For the non-Star Wars fan:
Unless you grew up with a Star Wars fan, knew a Star Wars fan, or used to beat up a Star Wars fan, this movie isn't for you. There isn't enough outside the geek genre to keep you in your seat, and besides, all of the geeks sitting next to you are going to be laughing at stuff that you have no idea about, which will probably anger you and make you want to beat up one of them like you used to do in high school, so to save a fanboy a severe beating and horrible flashbacks to the 9th grade go see Friday the 13th. I am sure those fans are more your speed.
For the Star Wars fan:
If you know what kind of ship Luke used to fly when he was "bullseyeing womp rats," then you are going to enjoy this movie. Even if you don't (it was a T-16) if you have been exposed to the Star Wars fanboy culture then you will be fine.
I am not going to give you a cinematic synopsis and go into detail about the production value, cinematography, score, etc. This isn't that kind of movie. This is the kind of movie that kicks in the flux capacitor and sends you screaming at 88 mph straight back to 1998 to hang out with a couple of guys (and a really hot girl who in NO WAY would ever be hangin' with this crowd - suspension of disbelief my ass) who were either friends of yours or someone you knew. Between the numerous cameos (yes, that is Ray Park by the way- thanks for confirming that George) and endless Star Wars/Star Trek/comic book/geek references and jokes, you will be smiling and laughing through the whole movie. The odd thing is, while you are smiling and laughing part of you will want to keep it under control for fear that someone close will recognize you for who you are and want to nail you with a milk dud. Don't worry though; let it out. Everyone else around you is feeling the same thing. Once you let your inner geek out you will enjoy this movie a whole lot more.
Dan Fogler is quickly becoming a favorite (do yourself a favor and see Balls of Fury), Kristen Bell stole every scene she was in (she is the girl every fanboy dreams of - smart, funny, HOT, reads comics, knows her Star Wars, ahhhhhh..... of course the existence of such a Geek Queen has yet to be proven) and Jay Baruchel embodies the hapless, complete Star Wars geek we all once knew (or were). My only question: What was up with the Uniball!?!?!
I judge the quality of entertainment from a movie by the number of times I look at my watch during the film.
4 looks or more = stinker, go for popcorn, don't come back
3 looks = the movie should have ended long ago
2 looks= not bad, not great, but not bad
1 look = good movie
No looks = must see
Fanboys is a no look movie. See it.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
My friend Jim....
...who is probably the only one who actually reads this blog has a band that has got some of the best, and funniest songs you will ever hear. Every geek you know needs to add this album to their collection.
Please, please pass it on... Kirby Krackle!
Check them out on the side bar!
Please, please pass it on... Kirby Krackle!
Check them out on the side bar!
I don't want your sympathy, I want your donuts
I am fat, and I am tired.
Am I tired of being fat? Obviously not, or I would be doing something about it. I am looking for some sort of catharsis, something to make me feel better about life. I was told blogging would help. We'll see.
You see, (for you skinny or in shape people) the problem is that when you are fat, you don't want to do anything, and when you don't do anything, you get fat. You have no energy because you are fat and out of shape, and because you are fat and out of shape you don't exercise, which is the one thing that would give you energy. If you had the energy, you would exercise and you wouldn't be fat. It is a vicious cream filled circle that most of us can't get out of.
I look in the mirror these days and I don't recognize who is looking back. I don't look like this do I? How did I let this happen? I am angry, sad, frustrated, disappointed, and embarrassed. Can't find one positive emotion in that group can you.
For me there are always "voices" in my head, my conscience if you like, and they all have something to say. Mr. Denial always says something like "well, you are who you are and people should accept you for who you are." "Your friends don't care what you look like, they like you for who you are." And my all time favorite "your wife and family love you, and they accept you for who you are, so you should to." Mr. Denial seems to run the roost, but there is also Mr. Angry, who says "F*%k them. If they are going to judge you on your weight and how you look then they can kiss your big fat ass!" Mr. Angry seems to be Mr. Denial's right hand man. They make a convincing team.
Of course there is also Mr. Sorry, "Well, this is who you are, you haven't done anything wrong, it is just who you are. You should just accept it." His twin brother Mr. Pathetic usually says something like "Don't let it bother you. People love you and that is all you really need." Sorry and pathetic indeed. All of these voices are a huge influence on me. They keep me happy, they make sure I feel o.k. about myself, and most importantly they keep me from doing anything about being fat. Their arguments are convincing, if you listen to them (and I do).
The problem is that there is another voice, one that haunts me. One that is always there, in the back of my mind, quietly getting through. I always hear it; I try to ignore it, but I can't. It's the voice that hurts the most, the one that makes me wear a shirt in the pool when I swim with my kids ( hell who am I kidding, I haven't taken my shirt off in public since 1993 - we'll come back to that another time), the one who kept me from attending my 20th high school reunion, the one who keeps me from visiting relatives and friends I haven't seen in ages.
I don't know the voices name but I hate him. I hate him because he is right and I don't listen. "This is not you." it says, "you were a God damn United States Marine, now look at you! You are a f*%&ing disgrace! If your Drill Instructors saw you now, if your fellow Marines saw you now... you have always been a f*%&ing embarrassment. You should be ashamed of yourself, you sorry sack of s&%t. All your life you have had to deal with this, and all your life you have wimped out, only done what you had to do, now look at you. Proud of yourself? Your own daughter thinks you are fat, and what do you do? You laugh it off, tell her your belly is full of love, not fat. Your belly is full of Ding Dongs and ice cream, your ass is full of pasta, and your waste is full of Captain Crunch, cheeseburgers, and Coke. You are fat, you have always been fat, and the most pathetic and sad thing is is that you aren't doing a damn thing to change that. Keep listening to those other voices you fat f&%k. You won't have to listen to me when you are dead at 50 from a heart attack."
I f*%king hate him. I hate him because he is right. I hate him because he is right and I don't listen. I should listen. I should change, but I don't. I just swallow the hurt, wash it down with a Twinkie or two and a gallon of Mountain Dew, and go on listening to all the other voices. They are much easier to listen to. They like me just like I am.
So, after all of that, what am I going to do about being fat?
Probably nothing.
Why?
Because I am fat, and I am tired, and it is a vicious raspberry filled, powdered sugar coated circle.
Am I tired of being fat? Obviously not, or I would be doing something about it. I am looking for some sort of catharsis, something to make me feel better about life. I was told blogging would help. We'll see.
You see, (for you skinny or in shape people) the problem is that when you are fat, you don't want to do anything, and when you don't do anything, you get fat. You have no energy because you are fat and out of shape, and because you are fat and out of shape you don't exercise, which is the one thing that would give you energy. If you had the energy, you would exercise and you wouldn't be fat. It is a vicious cream filled circle that most of us can't get out of.
I look in the mirror these days and I don't recognize who is looking back. I don't look like this do I? How did I let this happen? I am angry, sad, frustrated, disappointed, and embarrassed. Can't find one positive emotion in that group can you.
For me there are always "voices" in my head, my conscience if you like, and they all have something to say. Mr. Denial always says something like "well, you are who you are and people should accept you for who you are." "Your friends don't care what you look like, they like you for who you are." And my all time favorite "your wife and family love you, and they accept you for who you are, so you should to." Mr. Denial seems to run the roost, but there is also Mr. Angry, who says "F*%k them. If they are going to judge you on your weight and how you look then they can kiss your big fat ass!" Mr. Angry seems to be Mr. Denial's right hand man. They make a convincing team.
Of course there is also Mr. Sorry, "Well, this is who you are, you haven't done anything wrong, it is just who you are. You should just accept it." His twin brother Mr. Pathetic usually says something like "Don't let it bother you. People love you and that is all you really need." Sorry and pathetic indeed. All of these voices are a huge influence on me. They keep me happy, they make sure I feel o.k. about myself, and most importantly they keep me from doing anything about being fat. Their arguments are convincing, if you listen to them (and I do).
The problem is that there is another voice, one that haunts me. One that is always there, in the back of my mind, quietly getting through. I always hear it; I try to ignore it, but I can't. It's the voice that hurts the most, the one that makes me wear a shirt in the pool when I swim with my kids ( hell who am I kidding, I haven't taken my shirt off in public since 1993 - we'll come back to that another time), the one who kept me from attending my 20th high school reunion, the one who keeps me from visiting relatives and friends I haven't seen in ages.
I don't know the voices name but I hate him. I hate him because he is right and I don't listen. "This is not you." it says, "you were a God damn United States Marine, now look at you! You are a f*%&ing disgrace! If your Drill Instructors saw you now, if your fellow Marines saw you now... you have always been a f*%&ing embarrassment. You should be ashamed of yourself, you sorry sack of s&%t. All your life you have had to deal with this, and all your life you have wimped out, only done what you had to do, now look at you. Proud of yourself? Your own daughter thinks you are fat, and what do you do? You laugh it off, tell her your belly is full of love, not fat. Your belly is full of Ding Dongs and ice cream, your ass is full of pasta, and your waste is full of Captain Crunch, cheeseburgers, and Coke. You are fat, you have always been fat, and the most pathetic and sad thing is is that you aren't doing a damn thing to change that. Keep listening to those other voices you fat f&%k. You won't have to listen to me when you are dead at 50 from a heart attack."
I f*%king hate him. I hate him because he is right. I hate him because he is right and I don't listen. I should listen. I should change, but I don't. I just swallow the hurt, wash it down with a Twinkie or two and a gallon of Mountain Dew, and go on listening to all the other voices. They are much easier to listen to. They like me just like I am.
So, after all of that, what am I going to do about being fat?
Probably nothing.
Why?
Because I am fat, and I am tired, and it is a vicious raspberry filled, powdered sugar coated circle.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Burning in Hell
I grazed a Nun's boob this weekend.
How many people in their lifetime will get a chance to say that? I am guessing not many.
It was an accident (I was wiring her up with a microphone), but I am pretty sure I am going to hell for it.
Say a prayer for me.
How many people in their lifetime will get a chance to say that? I am guessing not many.
It was an accident (I was wiring her up with a microphone), but I am pretty sure I am going to hell for it.
Say a prayer for me.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Criticism at its best
So I left my blog page up on our computer at home last night. My wife, whom I love very much, noticed the page after I went upstairs and decided to read it. Now I don't know if she read the whole thing or just the last post, but here was the conversation we had:
Wife: "I read your blog that you had on the computer."
Me: "Oh, cool."
Wife: "So, where do these blogs go? Where do you do it at?"
Me: "There is a web site called blogger.com. There are thousands and thousands of blogs on it."
Wife: "Oh." Silence follows.
That was it. No "Gosh honey, your blog was so funny and insightful! I can't believe you wrote it!" Or "That was fun to read, you should write more!" Not even an "Oh, I liked it." Nope, instead I got dead silence. Now that is a vote of confidence. My own wife, the love of my life, can't even fake a compliment. Nothing.
Not that I need it [tear], or am fishing for compliments, but come on... at least give me some sort of opinion. Don't we all need validation some time? Especially from the ones we love?
Bad wife, no cookie for you.
Vented.
Wife: "I read your blog that you had on the computer."
Me: "Oh, cool."
Wife: "So, where do these blogs go? Where do you do it at?"
Me: "There is a web site called blogger.com. There are thousands and thousands of blogs on it."
Wife: "Oh." Silence follows.
That was it. No "Gosh honey, your blog was so funny and insightful! I can't believe you wrote it!" Or "That was fun to read, you should write more!" Not even an "Oh, I liked it." Nope, instead I got dead silence. Now that is a vote of confidence. My own wife, the love of my life, can't even fake a compliment. Nothing.
Not that I need it [tear], or am fishing for compliments, but come on... at least give me some sort of opinion. Don't we all need validation some time? Especially from the ones we love?
Bad wife, no cookie for you.
Vented.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
In the basement
I have talked about it with several folks, heck some of you have even seen it. If you ask, I may show it to you!
No, not that you perv. It is my basement. For those who have heard but not seen:
That be it. Monthly poker, video games all night. It is quite the spot.
Come on over and enjoy!
Monday, February 2, 2009
What a weekend...
This one was all over the map. Friday night wasn't anything special. We just hung around the house, putting around.
The highlight of Saturday was a signing I attended at the Comic Stop in Lynnwood. I was lucky enough to meet Michael Avon Oeming, his wife Taki, their dog Fry, and Brian Glass as well. I showed up with about an hour left in the signing and luckily I was the only one at the table. It always seems a bit awkward when I walk up to artists, writers, and whomever at these signings. You want to talk to them and say "hi," you want to talk about their books, their past, what they are working on now, and what is coming up, but in the back of your mind you know they have been asked these questions 1000 times, and although they smile and put on a good front, you know they would rather be swimming in raw sewage with paper cuts over their entire body than have to hear "I really like your work, how long have you been drawing (or writing, or inking, etc.)?" Here is how I imagine it goes for the person on the other side of the table:
Geek: Hey (insert name here)! How is it going? I really like your work on (insert book name here)!
Artist: Thanks [dipshit]. I like working on it [I like getting a paycheck, unlike you, you slob].
Geek: How long have you been drawing?
Artist: Oh, I started when I was about 9 or 10 [about the same time as you quit wetting the bed].
Geek: Cool! How long have you been drawing ________?
Artist: Oh, I started about a year ago [about the same time you showered last. Doesn't anyone read Wikipedia for Christs sake?!?].
Geek: That is cool. I wish I could work in comics. That must be awesome!
Artist: It is, I really enjoy it [I enjoy women too, which makes two things we will NEVER have in common].
Geek: That's cool. Here, I brought the last 57 issues you worked on for you to sign.
Artist: Wow. Great. Thanks. [Fucking eBay is going to be flooded with this shit. I wonder if he will notice that I am signing with my other hand.]
10 minutes later
Geek: Thanks man. Have a good day.
Artist: No problem [thanks for standing down wind].
Geek #2: Hey (insert name here)! How is it going? I really like your work on (insert book name here)!
Artist: Thanks [oh God, someone shoot me]. I like working on it [work is obviously something you know nothing about]....... and so on.
Everyone at the table was great, but you could just see something in Michael's eyes. I don't know if it was boredom, contempt, or just indigestion.
I did pull the ultimate fan boy stunt and brought my own sketchbook (it was blank - I have NO artistic skill) in for Michael to draw in. Michael kindly obliged my request for a quick sketch - the premise was that Stan Lee never made it as a comic book God, instead he ended up fronting a band. Pick a decade, pick a genre and draw Stan as he would look as the front man. Ten minutes later I had a drawing of Stan circa 1977 with the porn moustache and big specs on. It looks sweet. I may try this at the Emerald City Comic Convention. We'll see how far I get and who throws the book back at me.
Sunday - Super Bowl.
Everyone kept asking me who I wanted to win the game.
I told them "I want the Steelers to lose."
"So you want the Cardinals to win." they would say.
"No, I just want the Steelers to lose."
"But they are playing the Cardinals."
"Yes they are."
"So, if you want the Steelers to lose, you want the Cardinals to win!"
"Not necessarily. I just want the Steelers to lose. I don't give a rats ass who beats them, I just want them to lose."
"But, they are playing the Cardinals...."
You get the picture. Apparently my logic was lost on most everyone.
Damn Steelers.
The highlight of Saturday was a signing I attended at the Comic Stop in Lynnwood. I was lucky enough to meet Michael Avon Oeming, his wife Taki, their dog Fry, and Brian Glass as well. I showed up with about an hour left in the signing and luckily I was the only one at the table. It always seems a bit awkward when I walk up to artists, writers, and whomever at these signings. You want to talk to them and say "hi," you want to talk about their books, their past, what they are working on now, and what is coming up, but in the back of your mind you know they have been asked these questions 1000 times, and although they smile and put on a good front, you know they would rather be swimming in raw sewage with paper cuts over their entire body than have to hear "I really like your work, how long have you been drawing (or writing, or inking, etc.)?" Here is how I imagine it goes for the person on the other side of the table:
Geek: Hey (insert name here)! How is it going? I really like your work on (insert book name here)!
Artist: Thanks [dipshit]. I like working on it [I like getting a paycheck, unlike you, you slob].
Geek: How long have you been drawing?
Artist: Oh, I started when I was about 9 or 10 [about the same time as you quit wetting the bed].
Geek: Cool! How long have you been drawing ________?
Artist: Oh, I started about a year ago [about the same time you showered last. Doesn't anyone read Wikipedia for Christs sake?!?].
Geek: That is cool. I wish I could work in comics. That must be awesome!
Artist: It is, I really enjoy it [I enjoy women too, which makes two things we will NEVER have in common].
Geek: That's cool. Here, I brought the last 57 issues you worked on for you to sign.
Artist: Wow. Great. Thanks. [Fucking eBay is going to be flooded with this shit. I wonder if he will notice that I am signing with my other hand.]
10 minutes later
Geek: Thanks man. Have a good day.
Artist: No problem [thanks for standing down wind].
Geek #2: Hey (insert name here)! How is it going? I really like your work on (insert book name here)!
Artist: Thanks [oh God, someone shoot me]. I like working on it [work is obviously something you know nothing about]....... and so on.
Everyone at the table was great, but you could just see something in Michael's eyes. I don't know if it was boredom, contempt, or just indigestion.
I did pull the ultimate fan boy stunt and brought my own sketchbook (it was blank - I have NO artistic skill) in for Michael to draw in. Michael kindly obliged my request for a quick sketch - the premise was that Stan Lee never made it as a comic book God, instead he ended up fronting a band. Pick a decade, pick a genre and draw Stan as he would look as the front man. Ten minutes later I had a drawing of Stan circa 1977 with the porn moustache and big specs on. It looks sweet. I may try this at the Emerald City Comic Convention. We'll see how far I get and who throws the book back at me.
Sunday - Super Bowl.
Everyone kept asking me who I wanted to win the game.
I told them "I want the Steelers to lose."
"So you want the Cardinals to win." they would say.
"No, I just want the Steelers to lose."
"But they are playing the Cardinals."
"Yes they are."
"So, if you want the Steelers to lose, you want the Cardinals to win!"
"Not necessarily. I just want the Steelers to lose. I don't give a rats ass who beats them, I just want them to lose."
"But, they are playing the Cardinals...."
You get the picture. Apparently my logic was lost on most everyone.
Damn Steelers.
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