I don’t know, Helen. I’m pretty happy that Benny just called a cleaning crew instead.
Things I have learned this week so far
- Jack LaLanne was addicted to sugar as a child and may have set fire to his house and chased his brother with an axe as a result
- I think I visited the infamous secret army propaganda film studio at Lookout Mountain without realizing it back in the ’90s
- Squirrel monkeys are either vegans or they haven’t learned the fine art of sifting Jell-o through one’s teeth
Still… moving
On Sunday evening Benny, Kenny, Matteo and I spent some time at a little pocket park at the edge of a parking lot. We watched a young boy skateboard across the parking lot as a car followed behind him. The boy would reach the end of the parking lot, the car would catch up, there would be some discussion, and then the boy would turn around and skateboard back across the parking lot. This happened for a long time. I caught some of it on film near the end when there were more frequent negotiations, perhaps because the car was getting tired.
I think the scene plays better if you turn the sound off.
Mean Reds, meet the Pink Terror
I used to work with this girl who wore a different monochromatic outfit every day. No prints, no stripes, no polka dots. Just one solid color per day. I don’t think she had a favorite color (though she did dye her hair blue at one point); she had really cute yellow outfits, and really cute pink outfits, and really cute green outfits.
I was always kind of impressed by her dedication, because coincidentally I had tried doing monochromatic outfits myself one time in high school and didn’t even last a week before I was reduced to gold fleece. One day, however, she told me that she didn’t do it because she wanted to do it; she did it because she had to do it. It was a problem she had. If she had a blue outfit all set for the day but the only clean underpants she had was green, she would have a panic attack. Nobody would see the green underpants if she wore them, but she would know they were there. I think she must have gone without wearing underpants a lot of the time, or else she was extremely organized.
As I recall, the only exception she had to the solid monochrome look was plaid. I don’t know what that means.
Video found via The Everlasting Blort
Candyland
You know what disappoints me? Well, lots of things disappoint me, but do you know what disappoints me this very moment in regards to what I am thinking about this very moment?
There is going to be a movie based on the game for kindergarten babies beloved childhood board game Candy Land, and I’m pretty sure that the whole goddamned thing is going to be CGI. I realize that Universal Studios, the studio producing this epic pile of crap is in Universal City and not Burbank, but Burbank is a mere 5.6 miles away from Universal City. And Burbank already has real-life Candy Land houses, brought to my attention by my friend Wag. Behold the Otter Pop house:
and the Bomb Pop house:
And it appears from the looks of their matching windmills and shared AstroTurf™ front yard that these houses are owned by the same person,
so the location permit would be a snap to get. Bring on the Molasses Swamp!
Let’s make a deal
I’ll go see Avatar, but only if someone can promise me it’s better than this:
I’m waiting…
via Coudal
Hooray for Santy Claus
My mom’s next door neighbor is named Bill McCutcheon. There’s an actor in Santa Claus Conquers The Martians named Bill McCutcheon. I wonder…
Store front art, Ghana style
Yesterday at work I processed some paperwork for the use of 45 Grave’s song “Party Time” in an independent film. The song is a real fist-pumping rock anthem, but because of its subject matter it’s not often licensed for use in films or video games or animated plush toys. So it was kind of interesting that I processed this paperwork the same day I came across a really spectacular poster for the only other movie I’m aware of having used the song:
According to the good people at Bongout Gallery, movie theater owners in Ghana until very recently depended on the handiwork of artists working freestyle with stitched-together flour sack canvases to bring in audiences. Some of the results are far greater works of art than the movies themselves, though perhaps on the opposite end of the “art” spectrum from the famed movie posters of Poland. And that earns them a spot in my store front art hall of fame. Please pass the brains popcorn.
Hierarchy
I’m not trying to stir the pot today. Really, I’m not. I’m not the person who wrote:
“Do you understand this, Twilight fans? Regular vampires are shit. They can only beat Zombies, Witches, assorted Poltergeists, and Mr. Hyde. That is BARELY BETTER THAN A REGULAR PERSON. Shut the fuck up about vampires.”
in an incredibly thorough and informative online guide about the relative powers of various monsters. Wasn’t me. If I had written that, I would be the most powerful monster of all.
New Hollywood
After Saw 6‘s “underperformance” (all of a sudden second place is underperformance?) at the box office this weekend, some entertainment industry wags are wringing their hands about whether this is the End Of The Sequel. I don’t know about you, but I find this hand-wringing to be a little premature.
First off, I am 100% sure that Saw 6‘s failure to capture the weekend’s number one spot is the result of a torpedo job by the American health insurance industry. When the triumphant climax of the latest chapter in the most successful Western giallo franchise in recent history is (SPOILER ALERT) an orphan boy injecting hydrofluoric acid into every square inch of a health insurance executive’s body because the exec denied coverage to the orphan boy’s father when he needed a life-saving treatment, you know that Blue Shield and Pacificare and Cigna are going to do their best to make that film disappear before the general public starts getting some ideas of their own.
I think the lesson we’ve learned from the Saw 6 first weekend numbers is not that sequels are dying, but that there’s a lot more scary muscle behind the health insurance industry than any of us expected. I applaud Saw 6 for going after this monster instead of playing it safe. To those chickenshit film execs solely worried about the bottom line, I say don’t throw out the idea of the film franchise. Without the Idea Of The Sequel, we might never have gotten to enjoy Beetlejuice 2.
Author’s note: Director Kevin Greutert in no way influenced my positive review of Saw 6, but in the interest of full disclosure I should note that he did provide me with some Flamin’ Hot Funyuns and Veuve Clicquot Saturday night.
