Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
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M. Giant's Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks |
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Friday, December 30, 2005 I know it's semi-obligatory to do a year in review, but I didn't have nearly as much stuff happen to me this year as in 2004. As a quick scan of the year's archives will tell you. Pretty much the main things I accomplished in '05 were a) writing 49 recaps for Television Without Pity, and b) going from being the father of a two-and-a-half-month-old to being the father of a fourteen-and-a-half-month-old. Not all at once, though. That would have been weird. * * * There are so many small creatures swarming around our house that it's natural for there to be a proliferation of cutesy nicknames for them as well. One wonders how Strat (also known as "Muffin" with numerous variations thereof, despite my initial objections that Muffin is a dog's name), Turtle (alias "Turtley," alias "Turtley Awesome," alias "Turdlinger," alias "Turd Ferguson," alias "Moron"), Phantom (a.k.a. "Phantommy," "Come Back," and "Where You Going") even know who they are. Especially now that M. Small has taken to referring to them all, both individually and collectively, as "Keeedee!" But it's nothing compared to the number of nicknames for the kid himself. Not that we ever address him as M. Small to his face; that's just too awkward and inorganic. But he has plenty of other alternate handles. To wit: Chunk. This one got tacked on a couple of months after his birth, when we realized that he had stopped looking like a baby bird and had filled out into a compact but solid little chunk of humanity. How long did it take to stick? Put it this way: when we went to the courthouse last December to set up the time for his adoption hearing, Trash asked the clerk, "Do we bring the Chunk?" "I get to see the Chunk," the clerk agreed. Variations: Chunk-boy, Das Chunk, Chunken Master. Pinchy. Only Trash uses this one, a reference to the child's incredibly pinchable cheeks. Seriously, when he smiles you can see it from behind. However, I can't get on board with this one, because as you recall, Pinchy was the name of Homer's pet lobster on The Simpsons. Calling our son Pinchy just somehow makes it seem like we're going to end up eating him. Variations: Pinchy McGee, PinchpinchpinchPINCHY! Honey Bunches of Oats. Because "Honeybunch" would be just too cloying, right? Variations: You want variations on that? Chins. This one has stuck around for some reason, even though it doesn't really fit any more. The kid used to have so many chins that you could riffle through them like the pages of a book, and cleaning them out required a comb. Not any more. He's down to one or two these days. But we're not about to start calling him "The Chin" any time soon. We're not raising a mob hitman here. Variation: [firstname] "Chins" [lastname]. Little Dude. Oh, come on. Just look at him. The Little Dude abides. Variations: Little Man, Little Guy, Little Fellow, Little Chap, etc., ad infinitum. No wonder he just calls himself "Behbeee." posted by M. Giant 7:39 PM 7 comments 7 Comments:
Little Dude. Oh, come on. Just look at him
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HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!
By I call my husband "Honey Bunches of Oats" for the same reason. =)
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I call my husband "Papa-San" (Mr. Papa) despite the fact that we have no M. Tinies/Smalls at all - just our beloved furry baby. Who is nicknamed the following:
By Hey, what happened to The Poopsmith? I loved that name.
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Oh my god. I love that he calls himself Behbeee. He is saying "baby," right? Because that is too cute.
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I've often thought about doing a post listing the hundreds of names we have for our cats, but that would just be too sad and a little lame. So until we have a baby, I'm just sitting on this one.
By Wednesday, December 28, 2005 In 1992, Trash and I went on a four-day Caribbean cruise. For a better description of this experience than I could ever muster, please see David Foster Wallace’s aptly titled, “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again.” What surprised me about the experience is that after we got home, it took me a day or two to shake the sensation that the floor of my apartment was imperceptibly pitching and rolling like the decks of the floating hotel upon which I had just spent the better part of a week. This was my first first-hand experience with the phenomenon known as “sea-legs.” In 1996, Trash and I went to Greece for a friend’s wedding. It was a marvelous and thoroughly enjoyable experience, except for the trip home. This part was an Amazing-Race-worthy ordeal that required us to fly from Santorini to Athens to New York to St. Louis to Minneapolis. All told, we were either in airports or on airplanes for twenty-four consecutive hours (not counting the time difference). The next day at work, I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that the floor of my workplace was imperceptibly bucking and vibrating like the floor of an airplane cabin. This was my first-hand experience with a phenomenon that I assume is known as “air-legs.” After M. Small’s first birthday, he was officially old enough to ride in the car with his seat facing forward. This made the next trip to Iowa more pleasant for him, as he could see both of us in the front seat, as well as look out the windshield for constant reassurance that we weren’t driving into oncoming traffic. Better yet, he could stretch out his feet and give the back of my seat a push every once in a while, just to remind me he was there without having to go to the trouble of actually letting out a wail. I moved my seat up a few notches to make sure he had enough room. I’ve done that a couple of times now. Since I’ve had this car, I’ve always had the driver’s seat positioned as far back as it would go, in order to accommodate my six-feet-and-change frame. Every few weeks, I inch it forward one more notch. And yet I still frequently feel that gentle but persistent push into the right side of my back. Sometimes, I feel it when he’s not even in the car. I have decided to call this phenomenon “my-toddler-has-annoyingly-long-legs.” And I was going to call it that even before last night, when he showed us that he’s tall enough to reach the controls of the stereo. Looks like the childproofing threshold is going to have to be hiked up a bit. I just wish he’d stay under three feet until he learns what is and isn’t okay to pick up and drop, or pick up and throw, or pick up and eat. Either until then or until he moves out, whichever comes first. I’m not picky. posted by M. Giant 7:38 PM 2 comments 2 Comments:
I've never been on a cruise and that DFW piece is the main reason I probably never will.
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I have the same fears about going on a cruise, thanks to DFW.
By Wednesday, December 21, 2005 Thoughts Upon Seeing Children Younger Than My Son Since Two Days After His Birth October, 2004 Hey, there's another new one. They really crank them out here at the neonatal intensive care unit, don't they? January, 2005 My boss's kid is cute. Of course I'd like to hold her. Wait, why is she fussing? It's not like I haven't done this before. April, 2005 Wow, that kid is small She's even younger than M. Tiny. We weren't bringing him out in public this early unless it was absolutely necessary. Then again, he was a preemie and wasn't supposed to leave the house for three months. And it was winter. This baby might not be a preemie. And after all, we are at the pediatric clinic. May, 2005 Good God, that child is small. And she didn't even come as early as M. Tiny did. No, I don't want to hold her, I'll break her! What do you mean, M. Tiny used to be that small? Smaller, even? How is that possible? How did we never break him? August, 2005 Hey, that looks like M. Small's stroller, only bigger. October, 2005 Aw, my coworker's new baby is cute. I hope she doesn't offer to let me hold her. I'm not sure I remember how. November, 2005 Aw, look at all the little babies here! I just hope they're mature enough to appreciate the experience they're about to have, like my kid is. December 21, 2005 Is every Minnesotan under eight months of age downtown right now? December 21, 2005 (later) Hey, another baby. So little! So helpless! Wearing footie pajamas in the skyway! I used to have one of those. I'm starting to understand what my old coworker meant when she said babies were like crack. Of course, Robin Williams used to say that too, but for different reasons. So don't get any crazy ideas. December 21, 2005 (later still, upon arriving home and picking up my own son) Did he grow again today? posted by M. Giant 8:45 PM 0 comments 0 Comments:Monday, December 19, 2005 Our water bill is kind of high this month, and Trash blames it on the dripping faucets. She may have a point. M. Small gets his baths in a tub that goes into our bathtub. When none of us is bathing, the tub-within-a-tub is generally stored, well, in the tub. So the other night, after his bath, I dumped his tub out and left it in the tub. My mistake was in allowing the tub-within-a-tub to slide downhill to the lower end of the tub, so that one end of it was right under the dripping faucet. The tub-within-a-tub doesn't drain, so the next morning, something like a half-cup of water had accumulated in the smaller tub. Trash called me into the bathroom and made me watch her pour it down the drain. "We need to do something about this," she said. The next morning, I told her, "I took care of it." Knowing very well of my lack of plumbing acumen, Trash asked, "What did you do?" "I moved the baby tub out from under the faucet so the water doesn't collect in there." She wasn't impressed. * * * It's the gift-giving season, of course. So when you go to your favorite fast-food restaurant to pick up some gift certificates, don't forget, just for fun, to ask for them "for here." posted by M. Giant 5:42 PM 3 comments 3 Comments:
Heh. I love your solution to the problem.
By Dude -- you should really have that fixed. Do you know how much money you can spend in one month on a leaky faucet? And it does waste a lot of water.
By Hmm.. have you tried plugging up the leaky faucet with something big and absorbent? Like a diaper maybe - that should work.
By Friday, December 16, 2005 Baby Buffet Trash and Blaine have begun their annual Christmas cookie craziness. Given the condition and the level of activity in our kitchen tonight, I couldn't bring home M. Small for dinner after I picked him up from day care. So instead I took him out to eat. Ever take a baby to a restaurant for dinner, just the two of you? I wouldn't recommend it, unless you a) aren't very hungry yourself, b) have four hands, c) have a baby with the table manners of British royalty, or d) have drugged him to the gills and plan to feed him intravenously. Last time I tried this, it was at a McDonald's, and that was only because various unforeseen scheduling snafus had forced me to come up with a plan B in a hurry. This time, I had the opportunity to think ahead about how I was going to handle this. So I decided to take him to a nearby place called Q. Cumber's. Q. Cumber's used to be one of my favorite restaurants, although until a couple of weeks ago I hadn't been there for years, for reasons that are too boring for even me to go into. It's buffet-style, with an eighty-foot salad bar in the center of the giant octagonal dining area, as well as a hot bar, a bakery counter, and a dessert island. You pay a flat fee to get in and children under three are free, so, huzzah, clever me. Never mind the fact that I was going to look like some clueless divorced dad who had somehow gotten custody of my toddler for the weekend. With all the different kinds of food there, I wouldn't have to order one thing for him and hope for the best; I could just fill a plate with M. Small-sized portions of all the things I know he likes (of which there are many there, in abundance), as well as some new-to-him stuff (of which there are many more), strap him into a high chair, break out the bib and baby-spoon I brought with me, and let him go to town. Two tricky bits: unlike with a more responsible dining companion, one can't exactly leave a fourteen-month-old alone at the table when one goes back for seconds and thirds and whatever subsequent plural ordinal numbers one may be up for. This obstacle is compounded by the fact that with a squirming child in one arm, the amount of stuff you can carry at any given moment becomes more limited. Which in turn necessitates a lot more trips. But I was prepared for this, and knew I would just have to deal with it. What I wasn't prepared for was the fact that one of the straps on the high chair they gave me turned out to be missing, so I couldn't strap him in tightly. He was pretty much just restrained by the plastic bars that ran across his lap and between his legs. But as it turned out, this was actually an advantage, given the number of times I had to get him out to get him some more peas, or me some more soda, or him some more croutons, or me a fajita (which we shared), or him some eggs, or me a baked potato (which we also shared), or him some pasta, or me some frozen yogurt (which I gave him). So that actually worked out well. And another pleasant surprise was that until this visit, I'd never noticed how many adult-toddler pairs are already there. It made me feel a lot less self-conscious, that's for sure. Although I felt bad for all of the divorced parents who only had their kids for the weekend. The only downside is that M. Small signals that he's done with a course by throwing a handful of it onto the floor. He also signals that he doesn't like a particular item--like the broccoli and cauliflower I got him--by throwing it on the floor. He also throws food on the floor that he likes. If he especially likes something, he'll eat some, take one last bite, spit it back out into his hand, and then throw it on the floor. After a while, every time we returned to the buffet, the floor around our table looked more and more like I was dining with the Who. And of course, you have to leave any uneaten food there at the table, because otherwise you won't be able to bring back anything new. So, what with my paranoia about pissing off waitstaff (who at Q. Cumber's are largely responsible for bringing water and, um, keeping the tables "clean") to the point where they are moved to defile my food, I was keeping an eye on my table from across the restaurant while simultaneously juggling the child and whatever we were carrying. Because it's not like my server knew I was going to pick up the bigger pieces and leave a 50% tip until I'd already done it. It's really much easier to have more adults in the party when taking a child to a buffet-style restaurant. All told, I think we were there about forty-five minutes, which is about 50% longer than his usual meals. But I wasn't worried, because I knew as soon as he was full, he'd sit there quietly and patiently while I concentrated on my own dinner, so that I could enjoy my meal at my leisure. Yeah, right. I'm not that stupid. We spent the whole time doing "some for you, some for me," which is good because as soon as he was full, he wanted out of that high chair for good. And since the chair was missing a strap, I didn't have much choice but to go along. Overall, I'd say it was a success. He ate plenty, and got all of his food groups, and didn't get pissed off about anything. The two of us will probably go there again if similar circumstances arise. It'd be nice if you could show up at the table to cover me for a second when I need to get up for another dozen napkins, though. I mean, really. I can only do so much. Today's best search phrase: "scary stick figure clips." Oh, all right. posted by M. Giant 8:30 PM 3 comments 3 Comments:Just discovered your blog. I'll also cover at Q Cumbers if you'll do likewise.
By What is Q Cumers? Is it a chain? I don't think we have one in Jersey, but maybe I'm wrong.
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Dude, I would consider it a privilege to be your food wingman. If we can tag-write about it, it would be like a present from Small to me. Let's go sometime while I'm in town (i.e., anytime from now to January something).
By Tuesday, December 13, 2005 Talking Points M. Small's vocabulary is growing, and it's growing very quickly. Yet it's not growing as quickly as the number of ideas he wants to convey in any given day. So a few words have to do double duty. Or in some cases, multiple duty. It's all about context. And maybe a little projection. So what follows, for my own reference as much as anything, is the official M. Small/English phrasebook, which may or may not be updated as necessary. Mama. Variations: Ma, Mom, Mamamamamama. "I am awake now; please come downstairs and take me out of my crib before it gets light outside." "I know you can hear me up there." "Hey, that's my mom!" "I love you, Mom." "Mom is my favorite." "Dad, you suck. Get out of my sight and let Mom do this." Dada. "That's my dad." "Put me down!" "Dad, you suck. Get out of my sight and let Mom do this." Uh-oh. "I have dropped, pushed, or rolled something out of my reach. No big deal. It's just that if I could reach it, I wouldn't be saying 'uh-oh,' because the item would be in my mouth." Baby. Variations: Babeee, beebee, beebebeebeebeebee. "Please read me my Baby Einstein book about babies. It is my favorite." "Please help me find my Baby Einstein book about babies. It is my favorite. Alas, it is also the smallest book in the world, and I like to carry it around with me. Be sure to look under all the furniture, in between the grown-up books, among the folds of my clothing, and in my mouth." "I am so AWESOME!" Baa. "I already know the cow says 'moo,' okay? Can we please move on?" Cow. Moo. "How about those Vikings?" Kah. "I see a car." "I hear a car." "I'm going in the car." "Can I have a car?" Tuk "I see a truck." (Yes, he's already differentiating between cars and trucks. He may grow up to be a gearhead. I don't know, sometimes these things skip a generation.) "Duck." (As in the bird, not "I'm about to throw a fistful of damp cereal in your face." I wish he'd learn that other meaning, though.) Cat "Any one of the several fuzzy, four-legged creatures around the house that I've just recently become smarter than." Bye. "It's time for me to go now." "Somebody just left." "I'll miss you." "I'm leaving, and I'll see you later." "Hey, where are you going?" "Please go away." "Why are you still here?" "Get out, already!" Go! See "Bye." I don't know why he needs two words for this. Generally, this is more urgent than the previous entry. BYEEE! See "Go." Hi. "I see you." "I love you." "Aren't I cute?" Cookie. "I am hungry." "I am full and ready for dessert." "I want to skip the sweet potatoes and peas and chicken and yogurt and skip right to the cookie." "Anything crunchy [may include anything from a Nilla Wafer™ to a graham cracker to a tasteless veggie puff thing]" "Anything edible." "I hear Dad rummaging around in the kitchen." "I have a cookie." "This is my cookie." "That is my cookie, too." "Thank you for the cookie." "I do not have a cookie." "I do not have enough cookies." "Maybe if I ask for a cookie cutely enough, I'll finally be allowed to jump off the changing table." Wawawawa gibbudjybah. Beats the hell out of me. I always hoped to raise a bilingual child, but I don't know where the hell the kid has picked up Huttese. As a writer, I confess to harboring a certain envy. I'll never again have this kind of economy with a phrase, which is too bad. These entries would get written a lot faster if I could just confine myself to subject matter like "Cat cookie uh-oh BYEEEEE." Probably save you a lot of time as well. Today's best search phrase: "Projectile fungi mulch." Just so we're clear, we've moved on to the search phrase part of the entry, and are no longer in the phrasebook portion. If M. Small starts saying this in the next few weeks, I'll be very worried. posted by M. Giant 9:42 PM 10 comments 10 Comments:Aw, M.Giant, M.Small is getting so big! Can he teach me Huttese? We have a seven month old, and I can't wait for the talking. Go Vikings! Moo!
By So my child speaks Huttese - that explains a lot. My partner and I have been trying to guess which language it is, since it can't possibly be English.
By He could be speaking Afrikaans. It sounds a lot like that. Either way, so unbearably cute!
By In the fifties, my mother chronicled the evolution of my vocabulary (and as a fourth child, I feel privileged). As a young adult, she shared it with me. Save this, back it up, and share it with your wee one when he is not so wee.
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Wow, I hope my kid's first words are "Projectile fungi mulch"!
By What the hell is Projectile fungi mulch and why on EARTH would someone want to search for it?
By Just be glad he's got the T in Tuk already. For the longest time my daughter called them fucks. Which was okay until she started differentiating between trucks... noisy fuck, big fuck, dumb fuck. Good times. The potential for public embarrasment grows exponentially with the vocabulary.
By I couldn't say my L's, so apparently I had a nasty habit of asking my father (very loudly) to "kiss me on the NIPS" in really appropriate locations, like the grocery store. Kids are awesome!
By M. Small reminds me of a young Hemingway.
By Just you wait until he starts talking about "cat poop," which is inevitable in a house with kitty litter. Please note, when he does discover it and how to say it, that's a good time to also introduce the following words: ew, yucky, gross, and stinky.
By Tuesday, December 06, 2005 Lost and Found I've written before in this space about something called M. Giant's Law, which is as follows: The fastest way to find something is to replace it. M. Giant's law has continued to apply now that I am a parent. In fact, it's started messing with my kid, which is not cool. We've mostly got the pacifier phased out of his life. At bedtime or naptime or during one of his increasingly rare wobblers, he still needs that little ergonomic chunk of rubber sometimes. It's not often he needs it, but when he needs it, he really needs it. And of course, he's not the kind of kid who's satisfied with just any old plastic-disk-and-rubber-nipple assembly. No, ever since his days in the NICU, no nuk is good enough for him but that translucent green kind. You know, the kind that you can't get in stores? M. Small got a few of them sent home with him when he left the hospital, but even a non-ambulatory preemie can do amazing things in the way of losing a woobie (especially when one of his parents is me). It got to the point where Trash and I were trying to invent excuses to get him checked back in just so we could score a few fistfuls of backup pacifiers. And then, of course, Trash noticed the 1-800 number printed RIGHT ON THE THING and we discovered that you can just call and order them. Oh, how we rejoiced and relieved. Of course, Target started carrying them the very next week. But anyway. His favorite among all of his identical pacifiers is the one that his day-care lady attached with a ribbon to a little alligator clip that you hook to his clothes (I'm proud to say that we've never clipped it to the actual baby, to date). It's also our favorite, because when he used to wake us up at hours that were even more wee than he was, we always appreciated being able to grope blindly at his chest and pop that thing right back in his mouth, as opposed to any number of times when we had to crawl under the crib, feel around the furniture, and eventually give up and dig into the stash, all without turning on the light and frequently without glasses or normal command of fine and/or gross motor skills. The clippy-paci is handy, is what I'm saying. So of course it disappears all the time. Normally it turns up within a matter of hours. Sure it quickly sinks to the bottom of the toy bin or the bottom of the ball pit or wherever it is he put it, but with the baby gates deployed he has access to only so many hiding spots. So when it vanished for a couple of days in a row, we were flummoxed. Then one day, I happened to be home with him alone. Together, we tore apart the living room and his nursery, the only rooms he'd visited freely since the clippy-paci had last been seen. No dice. I did, however, find an inferior clip. It's shaped like a bee instead of the little plastic card reading "Somebody's baby" that he usually wears, and the ribbon doesn't hold on nearly as well. But I figured it would work for now. I opened a new pacifier, threaded the ribbon through one of the holes, velcroed the ends of the loop together, and proudly clipped it to his sweatshirt. He didn't even care. So, by this point, I of course had all his toys out, so I thought I might as well gather up the various pieces of the ones that had more than one element. One of these is a little circus truck with a lion and an elephant. The elephant was missing, so I went to find it in the nursery. Where, of course, Famous Original Clippy-Paci decided to show itself, wrapped around the very bottom of one of the bars on his end crib wall. I never found the elephant, but who gives a shit? The other transition he's making is that from bottle to sippy-cup. He loves his sippy-cup. He especially loves to carry his sippy-cup around upside-down, leaving a damp little Billy-from-Family-Circus trail so he knows where he's been. We don't so much love that. Fortunately, there's something called a "training cup" which is virtually leak-proof, thanks to its revolutionary valve system. So we picked up one of these. Stop me if you see where this is going. No, sorry, you can't, I'm not going to stop. We got M. Small his training cup, which he loved, and which we loved, and which worked great. And which naturally fled this plane of existence within a week. So I hit Target (smugly passing the special pacifiers on display) and picked up a whole new set of training cups. While I was there, I also got a new trash can for his nursery; one with a lid that latches, so he can't be reaching into it like he was with the old one. I get home, open up his new training cups, wash them out, and fill one with a patented M. Small cocktail (one part pure fruit juice, ten parts water). While he's enjoying his refreshing beverage, I decide to swap out the old nursery trash can for the new. The liner bag currently in use is only half full, so I decide to transfer it to the new can to save bags. I lift the bag out, and do I really need to tell you that his old "training cup" is in there among the used wipes, diapers, and Q-tips? I didn't think so. That's why I didn't give you another chance to stop me. The good thing is that now he has three training cups, so he always has one to drink out of while one or two others are in the wash. The bad thing is that now his clippy-paci is gone again, and I have no idea what happened to the other clip I used to replace it. UPDATE: Trash found the replacement, but the original is still MIA. Perhaps a corollary to M. Giant's law is that it only works if I'm the one doing the replacing. Today's best search phrase: "Words that start with M that remind you of mommy." Uh…what's wrong with that one? posted by M. Giant 8:46 PM 4 comments 4 Comments:We are pretty sure that we threw away one of Fuller's slippers because it can't be found anywhere and it disappered around the time that Fuller loved putting small toys in his diaper champ. That is until we moved the Diaper Champ into the bathroom. And it sucked that it was that slipper because it was the only pair that would stay on his feet and he couldn't pull off. And they had cost less than $5. Since then, I haven't been able to find replacements. So I had to shell out the $10 for the slippers he currently wears... and I really hope he doesn't lose one of them.
By Oh man, if David lost is nuk and it was bedtime... HELL TO PAY. We have spent more nights, half-asleep, rooting under the crib for it then I can count.
By If you are still looking, Avent has a line of sippy cups that never spill anything at all. I think they sell them at Target. But you are brave parents. I don't think we dropped out last bottle until the bean was almost 2.
By My dad is a Veterinarian and it is a very common occurance to find pacifiers (or parts of) inside little kitties that like to eat things.... A lot of times the owners will comment on the fact that they always wondered where the pacifiers went!
By Friday, December 02, 2005 Coming Attractions Have you ordered your Damn Millionaires CD yet? You better, because if you don’t the stock is going to sell out and the band is going to be Millionaires and you’re going to be like, “…Daaaamn.” Don’t let this happen to you, because they're awesome. I once had the completely undeserved honor of sharing a stage in Austin with their lead vocalist (like how I made it sound like SXSW or something instead of a karaoke bar?), so I know whereof I speak. * * * I’ve seen four movies in the theater since M. Small was born. Not getting to the theater as often means that when you make it back, it makes more of an impression. So imagine how Trash reacted, having not been out to see a movie since Anchorman. She used to love previews; often they were her favorite part of the moviegoing experience. But it's not the same any more for some reason, possibly because previews suck now. This time, by the time the previews were over, she looked as if she was experiencing something like horror. Can't really blame her, because I was right there with her. So. Thoughts upon viewing the previews before Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire a couple of weeks ago: Cheaper by the Dozen Two: The Dozening Yeah, the subtitle’s mine. Pretty much my reaction to this was embarrassment on behalf of everyone involved. Except of course for Tom Welling, Piper Perabo, and Hilary Duff, of course, who may always be relied upon to be ass. And all those kids I don't care about. And except for Eugene Levy, who should really know better by now. And also no sympathy for Steve Martin, who could have saved himself all this trouble just by falling down a couple of times in Shopgirl. So, really, not much embarrassment for most of the people in it. But why, Bonnie Hunt, whyyyy?. Maybe someone will do her a favor and write her out of Cheaper by the Dozen Three: Dozen and Dozener. King Kong I don’t know whose idea it was to have Jack Black narrate the trailer’s opening in his “quiet-but-portentous” voice, but I spent that whole time just waiting for a Tenacious D song to kick in. Superman Returns And he brought the old John Williams theme music and a Brando voice-over! Brando could totally introduce a D song as well, you know he could. I remember how the first Reeve Superman movie was a modern reconstruction of the myth (yes, I’m that old). Now we’re getting all excited about a post-modern reconstruction of the modern reconstruction. Not that I talked this way when the first movie came out, mind you. I got beat up enough as it was. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe Tilda Swinton, you are no Cate Blanchett. As for the rest of you, well, I have no idea who you are. Sure look British, though. Happy Feet Dancing penguins? Somebody kill me. No, wait, kill Robin Williams instead. And if Morgan Freeman gets in the way, too bad. I'm sure this is somehow his fault. Aeon Flux I never actually watched much of this on MTV’s Liquid Television (the Adult Swim of the early 90s), but I do remember it well enough to know that Charlize Theron is all wrong. Whose idea was it to cast that baby-face as an animated character with a puss like a sack of knives? There was also the hairstyle that looked like the horns of a cape buffalo, and oh, yeah, NO PANTS. Whatever. Plus you just know she’s not going to get killed at the end of every scene like in the old days. And, what movie are we seeing again? Today's best search phrase: "Babyproof trash." Yeah, get me some of that. posted by M. Giant 7:04 PM 3 comments 3 Comments:
yeah, WHAT movie did we come to see???? I get so overwhelmed by the previews that I totally forget what I paid $7 for. definitely not the previews.
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Hi M. Giant! K, so I've been a secret reader of yours for quite while...and Im coming out of the closet.
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Grrarr. At least you got a Superman trailer. Out here in Sticksville, we only got the crappy penguins and the crappier Cheaper By the Doesn't.
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