A Super Bowl Party

Even with our kids being sick, we still managed to have a great Super Bowl party. We had tons of food and Reinman made up a game to where winners got prizes during every quarter and at the end. We all got a sheet of paper with a ton of questions to answer like who was the MVP, what team won, what songs Madonna sang, and many more questions that I can’t even remember now. I was so glad for this game because I really didn’t care who won, and this game gave me a reason to watch the Super Bowl and enjoy it.

Colonol Havoc had the most right answers at the end so he got the beloved trophy and a Target gift card.

The Joker had a great time eating lots and lots of watermelon.

The Princess and the Bear spent as much time as they could on the iPads. Silly kids.

And the rest of us ate delicious, delicious food that included French Dip sliders, Chicken Buffalo Dip, Hummus and Pita Bread, various Cupcakes, Homemade Rosemary Potato Chips, and veggies.

Hope everyone else had a great Super Bowl day! 🙂

— the Jilb

 

SOAP Trailer (or, How I Spent My Summer Vacation)

You’re probably already somewhat confused, so let me begin by clarifying one point: the snow you see in the SOAP trailer is fake — it doesn’t (often) snow in Hibbing, MN in the summer.

The trailer itself is not fake. It exists. You can watch it. See, I just posted it on this blog.

There is, however, no SOAP movie. That should be obvious after watching the trailer. If there were a SOAP movie, and if I were the director, and if I didn’t have any control over the trailer, and then I watched the trailer, I’d be kinda T.O.’d at the trailer.

I mean, the trailer gives away every single plot “twist” as well as the entire ending. A trailer for a real movie would never, ever do that. (It seemed as though “never, ever do that” should have linked to a trailer that does, in fact, do just that, but I was too lazy to look one up, so I just underlined the phrase instead to sort of make it look like a link — then I included this note to undermine my own efforts.)

Anyway, if there were a SOAP movie, the trailer would never, ever show that, at the end, Sam builds a fake friend out of construction material, only to realize that his true friends had been in front of him the entire time. Also, if you haven’t seen the trailer yet, SPOILER ALERT.

And, once again for the sake of clarity, I should point out one inaccuracy in the title of this post. The alternate title is “How I Spent My Summer Vacation,” which implies, incorrectly, that the SOAP trailer was created by me. It wasn’t. My contribution to the project was to gather some supplies and then drive back and forth across town after forgetting to bring the supplies.

A. Reini (a.k.a “the Hermit,” a.k.a. “BB2,” a.k.a. “Manny Ramir-Andrew Bank One Ball-Andrew,” a.k.a. “Doogie — no, not that ‘Doogie'”) shot and edited the video — seriously, I think he spent something like 10,000 hours just tweaking the color of “Cop #2’s” moustache. (Also, if you see Dan Scally, don’t mention that he was “Cop #2.”)

So A. Reini gets the credit (blame?) for this. You can thank him by going to his funny and clever blog. As of now, 50 percent of his posts are about James Bond — which, as most blog-experts will tell you, is the perfect ratio.

— Reinman

SOAP is daily Bible reading program. This video was created to promote the program at First Assembly of God in Hibbing, MN.

A New Years Eve and Some Little Dancers

We had an awesome New Years that involved lots of yummy food (ham and swiss slider recipe coming soon!), games, and some Nerf. We made it to midnight, but for whatever reason there was no countdown on our local TV stations. Bizarre. And kind of stupid.

I stayed up way too late, and the next day while I tried to nap on the couch while the Baby was napping, the kids danced.

And danced.

Still dancing…

— the Jilb

Crunch

Note: Big assist on this post from Reinman’s younger-er brother, the Hermit (a.k.a. BB2, a.k.a. Manny Ramir-Andrew Bank One Ball-Andrew).

I love The Empire Strikes Back. Obviously. But there is one moment that doesn’t make a lick of sense.

So, following the Dumbest Battle in Movie History, Han Solo and company are fleeing from the Imperial fleet. With four TIE fighters and a Star Destroyer already hot on their tail, Han sees two more Star Destroyers heading straight toward them.

“Great. Well, I can still out maneuver them,” he says, throwing the Falcon into a twisting “dive.” (I love that in order to make the Falcon go “down” Han first has to pull a special lever, as though “up” and “down” aren’t mapped to the normal flight controls.)

What follows is a wonderful little sequence — the Falcon momentarily escaping, while the three Star Destroyers nearly collide. I love the chaos we see in the Star Destroyer bridge — the howling (distinctively Imperial) alarm, the grinding noise as shields slam against shields, the crew losing their balance from the impact — it all reinforces the immense size of these ships.

And then we cut from the chaotic to the ordered. From below, we see — for, really, the only time in the trilogy — the wedge-shaped Destroyers in their full geometrical glory. They crawl toward one another, looking not as though they’re accidentally ramming into each other, but rather as though they’re completing some grand, celestial puzzle — of course they’re supposed to fit together like that.

But here’s the nagging question — how did the Star Destroyers get that close to each other in the first place? Maybe the Destroyer captains simply forgot that ships can go “up” or “down” in space. Maybe they were using flat, table-top charts, having not yet invested in those fancy “three-dimensional” charts that the rebels use in Jedi. Slashes to military spending and all.

Even so, let’s take the engagement to its logical conclusion. Let’s say the Falcon did not suddenly dive down and continued on a straight course. If that were the case, the Star Destroyers…would STILL collide into one another.

Therefore, the only logical conclusion is that colliding into each other was the plan all along.

Here’s what I think happened. I think the captain of the middle Destroyer saw the other two ships coming toward him, and he saw a golden opportunity to not only take out the Falcon but to do it in style — he decided to physically “crunch” the Falcon in between the hulls of the Destroyers.

And his plan might’ve worked, too, if one of the Destroyers hadn’t chickened out at the last moment.

My theory isn’t as ridiculous as it seems. By this point, we’ve already seen the fingerprints of that renegade Imperial officer. As a young lieutenant on the Death Star, he was the one who decided to try to crunch Luke, Han, Leia, and Chewie in the trash compacter rather than, say, posting three squads of stormtroopers outside the only escape hatch.

Piloting a walker during the battle of Hoth, he was the one who decided to take a half an hour to try to crunch Luke underfoot rather than, say, shooting him. Vader — who is obviously a fan of not only killing but killing with style — appreciated the attempted crunching and immediately promoted the officer to Star Destroyer captain.

(In the original cut of Empire — before Lucas started screwing with the film — you can see the pilot ejecting straight up into an awaiting shuttle right before the walker’s head explodes. And no, I don’t know why the head explodes when Luke throws the charge into the middle of the walker’s underbelly.)

So, the accidental, near-collision of the Star Destroyers wasn’t an accident at all — it was an inspired plan, a work of true genius. And so now only one question remains — what is the name of that daring young officer, that brilliant captain?

I won’t tell you his name, but if you search your heart, you’ll find you’ve known the answer all along.

— Reinman

Introducing…

Baby Fight Club!

Okay, there aren’t really any babies involved, but I liked the name and it stuck.

It’s been chilly up here in northern MN, and the kids have been sick, which means they need a way to let off all that extra energy they seem to have. In comes Baby Fight Club. They like to fight. And really, they are babies. All of them.

I would love to tell you that no kids were hurt during this game, but you know that’s not true.

— the Jilb

Good Hands

You may have already seen this Gears of War 3 trailer on TV, but if not, watch it right now — it only takes about a minute.

You’ll get chills if you go into it wanting chills.

There. I just got chills again.

How about you? Nothing?

All right, go back and re-watch it, but this time, go into it with the knowledge that this brief trailer covers roughly 15 years of these characters’ lives (you’ll see Dom’s beard “grow” as the trailer progresses).

Watch how the single, unbroken tracking shot gives the impression that these soldiers have been fighting virtually non-stop for years.

Watch the transformation of Marcus, the main character in the trailer. Watch, at the beginning, the nod he gives right before he tosses the grenade — his expression confident, self-assured, a little cocky even.

Then watch his face at the end, 15 years (and two games) later, as he surveys the chaos and destruction around him — his expression a mixture of weariness, disbelief, hopelessness, and, lastly, determination.

Watch the brief glance he shares with Dom, his brother in arms. There isn’t time for anything more — and nothing needs to be said.

So go ahead and watch again — I’ll wait.

Still nothing? Either you’re made of stone, or I’m getting too sentimental in my old age.

(I’m going with the latter. I’m probably about two years away from sobbing uncontrollably at the end of the end of those schmaltzy Folgers commercials — and not for the same reason I currently sob during Luvs’ “Poop, there it is” commercial, which I would classify more as Rage-Sobbing.)

Anyway, the Gears trailer is awesome — and this from someone who has never played any of the Gears games (for a variety of having-kids reasons) and who probably won’t play Gears of War 3. For this post, I had to look up the names “Marcus” and “Dom,” and I learned about the 15-years thing in a comment following the video.

And that, more than anything, is why I admire the trailer so much — it moved me even though I have absolutely no knowledge of the story, no history with these characters.

I know one thing for sure — if the rumored Gears movie ever happens, I’ll eagerly go see it. I’ll see it because, if the same artists who created the game and the game’s trailer are responsible for the movie, I’ll be confident that I’m in good hands. They’ve absolutely won me over.

Now, the quality of a trailer does not necessarily forecast the quality of the movie (see Watchmen), but it’s often a pretty accurate indicator (even though directors typically don’t cut the trailers for their films — maybe quality inspires more quality).

For instance, no one could quite figure out how they were going to pull off making a movie about Facebook, but then that Radiohead trailer debuted, and we realized we would be in good hands.

In 2005, there was a trailer that began with a pretty interesting premise — a wanderer, journeying to distant, snow-capped mountains to train with a secret society of modern-day ninjas — when HOLY CRAP THAT’S BATMAN! After years of nonsense, we knew that the bat man was going to be in good hands.

It works the opposite way as well. This weekend, the Jilb and I saw What’s Your Number? (not Dolphin Tale as the Jilb claimed in Monday’s post — that was a trick). The trailers I’d seen beforehand had hit all the usual cliches — a bad sign since lazy trailers typically mean lazy movies — so going in, I had the feeling I was in shaky hands.

And shake they did — like an electric football game sitting on a running washing machine in the bowels of an asteroid that is not entirely stable.

Which trailers have left you feeling as though you would be in good hands?

Which trailers have left you feeling shaky?

Which movies ended up deviating (good or bad) from the feeling you had gotten from the trailer?

And am I allowed to be a fan of Gears of War without having played any of the games?

— Reinman

The Best Show on Television

Quiet, Mad Men. Shut up, Breaking Bad. I know that one of you is actually the Best Show on Television. But you know what? Neither of you has Ron Swanson.

In fact, neither of you has six Ron Swansons superimposed against an American flag.

Images courtesy of the fan site "Mr. Ron Swanson and His Glorious Face"

Actually, Parks and Rec doesn’t have six Ron Swansons superimposed against an American flag either. That would be ridiculous.

Here’s the point — Parks and Rec currently holds the prestigious title of Reinman’s Favorite Show of the Moment and Also It Has to Be Still on the Air at the Time He’s Watching It — In Other Words, It Can’t Be One He Discovered Through Re-Runs or on DVD Like Freaks and Geeks, Otherwise Freaks and Geeks Would Obviously Hold the Title for 1999.

And now, in an effort to contribute information to the internet, I am going to provide the complete list of shows to have held that title (which, for personal reasons, I have chosen not to repeat):

1984 – 1986: N/A

1987 – 1988: Sesame Street (For some reason, my favorite segment was the one where you followed that ball around some sort of psychedelic shopping mall/menagerie/bowling alley while hippies sang “1-2-3-4-5,  6-7-8-9-10,  11-12.”)

1989 – 1990: Ducktales (This was my first experience with continuing, mutli-episode story arcs. I remember the time-traveling Bubba Duck saga blowing my six-year-old mind.)

1991: Talespin (I never hear this one mentioned when people of my generation speak nostalgically of childhood shows, but make no mistake about it — Talespin was awesome.)

1992: Darkwing Duck (“Suck gas, evildoer.”)

1993: Star Trek: The Next Generation (Nerd…)

1994 – 1995: The Tick (The biggest gut-punch cancellation of my life — I had absolutely no warning. I turned on the TV, expecting to see the follow-up to another brilliant Speak episode, and instead I got some piece of crap garbage crap dump toilet brown crap called Eagle-Crap-Jerk-Riders. I was so traumatized that the piece of crap theme song is still burned into my memory. I’m still so mad about it I can’t even write coherently.)

1996 – 2002: The Simpsons (I hung on about two seasons too long.)

2003 – 2005: NFL football (This was a dark period — in retrospect, it should’ve been Arrested Development.)

2006: Friday Night Lights (The favorite of favorites — the only show I’ve ever aggressively pestered people to watch. In fact, I’m going to pester you right now. Watch it. It’s the best. You’ll love it. Unfortunately, it can only qualify for one year on this list because the show got jerked around so much. Season 1 was the only one I enjoyed “purely” as it was airing. Season 2 was a little disenchanting, and I caught the last three brilliant seasons through a combination of re-airing on NBC, Hulu, and DVD.)

2007 – 2008: The Office (I still love The Office, but we can all admit its best days are behind it.)

2009: Lost (I was all in during season 5 — and then, well, then that other season happened.)

2010: Modern Family (A good show that got a huge bump because ABC was the only channel I got that year — I mean, Wipeout was in the running for goodness sake.)

2011: Parks and Recreation

Five thoughts on Parks and Rec:

1. Of all people, it was the inclusion of straight-laced Ben that pushed the show over the top for me. He arrived at the same time as Chris (Rob Lowe), a character who is a million times funnier (all it takes is one “AnnePerkins!” and he’s already got me cracking up), but Chris was just one more crazy/funny character on a show that had a wealth of them.

Ben, however, brought that essential quality of being the stand-in for the viewer (this used to be Anne’s roll, but she started to go a little crazy herself during season 3).

Ben is the only one who doesn’t crack up at Crazy Ira and the Douche’s radio bits. Ben is the only one who is dumbfounded when everyone — Ron included (or more accurately, especially Ron) — seems to be pathologically in love with the miniature horse Li’l Sebastian.

Ben and his conspiratorial glances at the camera (trademark: Jim Halpert) keeps the show grounded somewhat in reality, which, by contrast, makes the crazy things that happen around him seem even crazier. (And like fellow straight-man Jim Halpert, Ben gets to be really funny on occasion as well, especially in pressure situations.)

2. I love the way Parks and Rec portrays police officers. The show avoids the easy cliche of the out-of-shape, donut-scarfing cop. Rather, building off the model established by the brilliant Louis C. K., the police officers on Parks and Rec are professional and polite, but also almost painfully stiff, conversing with Leslie and others in a clipped, jargon-peppered dialect — making for a respectful portrayal that doesn’t have to sacrifice humor in the process.

3. Ron Swanson is the evolutionary Hank Hill — a staunchly conservative character who nevertheless is beloved by audiences across the political spectrum.

They are both men of simple passions. (Hank loves propane; Ron loves meat.) They are both routinely victorious over hippies/euphorians. (Hank often literally kicks euphorians in the ass; Ron wins a cook-off by serving a plain all-beef hamburger patty on a plain bun.)

But only Ron rocks a sweet, sweet stache. (I did, after all, call him the evolutionary Hank Hill.)

4. My only complaint against the show is that it occasionally ventures a step too far into Crazy Land. There’s the mural of the traveling magician who visited Pawnee and was burned at the stake — in 1973. And there are smaller moments that aren’t as obviously crazy but still break the illusion of reality, such as when Ben appears on a daytime talk-show and a graphic labels him “Human Disaster.”

These are funny moments, yes, but they feel undisciplined. Parks and Rec is a fantastic show — it shouldn’t have to resort to breaking the “reality” it has established just to go for a couple of easy laughs.

5. Number 4, though, isn’t really a big deal at all.

So that is, literally, all the thoughts I have ever had about Parks and Rec.

Tell me what you think of the show.

Tell me if you have seen the show. (I probably should have put this one first. Oh well, I already typed it this way — there’s no way to change it now.)

Tell me your list of favorite shows, year-by-year.

And tomorrow, remember to watch the season premiere of Parks and Rec — the Greatest Show in Television History.

— Reinman

The Ecstasy of Defeat

I’ve been watching the Boise State / Toledo college football game off and on throughout the evening. Why? I would say it’s about 5% interest in Boise’s pro-prospect QB Kellen Moore (so far, impressive, though the doughy, bullfrog-like facial features don’t exactly inspire confidence — but on the other hand, Ben Roethlisberger has gotten away with that look for years) and 95% the fact that I’m still, after all these years, mesmerized by sports in HD.

(“Look at that definition — it’s so…so…high,” I am often heard remarking to no one in particular. By the way, this is the part where I’m supposed to make a joke about HD being so awesome that I’ll watch any sport as long as it’s in HD — including curling. But that’s just not true — curling sucks, especially in HD. No, I pretty much just stick to the four majors: football, baseball, basketball, and jai-alai.)

During the game, I noticed something that I’ve seen during a number of other sports broadcasts — something that invariably leaves me feeling a mixture of annoyance, mild amusement, and general discomfort (or as I like to call it — the Vikings Fan Experience! Hey-oh!).

This particular instance happened during the third quarter of tonight’s game. Toledo, trailing big for much of the contest, just intercepted the ball and returned it inside Boise State’s 20. The home crowd was going nuts, sensing that this was the last opportunity to get back into the game. But on their second play, Toledo fumbled the ball, Boise State recovered, and it was, essentially, game over.

If you are a Toledo fan (and, really, who isn’t at this point?), it was a devastating moment, punctuated by those crowd reaction shots we’ve all come to expect — the guy with the painted chest clutching his hair, the wide-eyed young lady holding both hands over her mouth. It was during one of those reaction shots — a group of undergrads staring forlornly at the field — when one of them, a blond-haired girl, looked up and noticed that she and her small group were on the jumbo-tron. And then the craziest thing happened — she was no longer forlorn.

Her face lit up, and she started jumping and waving like a crazy person, and a split-second later, the rest of the group joined in her in a jumbo-tron induced frenzy. I guess the fumble and the nationally televised beat-down of your favorite team wasn’t so bad after all, eh blondy?

In those moments, I always feel for the broadcast production team. There they are, doing their darnedest to capture the agony of defeat, when those obnoxious fans have to go and spoil the whole thing. It’s almost, in an odd way, as though those fans are breaking the fourth wall. The “story” says they’re supposed to looked shell-shocked and depressed, but once they see thesmselves on screen, they “break” character and start behaving like buffoons — ruining the carefully unfolding narrative in the process.

My only solace is how most broadcast teams refuse to reward those morons. The director will linger on an unaware, depressed fan for a good five or six seconds, but as soon as the fan notices he’s on the screen and starts jumping up and down like a three-year-old high on Pixie Sticks, the director can’t cut away fast enough. It’s like, Hey Tubbs — if you wanna stay on the TV, keep with the saddy sad.

In the case of tonight’s game, though, I’m willing to cut the fans a little slack. They were, after all, cheering for Toledo. Maybe being on TV for a split-second was more important to them than allegiance to their nationally-irrelevant football team. Which is why such buffoonary is even more perplexing at major events like the World Cup.

(Side note: These “sad fans noticing themselves on the jumbo-tron and instantly turn into smiling, waving lunatics” shots are only possible at certain types of games/stadiums. You’ll never see this sort of shot at an NFL game — not because the fans aren’t buffoons, far from it, but because NFL stadiums have their own, internal production teams for the material that’s shown on the jumbo-tron — material that is different, of course, from the broadcast you’re watching at home. The “buffoon” shots, then, are only possible in venues that aren’t set-up for internal television production, and thus, those venues show the national broadcast on the jumbo-tron. Such venues typically include lower-tier college stadiums, World Cup sites, etc.)

Anyway, buffoon shots are especially annoying during World Cup broadcasts because soccer fans are supposed to be the craziest, most die-hard sports fans in the world — the sort of fans so passionate that their version of doing The Wave is to flip over a row of cars and light them on fire. They’re so dedicated that their version of chanting “Let’s go team!” is to murder an opposing fan.

But hey, who cares that you traveled halfway around the world only to watch your favorite team go down 3-0 in the final, knowing that they won’t have another chance at this for another four years, if they’re lucky enough to even make it this far — who cares about any of that because look! You’re on the big Tee-Vee!

Just once, I want to see a depressed-looking fan notice himself on the jumbo-tron, blink once or twice, and then return looking dejectedly at the field. For me, that would be the most exciting moment in television history.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a big jai-alai match on next. Rekalde’s been coming on strong as of late, but it will be difficult for him to counter Arregui’s wicked backhand.

— Reinman

A Bear’s Obsession

The Bear’s latest movie obsession is with the Disney movie Tangled, which is basically the story of Rapunzel. It’s a cute movie, but I think I expected the Bear to like say, Cars, or Reinman’s favorite Pixar offering, The Incredibles, or any of the Toy Story movies. Nope. It’s Tangled.

Every day he’ll come up to me and tell me all about the movie that includes, “mean guys,” “Flynn Rider,” “funny horsey” and “Rapunzel.”

Here he is holding a Flynn Rider figurine and telling me something about Flynn Rider. Too cute.

So, if you happen to see the Bear and he says all in one breath, “Flynn Ride-er, and mean guys — horsey!” you’ll know what he’s talking about.

— the Jilb

Knerd Knowledge: Vader’s Mispronunciation

Star Wars characters go around mispronuncing each others’ names all the time — that’s pretty common Knerd Knowledge.

You know, Han pronounces his own name like “Con,” and so does everyone else, but then Lando comes along and starts saying “Han” like “Can,” and so everyone starts saying it that way for awhile — just to try something new.  And Leia’s name is “LAY-uh” unless it’s some old dude saying it — then it’s “LEE-uh.”

I get it.  Mostly.

But there’s a certain, one-time mispronuncation that I’ve never heard anyone discuss, and yet it seems way more out-of-place than all the others put together.

It’s this.

Quoth Darth Vader (as the Death Star approaches Yavin 4): “This will be a day long remembered. It has seen the end of Kenobi and will soon see the end of the Rebellion.”

It’s a fairly memorable line, and a fun little scene — Vader staring, I assume, into the middle-distance while Tarkin gives him a look like who gave you permission to start randomly monologuing?

The only problem is, Vader completely butchers “Kenobi.”

In the line, he says it “KIN-OH-bee” when, of course, everyone knows it should be pronounced “keh-NOH-bee.”

I know that doesn’t look like a big deal, especially spelled out that way with phonetic-type symbols — like, one syllable is in bold instead of the other one, but who cares? — but it is a big deal because “Kenobi” is one of those names that, once you hear it, is impossible to forget how to pronounce (like, ahem, “Reini”).

I think this is because “Kenobi” — already a great name in and of itself — is made even better by the sing-song rhyme it creates with “Obi-Wan.”

Try it.  “Obi-Wan Kenobi” (OH-bee-whon keh-NOH-bee).

And now try it again, but this time with the un-stated conclusion of the rhyme:

“Obi-Wan Kenobi-Wan” (OH-bee-whon keh-NOH-bee-whon).

See? Fun!

And unforgettable. So I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I doubt James Earl Jones had ever heard the name “Kenobi” before he recorded the line. After all, he only says the name “Kenobi” once.  For the rest of the movie — indeed (I think) the rest of the trilogy — Vader refers to his old master only as “Obi-Wan.”

(“Obi-Wan is here. The Force is with him.” “Obi-Wan has taught you well.” “Obi-Wan was wise to hide her from me.” “I’ve been waiting for you, Obi-Wan. We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete. When I left you, I was but the learner; now I am the master.”  Obi-Wan: “Only a master of evil, Darth.” — you know, back when “Darth” was obviously Vader’s first name instead of some prequelly title.)

I don’t blame James Earl Jones. He did, after all, record all of his lines in a mere two hours for a tidy $7,000 paycheck. (Nor did Jones, after the fact, seem to be particularly obsessed with the minutia of Star Wars. He’s on record as saying his favorite Darth Vader line is “I have you now, Obi-Wan.” I’ll give you all my Landos if you can find that one in the trilogy.)

But where was the guy in the sound booth? Did he, too, not know the correct pronunciation, or did he not think anyone would notice? Did James Earl Jones receive any direction whatsoever, or was he just tossed a script and told to read? And where were the film editors? Did they not catch the mistake? Or did they not think it was worth the extra 200 bucks to call Jones’s butt back into the studio and have him say it the right way?

This is normally the part where I’d take a shot at George, but this was still the time of young, svelte, killing-himself-just-to-get-his-crazy-little-movie-made George, for whom I have a lot of respect. (As opposed to this George.)

Regardless of who’s ultimately to blame, that line caused me a good deal of confusion as a youngster. So, “this day has seen the end of Kinno Vee,” huh? (Because, if Vader meant “Kenobi,” he would’ve just said “Kenobi.”) So was this “Kinno Vee,” like, the capital city of Alderaan or something? Or maybe it was that guy.

Anyway, unraveling that mystery was almost as hard as figuring out what Obi-Wan meant when he told Luke “A gentleman wastes enough to be traveled lightly.”

But I eventually got it. Obviously, Obi-Wan meant that he (Obi-Wan, a gentleman) was wasting time when he could be hauling Artoo (a decidedly un-light droid) back to his place. Duh.

— Reinman

Attack of the Spoiler

I am now going to spoil movies for you, just to be a jerk.

In The Usual Suspects, it turns out that Keyser Soze is really, really mean.

At the end of The Sixth Sense, we learn that Bruce Willis, in a ground-breaking twist, has been bald the whole time.

Speaking of Bruce Willis, in what is arguably an even bigger shocker, we learn at the end of Die Hard 2 that the ultimate villain is not Col. Stuart — as the entire movie leads us to believe — but rather the nefarious Mr. Falcon.

At the end of Star Wars, Luke blows up the Death Star.  It’s awesome.

In Citizen Kane, Citizen Kane says “Rosebud” on his deathbed.  Let me spare you two hours: “Rosebud” was his fourth wife — the shrew owed him money.

— Reinman

Project Runway Par-Tay!

The last couple of Thursday nights, I’ve been having my mother-in-law, who I like to call Becky-Mom, my brother-in-law, Mike, and sister-in-law, Penny, over to watch Project Runway.

We do what most people like to do while watching this show: make fun of the crazy people and their crazy clothes to match. The only thing is, we’re (or at least me) serious about it. I like to kick Reinman out of the house and make sure no other males (namely Reinman’s other male family) come over while the show is on.

The guys like to make fun of the show and talk while it’s on. I get annoyed but I don’t blame them. It’s not really a “guy” show. (In all honesty, no guys besides Mike have been over to watch the show, but this is how I imagine things would go if they were around). And since the show doesn’t interest them, they talk and their voices get louder and louder. Just thinking about this is annoying me. So, that’s why most boys are not allowed!

Anyways, we sit around and make fun of the show — we make fun of it in the “right” way though. And then my favorite part. We eat snacks. Cookies, cheese and crackers, fruit, little apple tartlets. Last night we had pudding with whipped cream and cookies.

And I have to say my favorite part of the show is Tim Gunn.

Every week they send someone home and Tim is the most compassionate person ever. He tells them he’ll miss them, he might get even teary-eyed, and then he gives them a hug on their way out. Love that man.

I don’t have much to say about last night’s show. It kind of bored me. Dressing models on stilts? Please! And while I like Fallene, it was probably her time to go home. Next week’s episode looks good though! Making PR judge Nina Garcia an outfit should be interesting.

— the Jilb

Uh…We Don’t Know That

We live in this time where technology has allowed us to be more connected than ever, and [yet], we somehow feel more alone than ever.

– Brit Marling, co-writer and star of Another Earth

I don’t mean to pick on Marling. She seems like a smart, lovely person, and Another Earth looks interesting, but her quote — spoken during a recent interview on the excellent Filmspotting podcast — is crap.

Or, at the very least, it has a distinct crap-like odor.

By now, I’ve heard/read variations of this idea so many times (again, nothing personal against Marling — hers was simply the most recent quote I heard) that this idea, this “paradox of our technological age” seems to be a given. Of course technology has caused us to feel more alienated than ever.

Except for one thing.

Huh?

What are Marling and other basing this assumption on? How does one go about proving that we, as the human race, feel more lonely now than decades or centuries ago? Has there been some recent study? And if so, was this same study given three hundred years ago?

In part, I get the sense that Marling and others assume we didn’t feel as lonely because they are blinded by nostalgia. They envision kids playing in the street decades ago, or going back further, a Pa Ingalls-figure playing his fiddle while his family dances the night away with their frontier neighbors, and they contrast those scenes with the modern image of the head buried in the smartphone, like a digital-age ostrich.

But these are merely impressions. The past will always feel more comforting than the future because the future is unknown. Do they forget that a defining characteristic of frontier life was near-constant isolation? Do they really believe that, say, a suburban gay teenager feels more isolated now than he would’ve in 1950?

But more importantly, I believe Marling and others are falling prey to something more insidious than nostalgia — the allure of the Clever Phrase. I am always suspicious of writing that is a little too on the nose. What was initially driving such a sentence, I wonder — was it the idea or the Clever Phrase itself? I’m constantly watching for the latter because I know I’ve been guilty of it myself. I have a great closing line for a paper, and the idea doesn’t quite add up, but boy does it sound smart.

There’s always Kamchatka.

On the Twin Cities radio show Garage Logic, Joe Soucheray plays a certain sound bite whenever someone says something that hasn’t been factually supported. And so, Ms. Marling: “Uh…we don’t know that!”

My 12th grade English teacher, Mr. Bergan, had another way of identifying dubious claims. He called them “God-statements.” In other words, God can say something is so, and it is so. We mortals don’t have that luxury.

Ah, Mr. Bergan, you who hung a crimson sign over the door to your classroom. In black, Gothic type it declared, “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.” As if that were not warning enough, we students entering the room were immediately greeted by a poster-sized illustration of a man with a spear stuck through the back of his neck, the spearhead — protruding out of his wide, screaming mouth — accompanied by shattered teeth and streaking globs of blood. We would go on to learn that this was a depiction of a scene from The Iliad (“Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaians”), but it served just as effectively as a reminder of how mercilessly your red pen would lay bloody waste to our essays.

In the classroom, you carried yourself like a drill sergeant, marching up and down the rows of desks in cowboy boots. You were tall and muscular, and though you were on the verge of retirement, there was not a hint of frailty in your body. Your skin was not wrinkled but coarse like tanned leather. And most distinctive of all was your voice — an authoritative rasp that you masterfully controlled, often building it up in an instant from a high-pitched, almost inaudible question to a booming declaration (“the WRATH of Achilles”) that echoed all through the second floor halls and could be clearly heard in the classrooms directly above and below, scaring the crap out of freshmen who knew that one day they too would have to pass through Bergan’s Inferno.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah. Stop saying stupid things, everybody.

— Reinman

Reinman’s Top 5 Things of Summer

 

5. The Sun

Nothing says “summertime” like Earth’s Yellow Sun. I mean it — nothing. That’s because the Sun’s special way of saying “summertime” is to constantly release 1.366 kW/m² of electromagnetic radiation — a good portion of which gave me a pretty bad sunburn a month or so ago.

As Shakespeare once said, “Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines / Like that one day when I forgot to put on suntan lotion and I got a really bad burn on mine nose.”  I hear you, Bill.

So really, I don’t much care for the Sun at all. That’s why I stuck him at number five.

4. Grass

Ever notice how, like, there’s a lot of grass all over the place in the summer?

3. Bright Copper Kettles

 

2. The Beach

Twenty-something Richard travels to Thailand and finds himself in possession of a strange map. Rumours state that it leads to a solitary beach paradise, a tropical bliss — excited and intrigued, he sets out to find it. (2000). Director: Danny Boyle; Writers: John Hodge (screenplay), Alex Garland (novel); Stars: Leonardo DiCaprio, Daniel York, and Patcharawan Patarakijjanon.

1. Wiffle Ball

No, seriously. Wiffle Ball’s awesome.

— Reinman

The Jilb’s Top 5 Things of Summer

I realized this morning that we only have a month or so left of summer. Am I sad about this? I don’t really know. Anyways, it got me thinking about what my favorite things of summer are. Here’s my top 5 in descending order.

5. Watching TV

I bet you’re thinking that watching TV during the summer is stupid. Well, you’re wrong. And here’s why. For us, we have more time at night during the summer than any other time to watch TV. We love to catch up or start a new TV series because our kids go to bed relatively early. We do still watch a lot of TV during the fall and winter, but it just seems like we get more TV watching done during the summer. Or maybe we just watch a lot of TV. That’s probably it. We just watch too much TV.

The summer is a great time to catch up on all those shows you might have wanted to watch during Fall and Winter but didn’t have time for because you were already watching too much TV to begin with. We’re catching up on our Smallville right now. We plowed through Parks and Rec and Firefly earlier this summer, which are both great shows by the way.

I have a feeling though that watching TV could make my top 5 any time of the year. That’s just how we roll. Plus, it’s fun to watch 2-3 episodes a night of some new show you just found. That and eating lots of snacks. My rule is you must have a new snack with each episode you watch. Think ice cream treats, popcorn, candy, or some sort of baked good.

It’s a wonder how I lost any weight at all.

4. Summer Cuisine

It took me forever to think of the top 5 summer things I loved. I could only think of 4 and then it hit me. What do I love? Food! The smell of burgers being grilled, the sight of yellow sweet corn, ice cream, watermelon, and pretty much any other summer food. I can’t believe I didn’t think of you sooner, Burger. I’m sorry.

3. Backyard Volleyball

photo courtesy of Mike R.

We started playing volleyball in our backyard last year and it’s become a favorite. (At least to me. I’m sure some people are sick of me calling and saying, “Doesn’t it look like a perfect day for volleyball?” “Isn’t the weather outside perfect for volleyball. There’s no wind!” ) I love the ginormous orange ball we use. I think it’s like 8 feet wide. Seriously.

And we have these wires that come dangerously close to the top of the net. If a ball hits a wire you never know what could happen. It could bounce all crazy and smash back at you or it could land just out of the reach of the person it was going to — it’s like plinko in the backyard. I know it annoys some of our players, but I love it!!

I love that backyard volleyball is a game anyone can play. I also love that I feel a little rebellious because we tend to play when our three youngest kids are in bed. We’re having fun and they’re sleeping. Haha, suckers! And then I hear the Bear yelling, “Mommy! Mommy!” because he can see us through the blinds in his room. Poor boy. Go to sleep already.

2. More Family Time

Reinman has summers off (sorta), which means there’s more time for family things, like going to the beach, playing outside, and if we want we can drive 20 miles away to the closest town that has a Target so I can get Starbucks and browse for clothes or good deals. And then the kids get McDonald’s. So everybody wins. Except maybe Reinman since he’s trying to contain four loud, squirmy kids while I walk around with my pile of coupons looking for sales.

1. Iced Coffee

Surprise. Surprise. Since I learned how to make this awesome drink a couple months ago I am slightly obsessed. Slightly.

Spending more time with family should probably be number one, right? Oh, well. I am, as always, honest. So someone bring me some coffee!

And that leaves me to ask: What are your favorite things of summer?

— the Jilb

Somebody Save Me

A couple of nights ago, when the Twins were losing something like 50 – 2 to the Texas Rangers, the Jilb and I decided to start watching that Superman show again. We don’t need much motivation to start blasting through TV seasons. It’s kind of like how we keep finding excuses to celebrate with McDonald’s. (“It’s the first day of summer — let’s celebrate with McDonald’s.” “We split our softball doubleheader — let’s celebrate with McDonald’s.” “It’s Wednesday — let’s celebrate with McDonald’s.”)

This wasn’t our first go-around with Smiley Tom. About four years ago, we banged out the first six seasons of that Superman show (often while eating McDonald’s), just in time to “catch up” to the season seven premiere. We watched the episode, waited a week, watched the next one, and then didn’t watch one again for the next four years. We got bored. When we were watching the show on DVD, we couldn’t get enough of it. When we were watching the show air week-by-week, we completely lost interest.

This has become one of our litmus tests for the quality of a TV show. If we’re late to the game, “catch up” on DVD, and then continue to watch the show week-by-week (Friday Night Lights, Lost, The Office, Community, Parks and Rec), the show must be good on its own merits. If, on the other hand, we “catch up” to a show and then get bored with the weekly installments (Smallville, Scrubs, House, Gilmore Girls), the show, while perhaps solid, probably got an artificial boost from our DVD binges.

(Though, in the case of both Smallville and Gilmore Girls, it could also be argued that we “caught up” at the worst possible time. We started watching both shows “live” at the start of season seven — critically-speaking, the worst season for both series. And you male readers — all three of you — can save your sniggering about Gilmore Girls. Lorelia is an all-time great TV character. Deal.)

But what is it about DVD binges that makes us crave (what are oftentimes mediocre) TV shows?

In a recent Grantland article about the greatness of Friday Night Lights, Carles argues that DVD binges are effective because they break down the barriers between the “real” world and the “reality” of the TV show:

Binging on an entire season of a television show without commercial interruption allows you to completely ‘immerse’ yourself in the world of your new favorite show. You aren’t waiting thru commercials or watching the same annoying network promos over and over again. If you were forced to watch the same show week by week, it wouldn’t be as meaningful because you allow the show’s portrayal of ‘real time’ to override your personal version of real time. Cliffhangers would be obnoxious. By binge-watching, you are spending quality time with the characters, forming a deep emotional connection with them.

First of all, I don’t care how big of a hipster Carles is — it’s spelled “through.” Second, I’m not sure I completely buy the argument. While it’s true that DVD binges free the viewer from commercials, there are no shortages of other outside distractions: snacks, and bathroom breaks, and cell phones, and Twins-score checking, or, more directly, Netflix instant watch “buffering” or even the physical act of popping in the DVDs themselves.

Likewise, it could be argued that DVD binges actually hurt the “reality” of a TV show. When a show airs week-to-week, individual moments carry more “life.” We think about those “cliffhangers” throughout the week. We re-run scenes in our heads and quote lines with friends.

Conversely, when we DVD binge on a show, the details, the nuances, even entire characters (Santiago from FNL anyone?) tend to blur or become lost entirely. It’s kind of like wolfing down a McDouble so fast that you don’t even remember eating it.

Nevertheless, there must be something about DVD binging that makes a show seem better than it actually is. Or maybe it has little to do with the actual show. Maybe it’s the binging itself that’s the hook — you should be doing your homework, you should be going to bed, you should be doing anything, really, besides watching hours and hours of a show you won’t care about a year from now, but it’s only one more episode…

Which brings me back to our current binge. I’m still not sure whether that Superman show is “good” or not, but I must admit I’m looking forward to watching two or three more episodes tonight.

Somebody save me.

— Reinman

P.S. And for goodness sake, stop what you’re doing and DVD binge on Friday Night Lights. I won’t stop bugging you till you do.

The Thrill

Hustle & Flow and Once would pretty much be the exact same movie if not for significant differences in setting, characters, tone, style, and plot.

(For example, one is set in Memphis, the other in Dublin. One centers around a rapping pimp, the other a guitar-strumming Hoover repairman. And in one, the main character tends to look down while holding a mic and wearing a “D-jay” gold necklace, while in the other, the main character often walks out of the frame on a giant, physics-defying guitar neck.)

But casting aside those minor quibbles, both movies share something at the core — characters who feel compelled to make music. It is no coincidence, then, that the the best scene in Hustle & Flow and the best scene in Once are more alike than not.

In the best Hustle & Flow scene, D-jay is preparing, for the first time, to record the rap lyrics he’s been working on for years, hoping that a career in music will help him escape from his crappy life (because it’s hard out there for a pimp). But things aren’t looking too hopeful. His recording studio is little more than a small bedroom that he’s “soundproofed” by stapling cardboard cartons to the walls, and the person who’s about to lay down the music track is some gangly white geek named “Shelby.”

Shelby begins the session by experimenting on a keyboard, trying out variations on a six-note riff, while D-jay looks on, impassive. But after just a few quick moments, Shelby finds something that works and begins layering the track — hand-claps, and high-hat, and rattles, and snare, and bass — completing a radio-ready music track in about thirty seconds. D-jay, almost involuntarily at first, begins bobbing to the music and then, after his friend Key prompts him, launches into his hook, “Whoop that trick.”

By the end of the song, the bedroom has drawn a little crowd, with D-jay, Shelby, Key, and two of D-jay’s “employees” all waving their arms in the air and hollering “Whoop that trick!” at the top of their lungs, lost in the music and forgetting, for a moment, their hopeless circumstances. (It’s a magical moment, to be sure, and it’s only slightly tempered by the fact that the song is about beating up prostitutes.)

While the best scene from Once doesn’t match that raw energy, it shares in that same thrill of spontaneously creating something special with someone else. In the scene, a street musician, named simply “the Guy,” and a flower vendor, named “the Girl,” are sitting down at a piano in a music shop. The Girl admires the Guy’s songs and wants to accompany him on the piano. After the Guy shows her the sheet music to one of his songs, he begins playing, slowly picking the opening notes on his acoustic guitar while carefully watching the Girl to make sure she’s following along.

Midway through the first verse, the Girl not only is easily keeping pace with the piano, but she begins singing as well, perfectly harmonizing with him. The Guy can only smile. At that moment, it’s become abundantly clear to him that, musically at least, they are completely compatible.

In both scenes, the main characters have a burning drive to create music, but they are unable to reach their full potential alone. So they find help. There is, then, in both scenes, a sense of uncertainty early on, but this soon gives way to trust — once the others prove themselves — followed by complete rapture during the performance.

It is, I think, that spontaneous thrill of creating with others that at least partly explains why Jill and I are on our fourth blog, or why the Colonel and I are beginning Book 2 even while Book 1 remains in limbo, or why I’m constantly collaborating with friends and family to write, shoot, and edit videos that will only be seen by a handful of people.

(Speaking of which, if you’re out there, Professor — soon to be Dr. Professor — I know you’re busy writing about curriculum mapping, and collaborative learning, and, um, other doctorly things, but it’s time to finish The Pilot.)

Like the characters in in those scenes, we’re all seeking that thrill when we create — that sense that, by ourselves, we can be good, but with someone else, we can be something truly special.

That, and money.

— Reinman

Hoth: The Dumbest Battle in Movie History

I love The Empire Strikes Back. Obviously. But let’s all be honest for a moment — the battle of Hoth doesn’t make a lick of sense.

Let’s start with the most iconic feature of the battle — the walkers, which are, perhaps, the most impractical war machines ever devised, real or imagined. Now don’t get me wrong — I love the design of the walkers. There is something sublime (read: “terrifying” in the Romantic sense) in watching these hulking machines, these mythological giants, slowly and deliberately lay waste to everything in their path. When the Rebels call for retreat, I get chills every time I see the shot of three walkers simultaneously tilting their heads down — away from strategic targets and toward the soldiers, fleeing across the icy plain with no cover, seconds from being massacred (yet another “chill moment” I forgot to add to that old YNCTwB post.)

But — artistic merit aside — from a strategic standpoint, they’re absolutely ridiculous. They’re comically slow (seriously, when Luke crashes in front of a walker, and one of the feet is descending to crush him, he has enough time to grab a handful of supplies, pour a cup of coffee, and have a nice little chat with ghost-Ben before diving out of the way, right in the nick of time), their weapons only face one direction, and their long legs create a glaring weakness. AT-ATs are slow, gangly, and awkward — not the best combination for an instrument of war. Imagine the Rohirrim riding into the battle of Minas Tirith on a thundering herd of giraffes (actually, that would be pretty awesome).

But it takes two sides to wage the dumbest battle in movie history, and the Rebels certainly pull their weight. Let’s examine their strategy. They’re fighting war machines that, as we’ve already determined, have some pretty obvious limitations. Because the walkers’ guns only face forward, and because it takes so long for walkers to change direction, there is only a very limited area in which they can hurt you — namely, a straight line directly in front of them.

And so what do the Rebels do? They insist on flying straight along this imaginary “hurt line” like they’re on some sort of two-lane highway. Now, doing this once at the beginning of the battle would be bad enough, and yet, every time the movie cuts back to the Snowspeeders, there they are again, flying directly at the front of the walkers. It’s like they’re going out of their way to put themselves in danger. Like, they race past the walkers, and then immediately turn around in a wide loop so they can get shot at again as quickly as possible. As always, I blame the Force.

Clearly, what the Rebels should’ve done was circle the battlefield to get behind the walkers. Then, they could’ve just hovered behind them and blasted the crap of their rear-ends since, you know, there were no guns back there. And by the way, where were the X-wings during all of this? And don’t say they were all escorting the transports because there were a bunch of them just sitting around after the battle. (You remember the scene — it’s when Luke and some random pilot were making upbeat small-talk after their base had just been overrun and all of their friends were either dead or fleeing for their lives.) So that armor was “too strong for blasters,” huh? Why not try a pair of proton torpedoes? They only blew up the Death Star. Morons.

Instead, Luke was too busy giving helpful orders like “attack pattern Delta” (which, apparently, is a very specific attack that involves flying between the legs of one walker and shooting the unimportant, armored top panel of another — if I were in Rogue Squadron, it would be just the sort of hyper-specific attack pattern I would enjoy, if, you know, my life weren’t on the line) and “stay tight and low,” an order he gives while, you guessed it, flying directly at the front of the walkers.

Not Commander Skywalker’s finest hour.

By the way, I realize that George tried to fix the walker design in Episode II with the, um, AAT-TETE. It has six, stubby legs, so it can’t be easily tripped up, and its guns turrets can swivel and point in more than one direction. I guess.

AAT-TETE. Awesome.

So, if you want to argue that the battle of Geoniminsimino is better than the battle of Hoth because the walkers are more practical, feel free to never read this blog again.

On the other hand, I doubt that anyone who bothered to read this entire post is in danger of thinking that.

— Reinman

The Eeyore Problem

A new Winnie-the-Pooh movie opened this weekend to remarkably high reviews (currently, 91% on Rotten Tomatoes). I have no doubt the movie is well-made, heart-warming, and generally far better than a number of the current alternatives. However, no matter how high the reviews or how postive the word-of-mouth, I’m already somewhat soured on it, because if the trailer is any indication, this new movie is yet another Winnie-the-Pooh adaptation that completely misses the mark with Eeyore.

(Now, if the movie only missed on Eeyore, that’s something of a win, considering that the late ’80s adaptation, The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, completely bastardized every single character — for proof, look no further than that abomination of a theme song. And don’t defend it because it’s “nostalgic.”  Just because something’s nostalgic doesn’t automatically make it good.  I’m looking at you, Princess Bride. Boy, this whole Eeyore thing’s got me more fired up than I thought.)

Here’s an exchange from the new Winnie the Pooh trailer:

Pooh thinks Owl is sneezing, mistaking “issue” for “ah-choo.”

Pooh (to Owl): “You must be catching a cold.”

Eeyore: “I’ll probably catch it too.”

Now, there is nothing inherently wrong with this exchange.  In A. A. Milne’s books, Eeyore is saying depressing things all the time.  The problem with the exchange from the trailer, and with every later adaptation of Eeyore, isn’t what is said, but what is left out. Adaptation Eeyore is one-dimensional — just a sad sack that needs a little cheering up. Adaptation Eeyore just needs a little love. And once someone succeeds in breaking through his prickly outer shell, Adaptation Eeyore invariably looks something like this:

Now, excuse me while I go make a vomit.

Okay, I’m back. Let’s resume things with a little exercise. Compare the Disney-fied Eeyore with the image at the top of this post, an Ernest Shepard illustration from Milne’s book. I trust you’ve detected a handful of slight differences.

So what went wrong? How did we get from Milne’s (and Shepard’s) original vision of Eeyore to that . . . thing?

The answer is actually quite simple — in A. A. Milne’s books, Eeyore spends most of the time acting like a royal ass. Not depressing yet deceptively cute. Not curmudgeonly yet secretly cuddly. Not emo. Just a big ass.

Disney had a marketing problem.

In Milne’s books, Eeyore doesn’t just say depressing things to be depressing. He says depressing things to prove his superiority. He views himself as surrounded by creatures of lesser intelligence — heads literally full of stuffing — creatures so stupid that they are unable to notice the most basic instances of suffering around them. Eeyore is constantly bringing up slights, both real and imagined, because he things everyone else is too stupid to take notice. In fact, Eeyore is so arrogant, he spends good portions of dialogue seemingly conversing with himself, the implication being that everyone else is too dense to pick up on his nuanced train of thought.

Consider this passage from Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh in which Christopher Robin and company pause an Expotition expedition for lunch.

“Have you all got something?” asked Christopher Robin with his mouth full.

“All except me,” said Eeyore. “As Usual.” He looked round at them in his melancholy way. “I suppose none of you are sitting on a thistle by any chance?”

“I believe I am,” said Pooh. “Ow!” He got up, and looked behind him. “Yes, I was. I thought so.”

“Thank you, Pooh. If you’ve quite finished with it.” He moved across to Pooh’s place, and began to eat.

“It don’t do them any Good, you know, sitting on them,” he went on, as he looked up munching. “Takes all the Life out of them. Remember that another time, all of you. A little Consideration, a little Thought for Others, makes all the difference.”

See? Eeyore really is a condescending B-hole. No wonder, in Shepard’s illustration, the expedition party marches on while leaving Eeyore behind. Who can blame them? But here’s the key — Eeyore, in Milne’s books, isn’t just a B-hole. If her were, he would be just as one-dimensional as Adaptation Eeyore, only in a decidedly darker manner.

Milne’s Eeyore, like any great character, is multi-layered, capable of surprising the reader at any moment.

For example, in perhaps the most well-known Eeyore story, he begins the day by informing Pooh that it’s his birthday. Ever playing the martyr, he says that no one remembered, but it’s okay because cake and icing and merriment aren’t for everyone.

So far, typical Eeyore.

Pooh, of course, feels horrible and rushes home to get Eeyore a birthday present. He selects a pot of honey, but on the way to deliver it, he forgets who the honey was for and licks the jar clean. Piglet, meanwhile, chooses a big red balloon for Eeyore, but as he hurries to deliver it, he stumbles and falls and pops the balloon.

Piglet gives his “gift” — the shredded balloon fragment — first. Eeyore asks what color it was, when it was a balloon. Piglet says red, and, of course, Eeyore sadly says that red is his favorite color. Again the martyr. Pooh gives his gift next — the empty honey pot. This is the perfect opportunity for Eeyore to once again lecture Pooh, to point out — in his usual roundabout way — how selfish and inconsiderate it is to consume the gift you’re giving to someone.

But something else happens. Eeyore appears excited. He notices that the balloon fits into the pot — not something an inflated balloon could do — and he takes pride that his balloon is able to do so. Without a trace of irony, Eeyore spends the rest of the afternoon taking the balloon out of the pot and putting it back in “as happy as could be.”

It’s a brilliant moment — completely unexpected and genuinely moving.

And none of it would be possible if Eeyore wasn’t such an ass in the first place.

— Reinman

Lessons

As any fan of Cougar Town knows, titles are hard. Fortunately, the Jilb and I struck gold with Reini Days, which is, without argument, the greatest title for any work of art in the history of mankind (with, perhaps, a single exception made for Paul Blart: Mall Cop).

So, we knew right away that we had hit a grand slam dunk with our title. Nevertheless, we decided to go through the motions and make a list of alternative titles because, let’s face it, we have nothing but free time on our hands.

At the top of my list were Blogtopus and Snow Goons Are Bad News. The first needs no explanation. The second, though, is worth commenting on.

It is a reference to the comic strip series Calvin and Hobbes. In one famous sequence, Calvin spends a winter’s night battling an army of mutant, killer snowmen. He fights the “snow goons” off with a garden hose, covering the front lawn in a layer of ice and waking up his parents in the process (his dad, at one point, comes running out of the house, slips on the ice, falls in a snowbank, and emerges as the most dangerous snow goon yet). Needless to say, Calvin is in big trouble the next day. When Hobbes ask him if he’s learned a lesson, Calvin replies matter-of-factly with “Snow goons are bad news.”

Clearly, he learned his lesson.

Like Calvin, I have an affinity for hyper-specific maxims. My previous blog was titled You Never Can Tell with Bees, a Winnie-the-Pooh quote that can be applied to any number of circumstances, such as trying to steal hunny honey from a beehive while disguised as a rain cloud and wondering if the bees recognize you.  And others.

(Check out my old blog, by the way, if you’re interested in reading an obscene amount of self-promotion about obscure college projects that the vast majority of the public will never see. Also, there was a lot of this.)

I think it’s my love for useless maxims that causes me to become so offended when fictional characters try to teach me conceivably applicable life-lessons. I’m looking at you Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Wait, those aren’t “fictional characters,” you say?  Ha! Have you seen that show? No? Well I have. That’s right, I’ve watched that Kardashian show.  And you thought all that “loads of free time” stuff earlier was just a joke. Nope. I’ve got all the time in the world.

Seriously, how did people ever raise kids before reality TV marathons?

After all, “TVs are for BBs.”

— Reinman