Have you seen Monsters University?
I thought it was a pretty good flick. I liked the college setting, and I would be lying if I told you it didn’t give me a nostalgic tickle or two, reminding me of glory days and gory days. As I watched the flick in a theater crowded with children and merriment, there was something about it that made me uneasy. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but for some reason I kept picturing a fat man vomiting in a four star restaurant, a man being chased off a cliff by buxom beauties, and Catholics dancing on a cobblestone street.
Then it hit me.
*Warning, this could be very disturbing to the easily impressionable and those with good taste.*
Monsters University ripped their anthem off of Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life.
I am serious . . . and seriously disturbed by this, and I am wondering what kind of monstrous group would insert such subliminal programming into their “kids” flick in order to attempt to manipulating them in order to forgo birth control and overpopulate this great planet of ours?
Oh yes, it is that insidious.
Let me show you what I mean:
Ok. So that was the Monster’s U anthem. Delightful, no? I mean it certainly sounds innocent and legit. The problem is that it completely rips off “Every Sperm Is Sacred” from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life. Check out what I mean at the :56 mark. (seriously, go straight there or this entire post will make no sense)
I know, right? Shocking.
Now listen to them both again. No, your ears are not deceiving you. They truly ripped off Python. What kind of world do we live in, anyway. Graham Chapman would be rolling over in his grave.
Think twice before submitting your child to this torture…
Oh, man, I hate it when this happens. I just wrote the most epic blog about my visit to the circus. It was two parts, hilarious as Adam Sandler before he made Little Nicky, and literally a literary masterpiece. Rarely had the words flowed so freely from fingers to keyboard, creating a beautiful symphony of words that precisely captured all of the goofy, little-kid nostalgia that I felt at this circus.
I finished my draft at my office, and backed it up like any good kid should. The draft was saved, and I was off for home, where I hoped to tweak it a bit, edit it (unlike I do my other posts, right?) and then post it to the applause and adoration of my millions of readers* Unfortunately, I forgot that I had an earlier version up on my laptop. This version only had two pictures on it, and none of my wonderfully crafted prose. When I opened up my laptop and it woke from blissful hibernation, it automatically saved my most recent version – the version with only two pictures. Seriously, it was like three hours of work down the tube.
This is what happened afterwards:
At any rate, I will try and recreate what I can, but don’t expect lightening to strike twice. I will see if I can get part one up by the end of the day. In the meantime, up-yours laptop.
*in reality, there are only three, and one of them is my mom
So you remember this poster?
Well I went to the circus. I am doing a full write up. It should be done in a day or two but in the meantime, let me give you a teaser.
Yep, it was a one ring outdoor circus.
You don’t want to miss this review.
I leave you with the world’s worst Mickey Mouse to tie you over.
Today I was plodding through my local Walmart when I saw perhaps the most amazing gift that mankind has received in the last four years: golden sponge cake, sweet white cream, three ivory puncture holes, all wrapped in crinkly cellophane.
That’s right, friends and neighbors, I present to you the Sweetest Comeback in the History of Ever:
Twinkies are childhood. I can’t even tell you the first time I tasted a Twinkie, but I cannot remember a time without them. I’ve had them fresh, slightly stale, warm, cold, frozen, deep-fat-fried. I even did this once:
Sometimes, when I would come home after school and the bullies had hit me and the teachers had been mean, my mummy would be right there with a fresh Twinkie and a cup of grape Kool-Aid.
When I first heard about this movie, I wasn’t sure what to think. I am dying to see a really good Walt Disney biopic. Disney is a personal hero of mine, an innovator, a dreamer, a magician. I have been fascinated by the way he was able to surround himself with the right talent to pull off his dreams. However, this trailer has allayed any fears.
While not a true biopic, this film centers around an extremely interesting story – the story about how Walt tried to acquire the rights to Mary Poppins from P.L. Travers, which was a fascinating exercise in patience and tenacity, because of Travers personal attachment to the book and her belief that it could never be translated into a decent film. Truth be told, the film has very little to do with the book (which is a somewhat bleak, pretentious, puffed up piece of prose).
Saving Mr Banks is a period film set in a time when Hollywood was a magical gem sparkling among the hills, and Walt Disney was its arguable king. I am thrilled to see the Sherman Brothers get some love, and the trailer below filled me with warm nostalgic glow that made me excited and giddy to see this now.
Tom Hanks pulls off a great homage to Walt, and while it is still blatantly obvious that this is Hanks doing Disney, and not some possession by the very spirit of the man (like D.D. Lewis’ amazing transformation into Lincoln, Ifound myself getting lost in the performance a couple of times just in the three minutes of footage we’ve been granted.
Nothing says nostalgia like old Hollywood and Disney films, and Mary Poppins was a favorite of mine as a child. I can’t wait to see what the entire thing plays like. I am especially excited to see the Disneyland footage where they filmed in the park and brought out vintage characters. I wish I could have met the man and been part of his empire, and he continues to thrill, inspire, and motivate me even 50 years after his death.
Enjoy the trailer:
Recently, these began popping up all over near where I live.
Woah. What kind of crazy amazing joyful thing is this? I feel like I have gone back to the early 1900’s. For days I have scoured our local newspapers, searching diligently to see if there is going to be some kind of parade or event or something, but so far I have heard no boisterous barkers and read no hyperbolic news print. There is literally no advertising for this thing other than telephone pole signs that kind of remind me of something out of Something Wicked This Way Comes:
The signs in my town are very basic and plain. There are no phone numbers, no prices, and no information. So, I decided to look these guys up, and this is what I found:
That looks cool. I don’t think I have ever actually been in an honest-to-goodness circus tent.
But apparently that is what they plan on erecting.
I am actually really excited to see what will go on under the big top. Will there be lions or tigers? Will there be the human cannonball? Will barkers sell me cotton candy, peanuts and popcorn? Will I see a monkey in a diaper?
In my mind’s eye, it looks something like this:
I am sure that in reality, it will be more like this (only without the talking animals – which would be really cool to see):
Anyhoo, I will plan on attending this event on Saturday evening with my two sons in tow, and bring a full report back. All for you, dear Reader, all for you . . .
Yeah, so these exist.
About three years ago I was wandering through Luzon – a large island in The Philippines, home to Manilla, Spam restaurants (the meat, not the amazing wealth of internet ads that both titilate and confound me when they show up in my inbox) (darn those crafty internet marketers, I didn’t even know I knew the Emperor of Equador), and more people than Carter has liver pills. If you don’t understand that last comparison, ask your Grandma, she’ll explain it to you.
Anyway, Spam is incredibly popular in the Philippines. This restaurant was in a mall:
In fact, did you know that Spam is one of the most popular meat products in the world, today? In fact, in 2007, the seventh billion can of Spam was sold. That’s 7 with nine zeros, or 7,000,000,000. That’s one can of Spam for every person on the planet. That’s a lot of Spam.
Anyhow . . .
I am an unapologetic movie geek. Ever since I was two, I have loved the movies. One of my earliest memories is seeing Star Wars in the theater, with my dad, in 1977. Since then, I have found solace, wonder, and magic on the silver screen. I remember the first time I saw Raiders, the first movie I ever went to by myself (Back to the Future), the first “R” rated movie I ever went to legally (Predator), and the first time I saw Disney’s Peter Pan. Movies have touched my heart, effected my worldview, given me hope that the geek could get the girl, and challenged my thoughts and beliefs. I have strived to be part of the process since I was a kid. I have worked hard, trying to be a part of the biz.
When I was a teenager I would watch at least one movie a day, tearing through everything from Casablanca to The Garbage Pail Kids. Later on, when I worked for a movie theater, I sometimes would go to two or three movies on a lazy Saturday. Some of my best jokes have been directly plagiarized from movies. I have bought movie props, relished movie trivia, and read books on the masters and their craft.
Whenever I get a chance to visit a shootingllocation, I jump at it. There is a strange, almost mystical connection to a film when you stand in the place where it was shot. It changes the attachment to the movie. Plus it is just cool – from a historical perspective.
Recently, I was in Georgetown, at this intersection: Continue reading
So we made two stops this weekend.
Now remember, today is only the 8th of July, so we’re talking about the 5th and 6th.
The first stop was Wal-Mart, where we had to get my son’s glasses adjusted. If you didn’t know, glasses are a horrible invention for an 8 year old. Sure, they help with things like vision and headaches and concentration at school, but really, with all of our amazing technology and the most recent breakthroughs in alloys and engineering, can’t we come up with something a bit more durable?
An eight year old should never be trusted with something that costs upwards of $100 and goes on their face. Have you seen an eight year old? They are walking catastrophes. Mine in particular, thinks that using his head means banging the door open with his cranium. The boy is a walking tornado, and by the time he gets to be a teenager we will own our own wing at the local hospital.
Anyway, we walked into the eyeglass showroom. I turned around to glance back into the store and noticed this:
This weekend we went to the Drive-In.
I love the Drive-In. I can remember going as a kid. My parents would load us up in their lime green station wagon with the wood paneling. We would fill the car up with junk food, blankets, lawn chairs and drinks, and go see movies like: The Black Hole, Howard the Duck, and The Ice Pirates.
I remember sneaking into the back seat and pretending to go to sleep so I could watch Friday the 13th Part 4 through the hatch-back windows of the wagon, peering over the hoods of hundreds of dark cars, ducking as Jason stalked his victims through the rainy forest.
I never realized what went on in the back seats of the other cars around me, or how many teenage boys were using Mr. Vorhees as the perfect excuse for a little cuddle-action. I wasn’t interested in any kind of voyeurism other than the kind on the screen – well, that’s not entirely true, but this post isn’t about that kind of stuff, now is it?
There was always something magical about the yellow and green lights of the Drive-In, like something out of the world’s most magnificent putt-putt park. Cars line up in rows, with those little silver speakers hanging on poles.