So I just had an immense feeling of déjà vu, which means, of course, that I am trapped in a time loop.
… Here’s a list of television shows I’ve been watching lately that are kind of awful.
The Great American Baking Competition. My mother and my daughter love this show about people baking stuff and then we don’t get to eat it.
Ransom. I watched what was clearly the first episode of this paint-by-numbers procedural last night because I think I’m suicidal or something, seriously, why didn’t I do anything else? And at the end, it was all like: “New episodes! Saturday evening, where TV shows go to die!” So clearly CBS thinks as highly of it as I did.
Some procedural on ABC that has Iceman or his twin brother in it, and I can’t even bother to remember the name of it. It’s some show about how they try to save people from execution, I think? And they were trying to get this girl who murdered her rapist out of prison? And then it turned out she wasn’t the real murderer? And I was like, “Um, it’s obviously the rape counselor?” And 20 minutes later, the characters were like, “Oh, it’s obviously the rape counselor?”
To Tell the Truth. This actually had a Soul Train dancer and a Solid Gold dancer show up, so, by default, it is the best thing I have watched on television lately.
Sherlock Series 4 started yesterday! But I didn’t see it, because PBS has decided to stop working on my television, and I didn’t get around to streaming the new episode in a totally legal manner, so I decided to review last year’s Christmas special instead.
I probably should have reviewed last year’s Christmas special last year, but why don’t you get a blog and I’ll tell you how to run it.
Anyway, the Sherlock Christmas Special is called “The Abominable Bride” or somesuch, because I can’t be arsed to look it up. It’s set in Victorian England, because Holmes has gotten his hands on a time machine. Alternately, he did a lot of drugs and is in his mind palace, which is a conceit that is really beginning to wear on me.
So in Victorian England, Holmes and Watson are trying to solve the case of the suicidal bride who kills her husband after she’s already dead. Along the way, we meet the Victorian England versions of our favorite Sherlock characters. Lestrade has some incredible mutton chops. Molly Hooper, the cute morgue girl, is disguised as a dude, and Holmes totally can’t tell that she’s not a dude, because he is the worst Best Detective Ever ever.
Mrs. Hudson is Mrs. Hudson is a retro dress, and John’s Annoying Wife is still there.
The dead bride keeps killing dudes, which is spooooooky, except it turns out it’s a conspiracy of ladies, and then that whole plot line of STOP IGNORING WOMEN DAMMIT gets totally dropped.
Then Moriarty shows up and is annoying, and then he and Holmes fight on a waterfall, because why not beat The Final Problem like a dead horse, and then Holmes jumps off the waterfall and it’s totally the end of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, and then we’re back in London and sexism is solved, forever.
Okay, so it’s not bad enough that 2016 took David Bowie and Prince and Muhammad Ali and George Michael and a bunch of other awesome people, in addition to giving us President-Elect Trump (seriously, 2016, you’re a bastard). But now it had to take CARRIE FISHER?
Damn all of this. Carrie Fisher, you were a beautiful and funny lady, and you will be missed so much.
My mom gets really irritated when I describe a white person as being white, so I like to do it every chance I get.
Because I am actually a 12-year-old boy, when I saw the sign on my drive home last night advertising “Steel Erection,” I immediately thought of Superman.
I don’t usually review books on this blog, because I’ve been mostly reading biographies of silent movie stars and Depression-era criminals, so why would you guys care, right?
But I decided to delve into Japanese literature, except, you know, translations, because the only word I can read in Japanese is “bizu,” which means bead, and looks like a guy sitting down throwing a ball to a guy running with his arms behind him.
So I read Audition by Ryu Murakami. It’s a short book, around 127 pages or so, which means it’s not like I wasted more than a couple hours of my time (I read really fast, and by the end, I was skimming because I was like UGH WHEN IS THE NARRATOR GOING TO GET MURDERED ALREADY).
But I still wasted my time.
The gist of the story is that this jerk-ass piece of crap Aoyama has been widowed for seven years. He cheated on his wife, but she was a real classy lady, so she didn’t mind. Then she died, but, being a real classy lady, she died quickly and without complaint. So obviously she was A CARDBOARD CUTOUT AND NOT A REAL PERSON AT ALL. Like, Jesus, Murakami-san, I get that she’s not all that relevant to the plot, but she was so obviously fake.
Anyway, this cheating asshole Aoyama has this wonderful teenage son (whom he never spent time with before his wife’s death, but then he does, and they totally bond and whatever) who says: “Hey, dad, why don’t you get married again?”
So then Aoyama and this friend of his decide to fake a movie and hold auditions for the role of the main character, who coincidentally has all the traits Aoyama would want in a wife (those traits being 1) classically trained in some art or another; 2) being cool with his cheating; 3) dying without complaint).
So he finds this chick whose name I’ve already forgotten, and Aoyama falls head over heels for her because she is 1) like, 20 years younger than him; 2) the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; 3) seems to match all his criteria for spousedom.
So they start dating, and everybody’s like, “I don’t know, there’s something odd about this chick,” even though she never does anything odd, it’s just this vibe they pick up on, but Aoyama’s like, “whatever, guys, she’s HOT,” and then finally in the last couple of pages she stalks him and tries to cut off his feet.
BUT SHE DOESN’T KILL HIM. She kills the dog.
Then his damn son comes home and rescues him by stabbing her in the throat. And then the book is over.
So I guess if you like a long, dull buildup to a jerk WHO DOESN’T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO GET MURDERED and two-dimensional female characters and male characters being all, “Jeez, why aren’t there more beautiful, classy women for us sexist pigs to cheat on our long-suffering wives with?” then this is the book for you.
So, today, my comic book store boss and my funeral home boss will meet for the first time.
So I’ve been looking for the perfect notification alert. The one that encapsulates, you know, me. My essence.
I started with Gunter’s “wenk wenk” from Adventure Time.
I tried the opening from Cowboy Bebop’s Tank!. (No, the exclamation point is really in the song title.)
I gave the Knights Who say “Ni” saying “Ni!” a go.
Anyway, now I’ve got the sound of Pacman dying.
… although this post title is.
Hi, everybody! I’m not dead or even in a coma, but it has been very busy at work, and also I did Thanksgiving (you guys should try my mashed potatoes with caramelized onions, because they are so good), so Internetting has been about the last thing on my mind.
But I’m back, and I’m sorry, and I went to Moana with my daughter last weekend, because sometimes she makes me go to Disney movies. (I guess our only other option was the new Harry Potter minus Harry Potter thing, but, then again, Eddie Redmayne is really pretty.)
So, Moana! Here’s some things I love about it:
- Casting actual Pacific Islanders to voice-act. That’s cool.
- The song the crab sings.
- Dwayne Johnson is finally the sexiest man alive, like, jeez, what took so long? Were you waiting for him to not be alive?
- Auli’i Cravalho has a gorgeous voice.
Also, the plot was fine, and I’m pretty sure they got the Maui myth about right (I’m sorry, but I’m not as up on my Pacific Island mythology/folklore as I should be!), and the stupid chicken was even stupider than the chicken I had when I was a kid, so that was good.
My daughter says it was really good and you should go watch it, and I’ll just say: Yeah, it was fine.