50BC09: Book Number 35

~ lobablanca

patientzero

I have several ImagiFriendsTM who are really into zombies. Into them to the point that they’ve thought about the zombie apocalypse…and they have game plans for how to deal with said event.

I dig zombies, too, although maybe not quite as much. So it was with mostly equal parts joy and trepidation that I dove into Jonathan Maberry’s novel Patient Zero. The trepidation stemmed from the fact that I’m usually not drawn to good guy/bad guy shoot-em-up novels all that much. Unless the weapons are phasers. Then I’m cool.

I was happily surprised for the most part. Maberry sets a quick, solid pace and lays down a story that is both captivating and highly unsettling. The latter might be a mostly subjective reaction that stems from the hooks he sinks into the realism of a post-9/11 world. Granted, zombie warfare is a bit far-fetched, but shadows of biological warfare and further terrorist attacks on American soil tap into a wellspring of real fear that, for me, does not make for pleasant reading.

However, Maberry spins a tale that is enough of a m

Complete and Total Barf-O-Rama

~ lobablanca
Brought to you by Lactaid Fast Act!
Brought to you by Lactaid Fast Act!

I haven’t really brought you much in the way of useful information lately, have I? My bad. So here’s a little advice from your friendly neighborhood Loba: Don’t trust Lactaid Fast Act.

For those who don’t know, Lactaid is a non-FDA-approved over-the-counter pill marketed to those with lactose intolerance. It’s designed to provide the body with the enzyme lactase, which said intolerant people lack, to break down lactose properly.

What the makers of Lactaid fail to mention is that some people will have a very negative reaction to this pill. And by negative, I mean the pill will make those people reenact the “Barf-O-Rama” scene from Stand By Me.

Thank the Prophets I’m not a lactose-intolerant person (although I can be somewhat judgmental of cheeses based solely on their wax color). However, I have witnessed the agony of Lactaid-induced stomach exorcism twice now by a denizen whose name will be withheld to protect the nauseous.

It’s quite disconcerting on many levels, I can assure you.

The really scary part is that this side effect didn’t manifest itself immediately. Said denizen was able to take Lactaid twice and have nothing but positive results. The third time, however, was most assuredly not a charm…unless you find projectile vomiting to be charming. If you do, you’re a bit dirty in a bad, bad way. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until the fourth time that the puzzle pieces clicked into place and Lactaid was revealed to be the culprit.

The culprit box of Lactaid, however, said nothing about possible side effects including channeling Regan’s Captain Howdy demon. I get that this might deter people from buying your product, but as a company, shouldn’t the safety of your targeted consumers be more important to you than your bottom line? After all, I’ve read accounts of parents giving these pills to their children, and it affected them in similar or worse ways. Shouldn’t this company be held accountable?

Ha, yeah, I know. I forgot for a minute what I was saying. That won’t happen again, promise.

So, there you go. If you’re lactose-intolerant, you might want to keep holding out for that miracle fix. I’m here to tell you that Lactaid ain’t it.

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.

Something Wicked This Way Comes…Sooner or Later

~ lobablanca

When I’m not completely geeking out about all things sci-fi, I’m usually having a nerdspasm over musicals. Yeah, I can’t really explain that one either. I understand that they are an acquired taste, and that most people can’t stand how characters will break out into song in the middle of a poignant moment. My response to that complaint is…that’s why it’s called a musical.

My response usually gets a dirty look. I’m okay with that.

Anyway, I’ve made no secret of my Wicked love. First, I think Gregory Maguire’s book is brilliant. In the truest tradition of L. Frank Baum, Maguire has penned a story with powerful undercurrents of political and social commentary. Maguire’s text is far more adult, however, and really works as more of an anti-fairytale. He turns those beloved Ozians on their ears in incredible yet highly satisfying ways. I find it mildly off-putting that he now seems set to write these alternative reality books for all the Ozian characters. His latest is a book about the Cowardly Lion, which I admittedly have not read (truth is, I haven’t even read the Wicked sequel, Son of a Witch, even though I bought it the week it came out…in January of 2005; you all have no idea the depths of my book backlog).

Of course, Maguire’s novel and the musical based upon it are about as different as Baum’s novel and the MGM movie (which, in case you’ve missed it, turned 70 this year). The musical version of Wicked, in fact, significantly alters and dumbs down Maguire’s original story in ways that could have been potentially damning to the musical if left to incompetent people. Thankfully, Stephen Schwartz and Winnie Holzman are far from incompetent, and the end result is a Tony-winning musical that I love so much that the keystone of my 30th birthday trip across the pond was getting to see Idina Menzel reprise her role as Elphaba. That’s love, my friends.

So, what’s the point of all this? Well, during a recent virtual stroll through IMDb’s lists of upcoming movies, I stumbled upon this listing in the 2010 section. Wha? Wicked on screen? That would be wicked, indeed…if done properly, a la Chicago.

I quickly began disseminating this joyous news, giddy with fear-tinged joy over the thought of my current favorite musical being brought to the big screen as soon as next year. And then A2 (who hates musicals, by the way) pointed out the release date listed on IMDb: 2016.

2016?

W. T. F.?

Talk about delayed gratification. I guess this is still all nothing more than someone’s pipe dream right now. Although, I’ve always known that this would end up heading to the big screen at some point. After all, it was produced by Universal Pictures. But waiting until 2016? I had hopes that the original “witches” might be considered to reprise their roles as Galinda and Elphaba for the movie. Of course, how often does that ever happen, right? But with a delay like this, I don’t think either will be able to pass as teenagers anymore…unless they want to go all 90210 on us (Andrea Zuckerman was almost 30!!!).

Oh well. Things do change. Maybe this weird release date will change. Hell, maybe TPTB will change their minds about making the movie at all! Movies based on musicals notoriously fall flat 9 times out of 10 anymore. I think it’s all that crazy singing they do…

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…

Flashback Friday: Gina Crash and HFS

~ lobablanca

ginacrash

This one’s going to be even more subjective than usual, denizens. I’d apologize, but I’m really not sorry. In fact, I’m quite elated.

I’ve blogged about Gina Crash before, during my Angry BloggerTM days. My anger was not focused at Gina Crash…rather at her abrupt disappearance from the D.C. radio scene. See, I thought Gina Crash was the shiznit. SHIZNIT. She started out as a DJ for 99.1-HFS, the local and best alternative station on the planet. This was, of course, back in the day when radio stations were allowed to be unique entities and not the cookie-cutter corporate crapfests they are now. HFS was legendary in the D.C./Baltimore radio scene, and its DJs were effing awesome.

And then there was the ultimate awesome of Gina Crash. I first noticed her on HFS’s “Trancemissions” show. I love trance music, and I credit this show with introducing me to it. Score for DJ Gina.

Then there was “The Morning Crash.”

Let me just get this right out here now: I can’t stand morning radio shows. Same feeling about the afternoon shows. I don’t give a good goddamn about sports talk or Howard Stern-esque humor or shenanigans. The big ticket show here in D.C. is the “Elliot in the Morning” show on DC101. I’d rather have someone shave off my taste buds than have to listen to his show. The one good thing that I can say about Elliot and his ilk is that the dearth of decent morning radio is one of the prime reasons that I switched over to listening to podcasts. That was one of the most life-alteringly awesome decisions I ever made.

However, back on track, there was once “The Morning Crash,” which, as far as I know, remains the only D.C. area morning radio show hosted by a female DJ. I’m not talking about sidekick girls…I’m talking main attraction, center ring kind of deal here. If I’m wrong, please by all means hit that “Contact” button to your left. But I don’t think I am. Gina Crash and her on-air partner-in-crime Allen Scott got me through hours of Beltway driving, both during my college years and my early professional years, when my commute was 2 hours each way on a good day (and they were never “good days”). Together, they were funny and smart and they didn’t have to tell fart jokes or talk about football or be crass or disgusting to keep me laughing and non-homicidal behind the wheel of my car.

HFS went through a massive retooling in the early 00s and “The Morning Crash” was replaced by “The Sports Junkies.” Obviously, I am quite in the minority in regard to my hatred of sports talk and fart jokes. Needless to say, I never listened to the Junkies. Then, on January 12, 2005, HFS was no more. At noon, TPTB pulled the plug on the alternative awesomeness that had literally been the soundtrack to such a huge part of my life.

Gina Crash had disappeared from the D.C. scene prior to the death of HFS, and I was left with nothing but happy memories and a deep sense of Whathafu?

Thank goodness for the stalking capabilities of teh Interwebz!

Gina ended up back in her hometown of Philadelphia, where she’s been making the rounds through various hard rock stations that play to Philly and suburbs of New Jersey. Right now she’s the afternoon DJ at Philly’s hard rock station WWYY-FM 107, “The Bone.” I listened to her today while at work…first time I’ve heard her since probably 2002. She’s doing the afternoon DJ routine, which is far more limited than her days as a morning show host…but it was still awesome to hear her once more. Plus, her playlist was mint, with Aerosmith, Ozzy, Foo Fighters, GnR, Zeppelin, AC/DC, Pink Floyd, STP, Alice in Chains…see? Mint.

I’m sure I’ll listen to her again, but it’ll be with the same sad smile I had today, remembering “The Morning Crash” and “Trancemissions”…Weasel, Neci, Bob Waugh, Graeme, Paula, Pogo…HFStival, Nutcracker…all of it wrapped around some of the greatest alternative tunes to hit the airwaves. If that station was still around, it’d be kicking the Jonas Brothers’ asses all over the place. And I’d be loving every minute.

If Gina Crash ever stumbles upon this post, I hope it lets her know how awesome she and her fellow HFS DJs were, and how D.C. radio just hasn’t been the same since…

Going Green, 24th Century Style

~ lobablanca

My company is going “green” crazy. It’s now part of our mission statement, part of our daily grind…even our e-mail signatures all have to have a “think before you print this” tagline. It’s a bit silly, but I know that their hearts are in the right place. Plus, I got a free water bottle and coffee mug out of the deal, so we’re all winners, right?

Seems that recycling is going to be around well into the 24th century. Don’t believe me? Check it:

tng_blues

The lovely Rutian with Commander Will Riker is Head of Security Alexana Devos, played by Kerrie Keane in the third season TNG episode “The High Ground.” Strikes quite a pose in her militaristic uniform, no?

Fast forward to Voyager’s fourth season episode “Random Thoughts,” and Chief Examiner Nimari of the Mari, played by Gwynyth Walsh:

voyager_blues

Not only is Ms. Walsh a “Trekcyclable” actress (not recognizing her without her furrowed brow and excessive Kleavage? It’s B’Etor, byatches!), but that Mari uniform is so 2366 Rutian! They may not be the same costume, but someone went digging through patterns and revived this oldie but goodie with some subtle alterations.

And before you ask, yeah, I really am this geeky. Don’t mock it…you know you like it.

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: