that the idea of Honest Abe as a Slayer does.

(I will say, though, that I liked Grahame-Smith's writing at Huffington Post. His snark about McCain/Palin was pretty right on.)

The conceit of this book is that a secret journal reveals the sixteenth president's deep, dark secret: due to the death of his own mother, and a few other harrowing events, at the hands of vampires, the young Abe became a hardened warrior in the struggle to free America from their undead, greedy fingers. It's written in the same slightly gilded language we're accustomed to from Civil War documentaries, and props have to be given to Stephanie Isaacson, who is listed in the Acknowledgements for creating the creepy Photoshopped images that might just start to make the reader wonder if antebellum vampires aren't just a bit plausible. (I'd totally like to see someone make a movie of this in a Ken Burns style, actually.)

If you like history, and the kind of vampires that expressly aren't sparkly, this is pretty neat. The way the thirst and demands of vampires tie in with the other reasons for the Civil War are kind of ingenious as well as the way Grahame-Smith weaves them into Lincoln's real biographical details. It's fun, but makes you go, "Hmm."


Next up is China Mieville's Kraken. At five hundred-something pages, it's not exactly a "light read", but it is a brilliantly accessible story--something of a "shaggy squid" tale. We are presented with a crime scene: someone has David Blaine'd a massive dead Architeuthis Dux right out from the display case at the natural History Museum, and it seems quite possible that some outre cultists of the tentacular deep old ones are looking to immanentize the eschaton with it.

No, really. From the imagination of Mieville, with his great dialogue, smart details, and truly weird turns--this is actually a fun story about the trip a few regular people end up making through a sidereal London that is full of truly side streets and out of the out of the way places, knacky bastards whose B&E's might involve OOBE's or even tesseracts, and streetlights that actually do sometimes beat fatalistic warnings, and my own favorite side-story, the idea of familiars being organized, and even striking. (It's a lot to take in, and probably worth a few reads--it makes me wonder if he isn't planning on revisiting this world with another shaggy shoggoth tale.)

Oh, and lots of apocalyptic death-cultists of various stripes. Can't forget them.

It's a weird combination of fantasy that doesn't rely as much on Lovecraft et als as one might think, and crime drama, complete with hard-boiled cops who have even seen this sort of thing before. Sort of.



(Side note: I am a fan of squid myself. It's not really a sure thing why, but I kind of understand a squid cult. It's hard to make out what the squid pro quo is in worshiping the coming of an ubersquid. That he eats you last? First? Tooling about the Internet, I found a picture and story about the actual Archie. I link this because it provides detail for imagining a squid of immense size being broken out of a water-tight really big tank, and because the details of the preservation of such a specimen are really cool.)


Last but not least, there's Charles Stross' The Fuller Memorandum; A Laundry Files Novel. I think it might maybe be useful if you've already read The Atrocity Archives and The Jennifer Morgue, but it isn't obligatory. It's just that my introduction to Stross' work was On Her Majesty's Occult Service via SFBC, and I fell madly in love with the universe he's created of a world where the works of Turing and Crowley are equally valid, and where the hypotheticals of Lovecraft's fiction unfold in Reimannian space, told in a way that is very amusing and has really interesting side jokes about technology. And I'd be madly in love with the protagonist: hacker, slacker, technomagus and secret agent Bob Howard, if I wasn't afraid of his significant other, Dr. Dominique O'Brien (who doesn't have to be in my dimension or even real to probably kick my ass or play her scary violin at me.)

The tale involves more potential immanentizing of echatons and the temporary disappearance of the "Laundry's" (the UK secret paranormal spooks') head spook in charge--Angleton, who is possibly weirder and older than we've been given to suppose before. If you're computer savvy and know a little high magick, this shit is funny as all heck. Even if you don't, it's a good tale. I recommend it a lot.

Random out of Context meat-related picture: slightly more artistic.

It's not all whimsy, you know. Although technically, it is still bacon.

I haz also a squid--this is it.

This relates to the book review I'm working on for China Mieville's Kraken, in a way--it's a squid necklace:




It's from Noadi, whose stuff I kind of lusted after on Etsy until I broke down and....well. Steampunk squid it was.

It's a talisman, of sorts. It doesn't give me any luck, but when I look at it, I am promptly reminded "You are the kind of person who has a steampunk squid necklace." Isn't that cool enough?

I'm pretty much down with squid--and depending on the size of the squid, that could be pretty far down, indeed.

I haz ellerphunt. Let me show you it.

This is my elephant bottle opener. It is ridiculously cute, but it's also seriously practical. It's a bottle opener. Because it is decorative, unlike the other bottle openers I have, I can't lose the little feller. That makes it exceptionally handy. Also--again--it's cute. It's a little hard to tell, but the bottle-opener part is right where the trunk is. Cheers!

I got it this past weekend at Strawberry Jam on Main Street in New Hope. It's one of the dozen-or-so odd shops out that way I always find cool stuff in. (If you plan on going there--make a list of your friend's birthdays or anniversaries because they have a great card selection that kind of made me wish I had more interesting friends to give cards to.) Anyway, this blog is about random stuff. I randomly found a carved elephant statue that was a bottle-opener, and this qualifies as pretty neat stuff.

I saw M. Night Shamalayan's "The Last Airbender" this past Saturday.

It wasn't the worst movie I've ever seen. I'd actually say I found it a little easier to watch than Highlander: The Source, which I couldn't even bring myself to hate the way I hated, say Big Momma's House 2 or In the Name of the King, which were movies of pure technical incompetence and carelessness and were bad in every which way. (And I had hopes for In the Name of the King because I know many of those actors are better than that movie--but oh, what a bad miscarriage of a movie it was.)

I am a softy. I give points for trying.

It took me a couple of days to figure out what was missing or could be done better. Other people have definitely written savage reviews and reviews that trashed different aspects--I would say, and this surprises me in no way, the best savage review I read was at Io9. I didn't really want to go that route with the review--but here's what I think:

Not even midway through the movie, I found myself wondering what other directors would have done with the material. This is a bad sign. (But Shamalyan is not one of my faves. I don't know why. He just tries to do this "Hey, I surprised the audience with the thing I did" twist in his movies which is...dumb. Okay. I pulled your finger the first time, Uncle Clever. Now entertain me.) I re imagined it as a Del Toro film--darker, more adult, more fantastic (rewritten, better dialogue) and as a Spielberg film (entertaining and well-crafted with characters who were juveniles, but not juvenilely treated.) Also, I thought about how I would have gone about doing it differently.

I would have started with Aang, not with Katara and her brother discovering him under the ice. Why not start with a little back story--shown, not told? This way, when Aang finds that his home was destroyed by the Firebenders, we already pre-emptively have an emotional connection with them? There's just no reason not to know that Aang ran away from the responsibility of being the Avatar right away. Starting with the back story would make the rest of the story cohere better. The flashbacks show that he had a mentor that was like a father--more of that would have been great! Show him being a kid so we can sympathize with how a youth has this thing thrust upon him.

Then we could start understanding him as a character with an arc, as the pretentious people who care about such things say.

Now, I never saw the animated series, so I'm at a loss for how faithful the movie is to the series. The hints that Katara and Aang are going to bond later along the lines of Anakin and Padme creep me out a little because--they do. I don't know if that's something built-in or what, of if I'm just misreading the heck out of that. But I will say the dialogue is at least as bad as Lucas. I so agree with Charlie Anders--Aasif Mandvi does look a little like he's too aware that what his character is saying is sooo stock-villian-y. But he's still one of the people who is fun to watch in this movie. As are Dev Patel and Shaun Toub--their motivation seems more concrete.

As for goofy melodramatic things like: "We need to show them that we believe in our beliefs as much as they believe in their beliefs." which Katara really does say--the stupidity is, it has so little to do with belief at this point. The Fire folks believe the other 'Benders should be ruled by them or wiped out, and the other people just pretty much believe they should neither be ruled by Fire folks or wiped out. It's not all that heavily ideological so much as existential. I think the real melodramatic bullshit line was when Aang is meditating in the sacred area of the Northern Water tribe and communing with the yin-yang fish, and might as well have a "Do Not Disturb" sign on his head, when Katara offers the weirdly wrong-sounding encouragement that she "always knew" he was the Avatar.

Always knew? Since when? Like, since her grandmom told her earlier in the movie, when it seemed a little like the youngin's had no idea about the Avatar? Or like, since it was kind of obvious that he was the Avatar--why bother saying that? Was it doubtful? Is he supposedly meditating because he doesn't know people think that and are rooting for him to spiritually kick ass? Or was it more like Katara is not speaking as a character (who would have motivations, a personality, and a story) but as an embodiment of the hopes of all the oppressed people depending upon the Avatar?

If the latter--boo. She's Katara. If she has to speak for anybody, let her speak for herself. Develop the character.

The movie was big-budget but clocks in under two hours. I think with attention to the story and character development, the movie could have been a little longer and cost the same but been qualitatively better. More showing, less telling. More confrontation, less narrative. There were good ideas that were explored, like Aang learning to accept the consequences of not accepting his destiny, or the idea that Princess Yue sacrifices herself for the greater good because it gives her purpose--these things shouldn't be rushed or piled in.

I dunno. I see a lot of promise in the material, but just don't think it was made into a good-enough movie. And I won't necessarily knock against the young actors in it, because I can't separate their performances from what they were performing in.

The movie was entirely set up for a sequel. Even though I was lukewarm about this, I would probably watch the sequel, anyway, on the off-chance that lessons would be learned.

I give points, as I said, for trying.