Tuesday, April 28th Is My Birthday
4.27.2009
Ore : 10:51 AM
Ore : 10:51 AM
I will be 32, and though I have nothing to show for it (and no money to celebrate until the 1st), I am going to have a happy fucking birthday anyway. I've got a roof over my head, a pack of smokes, and food. Others have it worse.
Shitsteyn
10.26.2008
Ore : 10:15 PM
Ore : 10:15 PM
Right-wingers are going off their rockers everywhere you look. Recently, Mark Steyn openly admits to copraphilia. Really.
He unironically and thoughtlessly quotes a by-the-way amusing David Sedaris piece for the New Yorker in which the latter writes of political undecideds:
To which Steyn actually replies "Well, to be honest, I’ve never much cared for chicken."
In a word: Ew.
This, kids, is what happens to the massively doltish when they think they're more clever than they are.
P.S. Of course, I could be more forgiving of Steyn's choice, and speculate that he'd rather eat feces than engage in cannibalism -- a position for which an argument could conceivably be made.
He unironically and thoughtlessly quotes a by-the-way amusing David Sedaris piece for the New Yorker in which the latter writes of political undecideds:
I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. ‘Can I interest you in the chicken?’ she asks. ‘Or would you prefer the platter of s—t with bits of broken glass in it?’
To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.
To which Steyn actually replies "Well, to be honest, I’ve never much cared for chicken."
In a word: Ew.
This, kids, is what happens to the massively doltish when they think they're more clever than they are.
P.S. Of course, I could be more forgiving of Steyn's choice, and speculate that he'd rather eat feces than engage in cannibalism -- a position for which an argument could conceivably be made.
Labels: America's Shittiest Website, funnzies, other bloggers' lives, Republican't stooges, wingnuttery
Rip Heath
8.21.2008
Ore : 9:59 AM
Ore : 9:59 AM
And let's move on. I'm thinking about casting for the third Batman movie, just because this one was so good.
Obviously, we've got Christian Bale as the Batman and "Alfie" as Alfred Pennywise. My picks for future roles:
The Riddler: John Leguizamo
The Penguin: (I like Tracey Morgan in a fatsuit for this one, but am not committed.)
Poison Ivy/Pamela Isley: Anne Hathaway
Harley Quinn: Azura Skye
Catwoman: Lucy Liu
Robin/Nightwing: (Tough one. They ought to go ahead and make him an out-and-out homo; can anyone think of a non-irritating, youngish gay guy? 'Coz I sure as fuck can't.)
Mr. Freeze: Vin Diesel
Vicki Vale: Sarah Michelle Gellar
Batgirl: Chieko Kuriyama (but the girl needs to learn English first.)
Lorna Shore: Emily Mortimer
What do you other nerds and geeks think?
Obviously, we've got Christian Bale as the Batman and "Alfie" as Alfred Pennywise. My picks for future roles:
The Riddler: John Leguizamo
The Penguin: (I like Tracey Morgan in a fatsuit for this one, but am not committed.)
Poison Ivy/Pamela Isley: Anne Hathaway
Harley Quinn: Azura Skye
Catwoman: Lucy Liu
Robin/Nightwing: (Tough one. They ought to go ahead and make him an out-and-out homo; can anyone think of a non-irritating, youngish gay guy? 'Coz I sure as fuck can't.)
Mr. Freeze: Vin Diesel
Vicki Vale: Sarah Michelle Gellar
Batgirl: Chieko Kuriyama (but the girl needs to learn English first.)
Lorna Shore: Emily Mortimer
What do you other nerds and geeks think?
Labels: awesome, funnzies, pop entertainment, random
Oldie But Goodie
6.02.2008
Ore : 11:47 AM
Ore : 11:47 AM
I Knew It
10.25.2007
Ore : 11:03 AM
Ore : 11:03 AM
I knew I'd seen this Michelle Malkin bit before:
Labels: crypto-fascism, funnzies, Republican't stooges, wingnuttery
All The News That's Fit To Tag
7.30.2007
Ore : 8:01 PM
Ore : 8:01 PM
You Don't Have To Feel Bad Anymore!
4.02.2007
Ore : 6:51 AM
Ore : 6:51 AM
...One coping strategy? Keep surfing the Internet!
Do perfect strangers studiously avoid eye contact when you attempt faltering, ill-advised overtures? Does the grocery deliveryman fail to broach small talk through the steel-reinforced receiving chute? Do hookers skip out with your wallet before the happy ending? Never fear, fleshbags: MSNBC is here with a few helpful tips!
- One often-effective cry for help? Vicious, nearly violent passive-aggressive venting. That'll show those elitist jerks who made fun of your mass-internment proposals!
- Don't be afraid to exhibit neediness. Bleg, bleg, and bleg! It's easy if you can get away with pretending you don't have a Lexis/Nexis account, or have ever even heard of Google!
- A more drastic approach? The future is transhumanism! Simply eliminate those pesky mammalian desires for social acceptance once and for all by becoming a gleaming, clacking, unholy marriage of flesh and machine!
(Glennbot graphic discourtesy of the highly unreliable hamsters who run Sadly, No!'s servers.)
Labels: America's Shittiest Website, Doughbob Loadpants, evil, funnzies, Glennocidal Tendencies, other bloggers' lives, wingnuttery
Review of My Weekend In Media
3.26.2007
Ore : 10:40 AM
Ore : 10:40 AM
John Fowles's The Magus: I didn't realize just how off-putting I thought John Fowles until I came across The Magus in the stacks. I checked it out, then left it in my pile for two weeks. The reason for my reluctance was The Collector, a novel my memory of which is still sharp after 13 years thanks to its deeply disturbing and harrowing nature. It still haunts me.
Although as artful in its own way as The Collector, and philosophically richer, The Magus is less emotionally sophisticated; just as tense, but not as deeply involving (although there's something to be said for the idea of building your first novel -- and it was his first novel, though it was published after The Collector -- around an intelligent yet typically selfish, solopsistic and somewhat narcissistic man in his 20s; it's smart, as such a character provides a fine jumping off point with plenty of safety nets.) The Magus nevertheless is the more layered of the two, and seems more finely crafted, probably owing to the many years he invested in it; as I'm here paraphrasing, and possibly in error, I can't remember who said that if it doesn't take a long time to write, it isn't worth reading... Hemingway, perhaps?
Fowles's evocation of rural island Greece is sharp and immediate, a sparely sensuous and striking complement to the story. He's no Byron -- even Maugham's Mediterranean musings are superior here -- but he nevertheless acquits himself handily.
He's also mildly Kafkaesque in his account of the convoluted masque, and The Magus is glancingly reminiscent of Eco's Foucault's Pendulum, which it predates and which by comparison seems de trop. Then again the touch may be light because the plot is so incidental -- providing, by the way, little in the way of visceral satisfaction, a hallmark of decent literature -- as style and form take a back seat to the travails of seldom-sympathetic Nicholas Urfe and his remarkable emotional and intellectual growth through the course of Conchis's godgame. A recommended read, although I would have been more swept away had I dove in during my early 20s.
Battlestar Galactica, season finale: A sterling episode (oddly, I found third banana Felix's audacious and disheartening perjury the biggest stand-out shocker.) My grumblings are mostly subjective: the trial scenes could have been abridged, as I personally am fascinated more with the intertwined Final Five, "So who else is a Cylon?", and search-for-Earth subplots. One grumbling, however, is pretty well-grounded: an indignant WTF at that ridiculous song ("...said the joker to the thief"? Starting at Ravi Shankarish noodling and what, ending with Wolfmother?), and indeed, the last several minutes' promise of Starbuck as deuce ex machina -- an echo of the goofy "Ships of Light" storyline, as Michelle Forbes was a chilling reimagining of Lloyd Bridges's blustery Admiral Cain? Still, I'm willing to withhold judgment on all that until next year, when they find Earth.
And after more reflection I finally realized precisely what I found so disappointing in those first couple of episodes. Battlestar Galactica is a dour, almost entirely humorless teevee show (the scant exceptions: waggish Gaius Baltar, Laura Roslin in her better moments, and -- very occasionally -- a couple of Cylons.) This dearth is excusable during highly tense and dramatic stretches, but is tedious during otherwise dramatically inert episodes, and even, in almost purely nail-biting installments such as last night's, during those scenes in which characters interminably drag out dialogue and what the creators browbeat us into believing are key scenes -- what's wrong with the writers that they cannot throw in any crackling, snapping banter, or perhaps an appropriate momentary surrender to obvious absurdity? Pack a bowl already, and spark that bitch up! This unrelenting gloominess, for all the show's overwhelming quality and quantity of virtues, is its gravest flaw.
Oh, and "Battlestar Galactica will return in 2008"? Do they know it's March? For shame, jerkwads, for shame.
The Simpsons: Back on track? I was rather pleased, as I always am with any episode showcasing Homer. And Lenny in Seven Of Nine drag was a truly special treat. One wonders if that, as well as the easy skewering of Hollywood, will bring Jonah back into the fold, so ample it is...
Joseph W. Valentine's A Book of Clichés: A delightful little volume, and a ten-minute read tops. I'm sure there's enough scholarship and research out there that it could support a vast expansion and still be eminently readable, but this is fine. And who can say no to James Mackey's too-cool-for-the-snapping-Beat-circle charcoal illustrations?
I'd particularly like to see Benjamin Franklin turn his wry gaze and curtly pursed lips to the Bush Administration's revealing misappropriation of his Poor Richard's Almanack proverb; in their version, a "bad apple" implies an isolated incident, a tumor that can be excised with some hope as it has not metastasized; Franklin, on the other hand, who lived fairly closer to the earth, knew full well that one was indicative of rot throughout the bushel, a systemic problem.
Otherwise, I was a rustic, turning soil, weeding, burning tumbleweeds. The parsley's bursting, the dill's sprouting, and the chives are about ready to bolt. I do have a life you know.
Although as artful in its own way as The Collector, and philosophically richer, The Magus is less emotionally sophisticated; just as tense, but not as deeply involving (although there's something to be said for the idea of building your first novel -- and it was his first novel, though it was published after The Collector -- around an intelligent yet typically selfish, solopsistic and somewhat narcissistic man in his 20s; it's smart, as such a character provides a fine jumping off point with plenty of safety nets.) The Magus nevertheless is the more layered of the two, and seems more finely crafted, probably owing to the many years he invested in it; as I'm here paraphrasing, and possibly in error, I can't remember who said that if it doesn't take a long time to write, it isn't worth reading... Hemingway, perhaps?
Fowles's evocation of rural island Greece is sharp and immediate, a sparely sensuous and striking complement to the story. He's no Byron -- even Maugham's Mediterranean musings are superior here -- but he nevertheless acquits himself handily.
He's also mildly Kafkaesque in his account of the convoluted masque, and The Magus is glancingly reminiscent of Eco's Foucault's Pendulum, which it predates and which by comparison seems de trop. Then again the touch may be light because the plot is so incidental -- providing, by the way, little in the way of visceral satisfaction, a hallmark of decent literature -- as style and form take a back seat to the travails of seldom-sympathetic Nicholas Urfe and his remarkable emotional and intellectual growth through the course of Conchis's godgame. A recommended read, although I would have been more swept away had I dove in during my early 20s.
Battlestar Galactica, season finale: A sterling episode (oddly, I found third banana Felix's audacious and disheartening perjury the biggest stand-out shocker.) My grumblings are mostly subjective: the trial scenes could have been abridged, as I personally am fascinated more with the intertwined Final Five, "So who else is a Cylon?", and search-for-Earth subplots. One grumbling, however, is pretty well-grounded: an indignant WTF at that ridiculous song ("...said the joker to the thief"? Starting at Ravi Shankarish noodling and what, ending with Wolfmother?), and indeed, the last several minutes' promise of Starbuck as deuce ex machina -- an echo of the goofy "Ships of Light" storyline, as Michelle Forbes was a chilling reimagining of Lloyd Bridges's blustery Admiral Cain? Still, I'm willing to withhold judgment on all that until next year, when they find Earth.
And after more reflection I finally realized precisely what I found so disappointing in those first couple of episodes. Battlestar Galactica is a dour, almost entirely humorless teevee show (the scant exceptions: waggish Gaius Baltar, Laura Roslin in her better moments, and -- very occasionally -- a couple of Cylons.) This dearth is excusable during highly tense and dramatic stretches, but is tedious during otherwise dramatically inert episodes, and even, in almost purely nail-biting installments such as last night's, during those scenes in which characters interminably drag out dialogue and what the creators browbeat us into believing are key scenes -- what's wrong with the writers that they cannot throw in any crackling, snapping banter, or perhaps an appropriate momentary surrender to obvious absurdity? Pack a bowl already, and spark that bitch up! This unrelenting gloominess, for all the show's overwhelming quality and quantity of virtues, is its gravest flaw.
Oh, and "Battlestar Galactica will return in 2008"? Do they know it's March? For shame, jerkwads, for shame.
The Simpsons: Back on track? I was rather pleased, as I always am with any episode showcasing Homer. And Lenny in Seven Of Nine drag was a truly special treat. One wonders if that, as well as the easy skewering of Hollywood, will bring Jonah back into the fold, so ample it is...
Joseph W. Valentine's A Book of Clichés: A delightful little volume, and a ten-minute read tops. I'm sure there's enough scholarship and research out there that it could support a vast expansion and still be eminently readable, but this is fine. And who can say no to James Mackey's too-cool-for-the-snapping-Beat-circle charcoal illustrations?
I'd particularly like to see Benjamin Franklin turn his wry gaze and curtly pursed lips to the Bush Administration's revealing misappropriation of his Poor Richard's Almanack proverb; in their version, a "bad apple" implies an isolated incident, a tumor that can be excised with some hope as it has not metastasized; Franklin, on the other hand, who lived fairly closer to the earth, knew full well that one was indicative of rot throughout the bushel, a systemic problem.
* * *
Otherwise, I was a rustic, turning soil, weeding, burning tumbleweeds. The parsley's bursting, the dill's sprouting, and the chives are about ready to bolt. I do have a life you know.
Labels: Battlestar Blacktastica, funnzies, kultur kamp, pop entertainment, skiffy, wingnuttery, your corporate media
n00z u cant y00ze.
3.22.2007
Ore : 8:13 AM
Ore : 8:13 AM
Is It Just Me...
3.21.2007
Ore : 9:06 AM
Ore : 9:06 AM
...Or does Richard Perle look like a creation of Sid and Marty Krofft?
Labels: crypto-fascism, evil, funnzies, random, Republican't stooges, stupidity
Is He Crying For A Change? Depends™...
3.20.2007
Ore : 12:10 PM
Ore : 12:10 PM
So, I just got back from getting the library mail, and two things stuck out.
First, the CAIR package. Alas, it exploded when I opened it -- but with liberalism, not Semtex (though some might argue the two are interchangeable.) CAIR was kind enough to send me that book in which Communist Jimmy Carter proves once and for all that Jews are the new Nazis. I hope I can read it in time for my next Bund rally!
Second, the super-classy cover of this week's issue of TIME, on which Zombie Reagan cries for the sins of the modern Right. Not that that makes much sense; I mean yes, it makes sense that someone would hijack a conveniently dead figurehead with PhotoShop in order to forward an agenda (and really, this cover definitely could have used a background collage of the collapsing WTC, an equally lachrymose bald eagle, and the burnt and bloody corpse of Dale Ernhardt, Jr., as well), but not that he would be looking down from heaven and crying. Tears? The Gipper don't shed no tears -- I'd sooner expect to see the Duke wipe his fatally constipated ass with Charmin' wetnaps than with the lichen-encrusted scraps of oak bark that Supply Side Jesus intended for real he-men to use.
Then again, he could be crying because that pesky Wisenheimer's disease prevents him from viewing Bush's fall into even worse gracelesness in the context of the history of the American Right, which, let's face it, has never had integrity; Reagan provided only an illusion of that.
"What would Ronnie do?" For one thing, he would have kept John Ashcroft, instead of hiring some wetback. Then he'd eat jellybeans and take a nap, while a molar-grinding and angrily muttering George H.W. Bush would head south to the border to supervise the construction of that new electrified fence.
First, the CAIR package. Alas, it exploded when I opened it -- but with liberalism, not Semtex (though some might argue the two are interchangeable.) CAIR was kind enough to send me that book in which Communist Jimmy Carter proves once and for all that Jews are the new Nazis. I hope I can read it in time for my next Bund rally!Second, the super-classy cover of this week's issue of TIME, on which Zombie Reagan cries for the sins of the modern Right. Not that that makes much sense; I mean yes, it makes sense that someone would hijack a conveniently dead figurehead with PhotoShop in order to forward an agenda (and really, this cover definitely could have used a background collage of the collapsing WTC, an equally lachrymose bald eagle, and the burnt and bloody corpse of Dale Ernhardt, Jr., as well), but not that he would be looking down from heaven and crying. Tears? The Gipper don't shed no tears -- I'd sooner expect to see the Duke wipe his fatally constipated ass with Charmin' wetnaps than with the lichen-encrusted scraps of oak bark that Supply Side Jesus intended for real he-men to use.
Then again, he could be crying because that pesky Wisenheimer's disease prevents him from viewing Bush's fall into even worse gracelesness in the context of the history of the American Right, which, let's face it, has never had integrity; Reagan provided only an illusion of that."What would Ronnie do?" For one thing, he would have kept John Ashcroft, instead of hiring some wetback. Then he'd eat jellybeans and take a nap, while a molar-grinding and angrily muttering George H.W. Bush would head south to the border to supervise the construction of that new electrified fence.
Labels: crypto-fascism, funnzies, jingoism, random, revisionism, Ronnie Raygun, wingnuttery, your corporate media
Fetus Greetings From Nathan Tabor
3.16.2007
Ore : 11:55 AM
Ore : 11:55 AM
...Unless your cruel and capricious master Satan decides you shouldn't.
Happy dilation and evacuation, sluts!
(H/T Dailyrotten.)
Labels: evil, Founding Fatwas, funnzies, random, stupidity, talebangelical cats, wingnuttery
So Francis Dollarhyde and Jeffrey Dahmer walk into a bar...
3.15.2007
Ore : 7:41 PM
Ore : 7:41 PM
- Norah Jones would never stand a chance of winning American Idol.
- "Pax"??? Please, someone revoke Jolie's passport.
- I'm withholding judgement until I see Rove's e-mails to Jeff Gannon.
- Muscular, well-oiled Spartans in black leather underoos killing Persians: I can see why the 82nd Chairborne is all gaga over this one...
- "Summer blend" my ass. At what point will we be smart enough to stop putting oil executives in charge of government?
- The mortgage default tsunami is coming and I for one have a boogie board.
- Peter Pace picked a peck of priapic peckers. Pass it on.
- What would you confess to after five years of being detained in Guantanamo Bay without hope of legal counsel, proper medical care, a trial, or relief from electrodes and chemical lightsticks?
- I was voted best kisser in my POW camp.
- What did I just post? I can't remember -- I'm on Ambien.
- Breaking! Paul beats Heather to death with her own coke-filled fiberglass leg.
- Happy birthday, you steer-wrangling hooker.
- "Pax"??? Please, someone revoke Jolie's passport.
- I'm withholding judgement until I see Rove's e-mails to Jeff Gannon.
- Muscular, well-oiled Spartans in black leather underoos killing Persians: I can see why the 82nd Chairborne is all gaga over this one...
- "Summer blend" my ass. At what point will we be smart enough to stop putting oil executives in charge of government?
- The mortgage default tsunami is coming and I for one have a boogie board.
- Peter Pace picked a peck of priapic peckers. Pass it on.
- What would you confess to after five years of being detained in Guantanamo Bay without hope of legal counsel, proper medical care, a trial, or relief from electrodes and chemical lightsticks?
- I was voted best kisser in my POW camp.
- What did I just post? I can't remember -- I'm on Ambien.
- Breaking! Paul beats Heather to death with her own coke-filled fiberglass leg.
- Happy birthday, you steer-wrangling hooker.
Labels: abu Gonzales, celebrity make-up tips, common sense, funnzies, other bloggers' lives, pop entertainment, random
Every Robot Sperm Is Sacred...
3.14.2007
Ore : 12:39 PM
Ore : 12:39 PM
This post is dedicated to fatrobot's testicles. Good luck with that scalpel thing!
Labels: funnzies, pop entertainment, random, rat faux bot
Yes, Disinterested MSN Is Precisely Who Should Discuss This
3.08.2007
Ore : 7:31 PM
Ore : 7:31 PM
I'm not linking to the actual article because, first of all, you know damn well where to find it, but also because I found it rather stupidly written and lacking a knowledge of many aspects of public television history (there are several reasons PBS had to start showing commercials in the first place, for one thing), so I'll spoil it: No, she thinks Big Bird's sentence ought to be commuted, but not before she harangues us with two pages of pee-wee league, calculatedly moderate "on the one hand... on the other hand..." pontificating.
Maybe that goddamned translucent, multicolored butterfly ought to die instead.
Labels: common sense, funnzies, pop entertainment, random
SPOTLIGHT ON: The Meatloaf of The 21st Century
Ore : 9:09 AM
Elgoog Swen's Editorial Calls
3.07.2007
Ore : 1:03 PM
Ore : 1:03 PM
Too precious:
(This is a test post because blogger has fucked up on me, and my good post for today won't go (ERROR Must be at most 200 characters? Huh?))
(This is a test post because blogger has fucked up on me, and my good post for today won't go (ERROR Must be at most 200 characters? Huh?))
Skiffy Crap
3.04.2007
Ore : 10:02 PM
Ore : 10:02 PM
Finally, some dramatic progress on the Battlestar Galactica front. It's not much, but it helps. Kara Thrace is a far more interesting character than either the admittedly sexy Chief Tyrol or his winsome mate. As F. Scott Fitzgerald has so smartly reminded us, "Action is character." Starbuck AKA Captain Thrace is an interesting study relative to the piss-poor offerings of prime time teevee. She is lean, mean, slightly insane, yet the exigencies of her character force writers to deliver. Thank god they brought the focus back to her.
The mandala shit is still all so much hovering in a holding pattern by this series that can't decide what it wants to be. Still, an oddly stagnant episode, even with a main character biting it. I am nevertheless pretty sure that a certain crack pilot is a Cylon. Let's see if I'm right in this...
Pee ess: this trend of showing outtakes at the end of every episode is just sad. There's a reason the editors and producers cut that shit.
The mandala shit is still all so much hovering in a holding pattern by this series that can't decide what it wants to be. Still, an oddly stagnant episode, even with a main character biting it. I am nevertheless pretty sure that a certain crack pilot is a Cylon. Let's see if I'm right in this...
Pee ess: this trend of showing outtakes at the end of every episode is just sad. There's a reason the editors and producers cut that shit.
Labels: Battlestar Blacktastica, funnzies, pop entertainment
Random Shite
3.02.2007
Ore : 8:49 AM
Ore : 8:49 AM
* Ha ha. The new Darfur PSA actually calls out our lame-duck Preznit by name. Good luck with that, kids.
* I've been too busy reading the Comics Curmudgeon to be bothered with you peons. I never realized until Josh pointed it out just how unintentionally hilarious "They Do It Every Time" is.
* Tornados: super sad, but why is it that every fifth person interviewed by the cable news folks looks like an extra from Hee-Haw? Dude, it wasn't funny then. Though it may make me sound like self-loathing poor white trash, I nevertheless must say it: DO NOT STUFF YOUR LIP WITH CHAW PRIOR TO GOING ON CAMERA. Really.
* Yes, DEE may employ that coked-out, nicotine fit-edged wail that irritates me so, and that seems to be en vogue among too man dance-punk vocalists, but I still wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating, well, me.
* When Netanyahu of all people tells you you're acting nuts, please pay attention.
* I hate the idea of criticising Senator Clinton because so many of her naysayers are bad faith critics who want to convince you she's evil incarnate, which she isn't. Still, far too DLC for me, far too corporatist/centrist. The least of several evils here remains Obama, IMHO.
* I've been too busy reading the Comics Curmudgeon to be bothered with you peons. I never realized until Josh pointed it out just how unintentionally hilarious "They Do It Every Time" is.
* Tornados: super sad, but why is it that every fifth person interviewed by the cable news folks looks like an extra from Hee-Haw? Dude, it wasn't funny then. Though it may make me sound like self-loathing poor white trash, I nevertheless must say it: DO NOT STUFF YOUR LIP WITH CHAW PRIOR TO GOING ON CAMERA. Really.
* Yes, DEE may employ that coked-out, nicotine fit-edged wail that irritates me so, and that seems to be en vogue among too man dance-punk vocalists, but I still wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating, well, me.
* When Netanyahu of all people tells you you're acting nuts, please pay attention.
* I hate the idea of criticising Senator Clinton because so many of her naysayers are bad faith critics who want to convince you she's evil incarnate, which she isn't. Still, far too DLC for me, far too corporatist/centrist. The least of several evils here remains Obama, IMHO.
Labels: common sense, funnzies, pop entertainment, random
Choosy Cylons Choose Skiffy
2.26.2007
Ore : 1:50 PM
Ore : 1:50 PM
It was bound to happen, especially when a show has in the past consistently justified such high expectations. Battlestar Galactica has stumbled of late. "The Curious Case of Doctor Eugenics" was the clunkiest, most ham-fisted episode ever produced -- some of the actors, even after presumably many many rehearsals, looked downright uncomfortable delivering their overburdened lines. And then we had "An Airlock of Unfortunate Events," which centered inexplicably around two of the least interesting characters in the entire ensemble: Chief Tyrol and Cally. I mean, I'm sure they're sweet kids and all, but they're just not all that damn interesting, even when they use Baltar's Mein Kampf as a jumping off point for their interstellar Norma Rae act, as they in did last night's ep. I'm really not sure where the writers and producers are going here -- were these just poorly done filler episodes? (Has BSG done that before?) Also, yesterday's episode featured a very uncharacteristically nasty President, and an equally unbelievable Admiral. What gives?
I want more drunken fisticuffs between Tigh and Starbuck, more Cylon backbiting, more about the "final five" -- in short, I want more progress, even if it's just inching towards Earth. Enough of this aimless drifting... Next week looks a bit more promising, but I'm not holding my breath.
Labels: Battlestar Blacktastica, funnzies, pop entertainment, skiffy
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