The other night my husband eagerly asked if we could use our joint Netflix time to watch Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. He quickly added that I could veto his choice, but he looked so excited that I couldn't say no. I felt the nerd-mones in my blood rise... I'm enough of a dork without having seen any Star Trek movies, so I just prayed that viewing one wouldn't send me straight into a geek coma.
I think my agreeableness was quickly cancelled out by the fact that I had many questions to voice during the movie. Hey, I like to thoroughly understand everything I watch, and though it was no Inception, I still had some general inquiries about this 1982 cinematic gem. Here they are, in no particular order:
1. Halfway through the movie, Captain (I mean, Admiral) Kirk crosses paths with a former flame. He then discovers a blond, curly-haired young man who turns out to be (surprise!) his son. This may be presumptuous, but in the year 3 MILLION (or whatever year it's supposed to be), haven't people figured out how to prevent unplanned pregnancies? Furthermore, the son looked about fifteen years (at best) younger than his parents.
2. Why does one character have a Scottish accent and another one sound Russian? These people are routinely travelling all over the universe and probably have been for most of their lives... wouldn't they just sound neutral at this point?!
3. Please explain how the "beam me up" thing works. If people can just beam themselves places, why do they even need spaceships? I'm sure there's a detailed explanation for this, and I welcome it.
4. Kirstie Alley plays the steely female Vulcan ship commander. Whose casting choice was this? When I thoughtfully brought this up, Howard simply reasoned that "Kirstie Alley was hot **** in the eighties," and we moved on. I still wasn't convinced.
5. Let's talk about Khan and his so-called "wrath." First of all, "wrath" is a strong word to use when referring to an old man dressed like a ThunderCat. The guy had bangs, for heaven's sake! Not the most convincing movie villain I've ever seen... plus, his posse had supposedly been marooned on a desert planet for a couple decades and looked like they were one pair of legwarmers away from a Cats audition.
Yes, I know it was the frickin' EIGHTIES, but I'm not sure what the costume designers were thinking. The only, and I mean ONLY, time an antagonist has gotten away with a mullet and jumpsuit was in Labyrinth. And that was because David Bowie's incredible. Sorry, what was I talking about again?
6. The Enterprise had special shields that could be activated when the crew felt the ship was in danger. I'm no rocket scientist, but why wouldn't you just make that a default feature? Howard had a theory for this, and that was "Maybe flying around with the shields on would deplete too much power." Isn't it worth budgeting extra for that?
7. [spoiler alert] Spock DIED at the end! WHAT? I didn't even know that could happen! He's, like, the only character I could even name before watching the movie and they killed him off. Kind of harsh and, in retrospect, a poor choice for my first Star Trek experience*
Well, that about wraps up my most pressing inquiries. Feel free to enlighten me if there's anything I missed and or clearly don't understand. These are the things that keep me awake at night...
")
*This technically wasn't my "first" Star Trek experience. I tried to watch the more recent, high tech, polished version that came out staring some pretty boy whose name escapes me. I didn't even make it halfway through the movie because something was rubbing me the wrong way. Then I found out that the wicked JJ Abrams had laid his cursed hands upon the film, promptly shook my fist at the sky, and went and did something more productive with my day. Which isn't saying much.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
A Dating Red Flag
After a failed relationship years ago I sent my older (younger) brother to Barnes and Noble to buy It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken. Considering my brother went through great lengths for many years to deny any relation to me, it was pretty amazing that he marched into the SELF HELP section of a store and returned with this literary gem. If you have not heard of this book, it's by Sex and the City writer Greg Behrendt, also author of the classic He's Just Not That Into You. Both books are incredible and helped me avoid future mismatched relationships and land the man I'm lucky enough to now call my husband. But who wants to hear about lovey dovey fairy tales when there are more embarrassing stories to be told? ONWARD!
Let's go back to the year 2004. I had been dating... let's call him "Laser" just for kicks. Laser was (and still is) a nice guy, but it was clear early on that it wasn't an ideal match. He "lost" my number a couple times before we finally managed to arrange a first date, but eventually we began steadily seeing one another.
About five months went by, and he invited me to visit some friends in California with him. This was around the time the show the OC was pretty hip with the "kids," and since I had never been to the West Coast I was all in! The fact that we would be staying at his friend, a part-time model's, house didn't deter me enough to say no.
Laser offered to book the plane tickets and not-so-subtley hinted that his part-time model friend could teach me a thing or two about makeup and fashion sense (I'm pretty sure a crossing guard could do the same; that bar is pretty low). It's safe to say that a few red flags were being raised early on into this "relationship," but this next exchange was more of a red flag staple-gunned to a giant neon billboard that was then set on fire...
One evening a week before our trip, Laser called to confirm our travel arrangements. Flight times, airport, etc. And then he said, "I booked your ticket. Your last name is spelled B-U-S-W-E-L-L, right?" It's important to now note that my last name was BusFIELD. He did not just misspell it. He completely changed the second syllable. I cracked up, assuming he was joking (after all, his saving grace had been a sharp sense of humor). But when there was no laughter being returned on the other line, the harsh reality began to set in. My boyfriend of almost HALF A YEAR, who I also WORKED WITH, did not know my last name. I'm not sure if you need a book to tell you that that's a very, very, very, awful sign.
To add insult to injury (a prominent theme of most of my stories), his response was something along the lines of how hard it is for a busy guy like him to keep up with minutia like "last names." He also expressed annoyance at the fact that, what with new airline regulations, it would cost him about a hundred dollars to change the name on the ticket.
Ladies, there are lots of wonderful guys (and gals!) out there, but not everyone's compatible. Hold out for a partner who loves you the way you are, builds you up, makes you happy, and knows how to FREAKIN' SPELL YOUR FREAKIN' NAME! I'm happy to say that my husband fulfills all of these high-maintenance, pie-in-the-sky requirements.
")
Let's go back to the year 2004. I had been dating... let's call him "Laser" just for kicks. Laser was (and still is) a nice guy, but it was clear early on that it wasn't an ideal match. He "lost" my number a couple times before we finally managed to arrange a first date, but eventually we began steadily seeing one another.
About five months went by, and he invited me to visit some friends in California with him. This was around the time the show the OC was pretty hip with the "kids," and since I had never been to the West Coast I was all in! The fact that we would be staying at his friend, a part-time model's, house didn't deter me enough to say no.
Laser offered to book the plane tickets and not-so-subtley hinted that his part-time model friend could teach me a thing or two about makeup and fashion sense (I'm pretty sure a crossing guard could do the same; that bar is pretty low). It's safe to say that a few red flags were being raised early on into this "relationship," but this next exchange was more of a red flag staple-gunned to a giant neon billboard that was then set on fire...
One evening a week before our trip, Laser called to confirm our travel arrangements. Flight times, airport, etc. And then he said, "I booked your ticket. Your last name is spelled B-U-S-W-E-L-L, right?" It's important to now note that my last name was BusFIELD. He did not just misspell it. He completely changed the second syllable. I cracked up, assuming he was joking (after all, his saving grace had been a sharp sense of humor). But when there was no laughter being returned on the other line, the harsh reality began to set in. My boyfriend of almost HALF A YEAR, who I also WORKED WITH, did not know my last name. I'm not sure if you need a book to tell you that that's a very, very, very, awful sign.
To add insult to injury (a prominent theme of most of my stories), his response was something along the lines of how hard it is for a busy guy like him to keep up with minutia like "last names." He also expressed annoyance at the fact that, what with new airline regulations, it would cost him about a hundred dollars to change the name on the ticket.
Ladies, there are lots of wonderful guys (and gals!) out there, but not everyone's compatible. Hold out for a partner who loves you the way you are, builds you up, makes you happy, and knows how to FREAKIN' SPELL YOUR FREAKIN' NAME! I'm happy to say that my husband fulfills all of these high-maintenance, pie-in-the-sky requirements.
")
Monday, October 1, 2012
Ignore Grey and Call the Midwife
I'm in the throes of a new break-up with someone who's been close to me for over six years. Actually, more than one person... like, eight or nine. They are the cast of Grey's Anatomy.
When the show started in 2005, if I may be so bold, I believe 99% of all creatures with ovaries and a television were hooked. Gorgeous, emotionally-available male doctors; fierce, intelligent female med students with perfectly blown-out hair; stellar writing and plots so exciting you'd occasionally spill some Pinot Grigio onto your faded pajama pants... What was not to love?!
Sadly, I think Grey's has fallen into a predicament that many shows have also succumbed to: not knowing when to say when. Seinfeld is probably the only show I can name that avoided this: they recognized when they had reached their peak and bid audiences adieu, leaving us wanting more but sparing us the risk of additional, sub-par seasons. Unlike, oh, I don't know, LOST, which was all "Oh you like that? Plane crashes, islands, and polar bears? Well how about some time travel? Ancient folklore? Oh, keep going, you say? How about four more seasons and then we'll just end everything without explaining a thing?" In case I haven't said this already, A WAG OF MY FINGER, LOST! You should still be ashamed of yourself...
The Office, as much as I LOVE that show, should have gracefully given their curtain call when Steve Carrell left. I know some people would disagree, and that's fine. I just think the once laugh-until-your-intestines-hurt show is now just "amusing." Plus, it would have been a perfect ending: the staff of Dunder Mifflin finally appreciating Michael Scott and Michael Scott finally getting what he's always dreamed of: his perfect female match.
Sex And the City... PERFECT ending to an incredible series. And then some greedy jerks who saw how sad we were to say goodbye to Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte decided to make not ONE but TWO movies and capitalize on our unwillingness to let go. Was that really necessary? I know some people loved the movies (I found the first one depressing as heck and the second one funny but not show-quality), but if Kate Winslet can let a handsome young Leonardo DiCaprio sink below a frozen ocean, then we CAN let go of Sex And the City. It's time, ladies (and some gentlemen), and if you're looking for a good replacement then check out HBO's "Girls."
Back to my point. I think I had one... Grey's Anatomy has done EVERYTHING and needs to call it a series. Everyone's slept with everyone, everyone's been married and divorced, everyone's performed emergency surgery on everyone else, illegitimate babies have been birthed and adorable orphans have been adopted... not to mention a preview last week promised that the doctors would face THEIR GREATEST CHALLENGE EVER. Um... wasn't the hospital invaded by an insane gunman a couple seasons ago who KILLED half the staff?! Was that NOT their greatest challenge ever?
Plot desperation aside, that's not what made me finally decide to give up on the show. What made me say "STOP IT, GORGEOUS DOCTORS! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!" is when I was catching up on an episode from last season and a premature newborn was taken off life support and died in his mother's arms. Not cool, writers! NOT COOL! Everyone knows that a newborn on a show receives a last-minute miracle and LIVES. Those are the rules! Through my hot, angry tears I decided that we were THROUGH. I haven't been this angry since my rant at JJ Abrams...
I have traded Grey's for another show entitled "Call the Midwife." So far, so good... one close call with a premature baby appearing to be stillborn, but LO AND BEHOLD! A last minute miracle and the baby is healthy and cooing in his mother's arms. Now THAT'S how it's done, Hollywood. We could all take a nod from the BBC.
Have I mentioned I think I need to get out more?
")
When the show started in 2005, if I may be so bold, I believe 99% of all creatures with ovaries and a television were hooked. Gorgeous, emotionally-available male doctors; fierce, intelligent female med students with perfectly blown-out hair; stellar writing and plots so exciting you'd occasionally spill some Pinot Grigio onto your faded pajama pants... What was not to love?!
Sadly, I think Grey's has fallen into a predicament that many shows have also succumbed to: not knowing when to say when. Seinfeld is probably the only show I can name that avoided this: they recognized when they had reached their peak and bid audiences adieu, leaving us wanting more but sparing us the risk of additional, sub-par seasons. Unlike, oh, I don't know, LOST, which was all "Oh you like that? Plane crashes, islands, and polar bears? Well how about some time travel? Ancient folklore? Oh, keep going, you say? How about four more seasons and then we'll just end everything without explaining a thing?" In case I haven't said this already, A WAG OF MY FINGER, LOST! You should still be ashamed of yourself...
The Office, as much as I LOVE that show, should have gracefully given their curtain call when Steve Carrell left. I know some people would disagree, and that's fine. I just think the once laugh-until-your-intestines-hurt show is now just "amusing." Plus, it would have been a perfect ending: the staff of Dunder Mifflin finally appreciating Michael Scott and Michael Scott finally getting what he's always dreamed of: his perfect female match.
Sex And the City... PERFECT ending to an incredible series. And then some greedy jerks who saw how sad we were to say goodbye to Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte decided to make not ONE but TWO movies and capitalize on our unwillingness to let go. Was that really necessary? I know some people loved the movies (I found the first one depressing as heck and the second one funny but not show-quality), but if Kate Winslet can let a handsome young Leonardo DiCaprio sink below a frozen ocean, then we CAN let go of Sex And the City. It's time, ladies (and some gentlemen), and if you're looking for a good replacement then check out HBO's "Girls."
Back to my point. I think I had one... Grey's Anatomy has done EVERYTHING and needs to call it a series. Everyone's slept with everyone, everyone's been married and divorced, everyone's performed emergency surgery on everyone else, illegitimate babies have been birthed and adorable orphans have been adopted... not to mention a preview last week promised that the doctors would face THEIR GREATEST CHALLENGE EVER. Um... wasn't the hospital invaded by an insane gunman a couple seasons ago who KILLED half the staff?! Was that NOT their greatest challenge ever?
Plot desperation aside, that's not what made me finally decide to give up on the show. What made me say "STOP IT, GORGEOUS DOCTORS! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!" is when I was catching up on an episode from last season and a premature newborn was taken off life support and died in his mother's arms. Not cool, writers! NOT COOL! Everyone knows that a newborn on a show receives a last-minute miracle and LIVES. Those are the rules! Through my hot, angry tears I decided that we were THROUGH. I haven't been this angry since my rant at JJ Abrams...
I have traded Grey's for another show entitled "Call the Midwife." So far, so good... one close call with a premature baby appearing to be stillborn, but LO AND BEHOLD! A last minute miracle and the baby is healthy and cooing in his mother's arms. Now THAT'S how it's done, Hollywood. We could all take a nod from the BBC.
Have I mentioned I think I need to get out more?
")
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