Surly

License and Registration, Please

~ lobablanca

Sat down last night after dinner to flip through the bajillion and one cable channels that usually don’t have anything on worth watching, and I stumbled upon a movie in which Jed Bartlet seemed on the verge of molesting Clarice Starling. There are just some things that I don’t want to watch. Ever.

So I completely forgot to mention that I was pulled over by a cop on Friday night for no friggin’ reason. I had been at a complete stop at a red light for about 10 to 20 seconds, when I saw a car pulling up on my right, in the “right turn only” lane. I noticed, however, that the car had stopped without pulling up even with me. I looked in my right side mirror and saw that it was a police cruiser. It kept inching forward uncertainly, doing the “I’m spatially challenged and have no idea if I can actually fit past this car next to me” two-step. I laughed and probably made some sort of innuendo-heavy joke at the cop’s expense.

A second later, the cruiser jerked into reverse and pulled in behind me.

The light finally turned green and I made my left onto the main road. And right onto the side of the road as the cruiser’s blue and red lights flared up and the cop pointed his spotlight in through Sammy’s rear window.

I’ve been pulled over numerous times in the past. I have a hereditary condition that causes my driving foot to be pulled uncontrollably to the floor, regardless of posted speed limits. I’ve sought physical therapy, which has successfully reduced the impact of this condition on my driving record (and my insurance premiums). However, this was the first time I was ever pulled over simply for the helluvit.

So the cop ambles up to my window and asks me for my license and registration. In a new twist, however, he asks me how long I’ve owned my car. When I tell him, his response is, “That’s funny. Your license plate comes up in my system as belonging to a 2003 Mercury.” And then he walks away.

So we sit there for like 10 minutes before the cop comes back, returns my information and says, “Yeah, your VIN checks out as belonging to this car, but your license plate is coming up as belonging to a Mercedes. I mean Mercury. Your name also isn’t coming up in our system.”

Okay, so you really can’t drop something like this on me and expect me to shrug and go “Okay, occifer.” My actual response was, “Well, that doesn’t sound good. I guess I’ll have to call the DMV in the morning.”

To which to officer quickly responded, “No, that’s not necessary. My system is probably just down right now. You’re fine.”

Anyone else smelling a rotten bacon stink right about now?

First he tells me that my license plate is coming up as belonging to a completely different make and year of car. Then he tells me that the VIN information is fine, but the license plate is still coming up for a different car…but he can’t seem to keep straight the make of the different car (personally, I confuse Mercedes and Mercury all the time). And that my name isn’t even coming up in the system. But he doesn’t seem to think there’s anything to worry about in any of what he’s saying. And he gets jumpy when I state that I’m going to call the DMV to clear everything up with them.

Plus, there’s the tiny little matter of me not really understanding why I was pulled over in the first place.

I wish I hadn’t been suffering from an extreme case of “Politeness to Those Who Can Arrest You” syndrome. I really would have liked to have asked WTF. Part of me feels like I was duped in some way. I mean, I saw the decals on the cruiser and recognized it as a county sheriff’s car. Officer Dolittle was also in a recognizable duty uniform. So what the dilly-yo? Was he just bored and miffed that he couldn’t figure out how to get past me at the stoplight? Was my bumper sticker or my “Jesus fish” spoof that offensive? Was this abuse of power by a rabid fundamentalist?

Ooh, maybe this had something to do with that crazy woman who bumped into me a few weeks back! That might be a possibility…but then I go right back to the fact that I wasn’t doing anything to draw attention to myself in the first place. Dudley Dolittle had no reason to run my license plate in the first place, beyond the fact that he could have seen me gesturing toward his sad attempts at spatial handling and laughing.

If that’s indeed the case, then I’m ever so glad that my tax dollars are helping to pay the salary of someone so petty and small. Thanks for wasting my money and my time, occifer.

“Beyond Ctrl+Alt+Delete”

~ lobablanca

stupidcomputer
That’s how our local talk radio traffic reporter described the hella awful computer meltdown that’s been crippling the D.C. commuter scene since early yesterday morning. Seems that the computer system that runs the operation of all the county’s traffic lights took a massive nosedive right at the beginning of yesterday morning’s rush hour. What did this mean? It meant that the transitional program that switched all 750 stoplight systems from “normal” to “rush hour” mode was not there to perform its function. So all those stoplights remained stuck in “normal” mode.

And that’s when rush hour traffic became traffuck.

Can you believe this? An entire county crippled by what WaPo described as “a Jimmy Carter-era computer.” Are you kidding me? Jimmy freakin’ Carter? You mean that peanut farmer who was elected president the year I was born? For a human, that ain’t all that old. In computer years…well, let’s just put it this way: I think Bette Davis is in better condition than this computer system. My iPod can do more advanced technological tricks than a late-70s-era computer system!

The solution? Right now, technicians are driving around the county, resetting the stoplights manually. Yeah. They’re also keeping in touch with each other via smoke signals and Pony Express.

Meanwhile, HAL is still not responding to resuscitation. So this morning’s commute was even worse than yesterday’s. A drive that should take me 25 minutes but usually takes me double that time during rush hour took me almost 2 hours this morning. Can you guess how unhappy Loba was this morning? I couldn’t even stand listening to my iPod, I was so irritated.

I really hope the computer geeks figure things out before the evening commute. I don’t know how much longer I can contain my LobaHulk Fury. You know how temperamental red heads can be…

Dead Guy in a Little Coat

~ lobablanca

It’s not a new thing for companies to resurrect deceased actors to plug their merchandise. Fred Astaire came back for one more dance…with Dirt Devil cleaners. His Funny Face co-star Audrey Hepburn was reanimated for some dancing as well, to advertise skinny black pants for GAP. And, as if their beer wasn’t reason enough to stay away from them, Coors did the ultimate in tacky by bringing back The Duke to hawk Coors Light. Really, guys? Do you think Marion Morrison would drink your skunky light beer?

But this latest one? It made my soul shrink a little bit from the sheer misery of it all.

What. The. Hell.

It’s one level of tacky to bring back long-gone actors for some forced product shilling. But Chris Farley has barely been gone more than a decade. Never mind too tacky…isn’t this simply WAY too soon? And David Spade? We all know that you pretty much lost your meal ticket when Chris died, but this really nailed that fact home in a huge, ugly way. You’re still riding his gravy train, man, and now it’s not just sad…it’s sick.

I love Tommy Boy. I think it’s one of the greatest movies to come from a former SNL cast member. Chris Farley was a brilliant physical comedian with demons far larger than even he could tackle. But what he left behind still makes me laugh (and occasionally cry out “Holy Schnike!”). To see his work reduced to nothing more than background noise to Spade’s Direct TV spiel? To quote Tommy Boy, “Richard, what’s happening?!”

Hail to the Racists!

~ lobablanca

redskins

I’ll start right out by stating the obvious: This is not going to be an objective post. I hate professional sports. Ergo, I hate football. I find it deplorable that more people in this country can name the starting line-up of their favorite sports team than can name their senators or representatives. The latter are people who have a real and significant impact on the lives of every American, whereas the former are just people trying to make as many bucks as they can before they blow out a knee and have to go on to doing commentary or hawking projection screen TVs during Rhonda Shear’s Up All Night. Or something like that…

My hatred for football, however, is even deeper based on the fact that I live in the D.C. metropolitan area. Therefore, each football season I’m subjected to constant yammering about the Redskins. And each year I wonder if this is going to be the year that TPTB finally make a long-overdue decision. What decision? To stop calling the football team of the nation’s effing capital city one of the most racist names still in use by any sports team in any league.

Seriously, are we really living in the 21st century? Or are we still living in a time when it was cool to have Uncle Remus tell us about his syrup, “dis sho’ am good!”

I’d argue that even that is less offensive than calling D.C.’s home team a name that American Indians have repeatedly said is as offensive to them as “the N word” is to Black people. Yet the Indian groups are continuously ignored or overruled while “the N word” has been given so much power that even the implication of its use can ruin a person. Don’t believe me? Ask David Howard, one of former D.C. Mayor Anthony Williams’ top aides, who resigned his post due to community protest after a coworker heard him use the word “niggardly” in a conversation and accused him of using a racial epithet.

So why do we continue to have a team with an actual epithet for a name? I’ll give you one guess. It’s long and green and while it’s not Kermit’s finger, lots of people still get off on it. Yes! Yes! YES!! That’s right…it’s the Almighty Dollar!!

So stated Redskins attorney Bob Raskopf this past May, in response to the U.S. Court of Appeals ruling in favor of the Redskins keeping their name. Raskopf put it in clear enough terms by pointing out that “millions have been spent on the Redskins brand and the team would have suffered great economic loss if they lost the trademark registrations.”

“Great economic loss.”

I Googled “most profitable professional football teams” and I found two lists, one from 2003 and one from 2007, that listed the Redskins in the number 1 or 2 spots of the professional football teams in this country making the most profits. The 2007 report showed that the Redskins team value exceeded $1 billion that season.

Why, then, would Redskins owner Dan Snyder choose to waste any of those profits by doing something that would only appease the laments of less than one percent of the U.S. population? It’s not like American Indians have been getting the shaft by this country on anything else.

So hail to the Redskins. May they never win another Super Bowl until they fix what they should have fixed a long time ago.

Losers.

CS…Why?

~ lobablanca

Yes, I have categorized this one as both happy and surly. It’s happy because I used to love CSI. I started watching reruns on SpikeTV almost 6 years ago. I’ve seen all the episodes since then, purchased several seasons on DVD, and continue to watch new episodes today.

The surliness comes from the noticeable deterioration of the show. What made me love it was the plot focus. It reminded me in so many ways of the “Freak of the Week” formula used with such success by early seasons of The X-Files. Each week we got to watch the team solve a different case, learning a little about them along the way as the opportunities arose to reveal such information.

Now, it’s all about the characters…or, more precisely, character drama, which I find so very boring. Yet I continue to watch the show. It’s kind of like how I continue to read post-Nemesis TNG novels, even though they only serve to irritate and disappoint me. I’m too much a creature of habit in this regard. But I did like CSI once, and I guess I’m holding out hope that I’ll like it again.

So far, it’s not happening that way with Season 10. I find this truth even more disappointing based on the absolutely awesome way the 10th season started. The pre-credits teaser for this episode was one of the most spectacular I think they have ever done for this show. Check it out:

Pretty spiffy for regular television, eh? I liked it so much that I watched it twice that night…and several times since. I laughed when I saw Laurence Fishburne doing his Matrix shtick with the Agent Smith-looking character, complete with Matrix bullet effects around him. I also dug how the sequence ends with two characters in frame, one of whom is the surprise guest return of Sara Sidle. So, cool opening and pleasant surprise ending. Left me feeling quite hopeful about what was to come.

Too bad the rest of the show in no way lived up to that opening. Petty bickering, bruised egos, the disappearance of a regular character from the previous season explained away by the revelation of even more discord. Plus, the story was meh. The stories from early CSI were never meh.

Same thing for last night’s new episode. Sara Sidle is still with the team, which makes me happy…but what didn’t make me happy was the dredging up of a storyline they started way back in the very first episode as one of the stupidest red herrings I think they’ve ever pulled. Also, it seems that they might be launching another serial killer story arc. Because the Miniature Killer was SO awesome.

Disappointed.

So, should I just stop watching? Give up and abandon ship before it sinks beneath the weight of its increasing mediocrity? Or should I continue to hold out hope that they’ll find that miracle fix that will get the show back on track to awesomeness? Is that even possible?

I’ll probably keep checking in, especially since our cable company makes it so easy to catch up on missed episodes through their On Demand feature. What can I say? I really am a hopeless optimist. How else can I explain the fact that I still watch a show that stopped being great at least three seasons ago…or why I recently ordered the follow-up to a TNG book that I rated only 1.5 out of 5?

Hopeless.

I Are An Alumni

~ lobablanca

When did the word “alumni” become both the singular and plural form of itself? I’m just wondering, because obviously it had to happen at some point without my knowledge. After all, that seems to me to be the only logical explanation for why colleges and universities all across the United States issue “Alumni of” merchandise. I’m sure those of you here in the practice colonies have seen this on a regular basis, on bumper stickers, window clings, license plate holders…et cetera ad nauseum.

Here’s the problem: Unless your name is Sybil or you’re part of the Borg Collective, you’re not an alumni. You’re either an alumnus (for boys) or an alumna (for girls). The only time you’re alumni is when you’re part of a group of people who graduated from the same school…unless you’re a girl and part of a group of all-girl graduates. Then you’re alumnae.

Yes, it does get complicated. But not really. Not if you’ve received proper schooling on the matter, which I always thought was the purpose of earning a college degree in the first place. So what does it say that our own institutions of higher education can’t even be bothered to get right something as simple as this?

To be fair, I have seen merchandise with the correct word used. I’ve even seen merchandise imprinted with “Alumna,” which was most impressive. These instances are few and far between, though.

Okay, semantics rant over for now. I are finished.

Flushing Quality

~ lobablanca
We have met the enemy...and it is plastic.
We have met the enemy...and it is plastic.

You ever get one of those headaches that rumbles through your head like an angry bear waking up from hibernation? They start out kind of weak and slowly roar to life, impervious to pain medicine? I ended up with one of those last night, and all I wanted to do was go to bed and try to out-sleep it.

Instead, I ended up hunched over a toilet tank for almost a half hour, trying to figure out what was going on with the fill valve. Seems it’s taking the proverbial shit. I wouldn’t be quite as irritated by this as I am if it wasn’t for the fact that this fill valve is only 3 years old. I know, because I’m the one who installed it, along with a flush valve replacement that turned into quite the repair nightmare and landed me in a plumbing supply company, queuing up with big, burly plumber dudes who seemed very amused by my presence in their plumber man cave.

So why am I now faced with replacing the fill valve again? Like I said, it’s only 3 years old. The box it came in said that it was guaranteed for 2 million flushes. I know I’m not the greatest at math, but I’m pretty certain that this toilet has not been flushed more than 2 million times in 3 years. It’s not like the downstairs is doubling as a restroom annex to Union Station or anything. It could be that this fill valve was defective. Or it could be that it’s just another example of the inferior quality that seems so pervasive in merchandise anymore.

This is a constant grumble of mine. I can’t help but notice that so many things sold in this country are noticeably inferior to the same product sold “back in the good old days.” Perfect example: I recently bought a drying rack from Target, to complement my current drying rack. The new one was the same brand and size and bought from the same store as my current one. Only the frame felt flimsy and light in comparison with the older version. I imagine this was due to an order from some penny-pinching schmuck who had convinced someone in production that if they reduce the material by just the tiniest percentage, they could save $3 million a year! Which means $3 million more in their pockets!

So the materials are reduced, the new product is now disconcertingly wobbly, and 2 weeks later one of the joints snaps in half under the weight of wet clothes. But the company saved $3 million.

I’m probably being too jaded about this. However, I don’t see anything wrong with expecting a product that I have purchased to be reliable. That drying rack was not only a waste of my money, but also of my time. Time spent going to Target to buy it, to bring it home and put it together, to end up having to pick up all the clothes that it dumped onto the floor when it broke, to take it back, and then to go to another store and buy a different rack that will hopefully last a wee bit longer.

Same thing with this fecking fill valve. Now my evening is shot, pre-mapped by a necessary trip to the local DIY store, then back home to remove the broken valve and install the new one.

I have an Xbox, people! An Xbox that is going to feel ignored and unloved because, instead of rocking out with Aerosmith on Guitar Hero or swinging Lara Croft across a chasm, I’m going to be mucking around in a toilet tank. I guess this would be the un-fun side of being an adult, huh?

Oh, and I still have that effing headache. I bet some vodka would clear that right up…

Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes?

~ lobablanca

Who watches the Watchmen? Unfortunately, last night I did.

Maybe I’m too critical for my own good. Maybe I over-analyze. Maybe I should just turn off my brain and let my visceral side take over when I watch movies.

Or maybe Hollywood should start making movies that live up to the dizzying heights of their well-oiled hype machine.

Believe me when I say I really did want to like this movie. I wanted to love it. I very much enjoyed the graphic novel, right up to the point near the end when I felt it fell apart significantly. The positive thing I can say about the movie version is that they did, indeed, fix the ending to be a little less…laughable. But, by the time I made it to the new ending, I couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. This movie was 2 hours 43 minutes long. And it felt 2 hours and 43 minutes long. That’s never a good sign.

In its favor, the movie looks spectacular. I expected nothing less from Zack Snyder, who directed 300. I love 300. I think it is one of the most visually spectacular movies ever made. I have several issues with the story itself, but I can let most of them go and focus on the beauty of the film.

The problem with doing that with Watchmen is the fact that the storyline should have been more important than making sure Rorschach’s mask blotches flowed properly or Dr. Manhattan’s blue peener was shimmery enough. The story is the power and the beauty of Watchmen. That unfortunately felt like it got lost in the focus on the effects. Also, I feel like if I hadn’t already read the novel, I would have been lost because so much exposition had been peeled away (again, though, the movie was almost 3 butt-numbing hours as it was).

Another major problem with this movie version? These superheroes shouldn’t possess super powers. That was one of the most important truths of the original novel: Minus Dr. Manhattan, they’re just everyday people who slap on masks and go after the baddies. These movie Watchmen? All that fancy footwork and concrete-cracking fighting action looks fantastic…but it’s wrong. They’re supposed to be like us. I don’t know about you, though, but if someone slammed my head into a countertop, I don’t think I’d be getting back up any time soon. I also don’t have the ability to punch someone’s humerus hard enough to cause it to shatter through their skin. Maybe it’s time I started working on that…

The key to making this movie really click right from the start was Rorschach. That’s where it began to unravel for me. Jackie, Christian Bale is going to kick your ass if you don’t give him back his shit Batman voice. Seriously, this was the most distracting voiceover since the original cut of Blade Runner. Otherwise, I suppose Haley was okay…but I’m pissed with him for being the new Freddy Krueger, so I don’t want to say anything else nice about him.

Other casting choices? Jeffrey Dean Morgan was spot-on as the Comedian. Patrick Wilson was brilliant as the second Nite Owl. Matt Frewer was almost unrecognizable as Moloch. All the others? Meh. I don’t much care for Billy Crudup as either an actor or a person. Matthew Goode? Sorry, but no one’s going to be looking upon his Ozymandias and despairing any time soon.

Also, Malin, honey. Yes, you’re lovely. Now put your tsitskas back into your Silk Spectre costume and go get some acting lessons. Oh, and Lucy Lawless would like you to know that, no, you can’t have the part of Xena. That’s still hers.

Now, a personal gripe with both the movie and the original source material concerning the character of Sally Jupiter, the original Silk Spectre and the new Silk Spectre’s mother. Here be spoilers from two movies, so skip the next couple of paragraphs if you’d rather not have anything ruined for you. This is more like a gripe about Hollywood’s treatment of women in storylines in general, I suppose, but I’m so very tired of being subjected to the rape or attempted rape of female characters. Note for your playbook, guys: That’s not entertaining. Plus, in this story, not only is Silk Spectre nearly raped by the Comedian (and bloodied up but good in the attempt), she returns to him later for consensual sex, which leads to the birth of the future Silk Spectre. Really? Because nothing woos a woman like having her face pummeled before it’s shoved against a pool table. Foreplay for superheroes? Or a horrible message about women really liking it rough and no “meaning Y-E-S”?

Snyder is guilty of subjecting another of his female characters to similar treatment. Lena Headey’s Queen Gorgo is raped in the movie version of 300, even though she is not in Frank Miller’s graphic novel. I think women were supposed to feel empowered when Gorgo murders her rapist and whispers as he dies a paraphrase of what he said to her as he raped her:

Remake Me Sick

~ lobablanca

NO!!! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!

I just checked my tracking info and saw a highly disturbing keyword search, spawned by one of my recent Flashback Friday entries: “Poltergeist remake.”

NO!!!!!!!!!!!

Dammit, no. This is my perfection. This is the movie that placed me on my horror movie journey. This is my first. Now Hollywood is going to muck it up, like they did Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, and now Freddy Krueger. The Poltergeist remake hasn’t been cast yet, but MGM has announced that they’re hoping for a Thanksgiving 2010 release date.

Who do I have to contact in Hollywood to make them stop this? Some things shouldn’t be tampered with. This movie is one of them. What next from my childhood? Jaws? Gremlins? Adventures in Babysitting? “Don’t fuck with the babysitter” is more than just a line from the movie, guys.

All I have to say is this: If I hear even the tiniest rumbling of a rumor about Blade Runner being remade, something horrifying will happen. I’m not saying what, but it will involve cutlery and Tabasco sauce.

GenX-cessive: Ghost Adventures

~ lobablanca
Never fear! My crotch flare and ripped physique will protect us from ghosts!
Never fear! My crotch flare and ripped physique will protect us from ghosts!

It’s been a while since I visited this particular topic…and since this is only the second entry and it’s about another Travel Channel show, it must seem like I’m focusing all my ire on one of the few channels that I still watch with any frequency. Don’t worry. There’s enough anger within this wolf’s warp core to break the Travel Channel barrier soon enough.

Right now, though, this is the show in my line of fire. First, let me point out that I love scary things. Scary books, scary movies, scary music, scary coworkers…love it all (well, maybe not the coworker part). I always have. Even before I was assimilated into the Star Trek Collective, I was a horror hound.

Additionally, within recent years I have become addicted to many of the “reality” ghost shows out there, starting with another Travel Channel offering, the British BS of Most Haunted, right down through Ghost Hunters, Paranormal State, The Scariest Places on Earth…hell, my obsession probably started with the scary episodes of Unsolved Mysteries. I know that most, if not all, of what is seen on these shows is either faked or edited to be more than what it really was, but I still find them fascinating.

As for what I believe in regard to the paranormal, supernatural, otherworldly, or whatever…I’m not really sure. I’ve experienced things that, I’m sure if I thought about them long enough, I could come up with a logical explanation for them. But would that be me just trying to rationalize something that really was irrational? Or me getting a grip on reality rather than letting myself be swept away by the fantastical? I’m not really sure.

I do know this, though: If the afterlife is real and I was somehow stuck in that netherworld and forced to walk this earth as a spirit, the last thing I would want is to have my sanctuary disturbed by these douchewangers from Ghost Adventures.

These three are the most insipid, ridiculous, posturing assclowns ever to enter the paranormal reality show genre (and that’s a huge feat since they share this genre with the likes of Derek Acorah). I suspected as much when I heard them being marketed as “Extreme Paranormal Investigators.” The word “extreme” makes me want to vomit. Why does everything for my generation have to be “extreme”? No, I’m sorry… EXTREME!!!!1!!1!!!

Whatever. I’ve actually watched several episodes of Ghost Adventures. Yes, I secretly am masochistic. The premise itself is quite intriguing: Three investigators are locked inside a location that is presumed to be haunted, with no camera crew, no additional staff, no nothing. Just them, their equipment, and the possibility of paranormal activity that they must find before sunrise. What could have been an amazing premise in the hands of actors able to inspire a sense of competency and intelligence is instead a clusterfuck of testosterone-induced strutting and screaming strung together by the ever-present bleat of curse words being censored out. It’s boring. It’s tedious. It’s predictable. It sucks.

Final analysis: If you like paranormal things like I do but have no patience for predictable Gen-X drivel, definitely skip Ghost Adventures. The Mystery Inc. gang is more professional in their ghost hunting than these piles of smegma. Check out A&E’s Paranormal State or Syfy’s Ghost Hunters and Ghost Hunters International. Sure, they’ve all been edited down to meet viewer expectations, but at least these shows offer something a bit more intelligent than “Holy shit! Oh my god! I am fucking out of here, dude!”

Indeed.