Innocent Bystander

Action porn: GI Joe and Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen...

On the surface, it seems like the perfect action-packed double feature: the summer blockbusters--both based on Hasbro toy lines GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra and the second Transformers movie, Revenge of the Fallen. In actual viewing? Well...not so much.

Let's start with GI Joe, which is a nonsensical, bloated piece of crap. They at least went for a little star power on this, including Dennis Quaid as the Joe's leader, the jug-eared and mumbling Channing Tatum as the lead Joe, one of the Wayans Brothers (they're pretty much all interchangeable), Joseph Gordon-Levitt, clearly slumming for a paycheck from his recent run of indie flicks, and Sienna Miller as the evil Baroness Sarah Palin (pictured at left). The action is non-stop, relentless and never-ending. Seriously: This film is so action-filled, you want to just take a break and go read on the toilet for 15 minutes or so. Just don't take the DVD with you to flush when finished.

There is some kind of plot about a set of bombs that once detonated use nanobots to eat everything they touch. The best scene is when they destroy the Eiffel Tower. That's pretty much the only best scene. Oh, and you might want to turn on the subtitles to try and understand what Channing Tatum is saying most of the time. His mumbling, slurry diction proves he was better off as a male stripper.

If GI Joe is bloated, the second Transformers movie is that big fat guy from the Monty Python movie, The Meaning of Life, who eats until he bursts. Clocking in at 2 hours and 27 minutes ROTF (wait...where those initials intentional? Revenge Of The Fallen? Rolling On The Floor? Is that what Michael Bay is doing, except in piles and piles of money?) is the true epitome of "Action Porn," a term I'm sure I'm not clever enough to have coined (but I'll take credit for, thank you very much). I'm so glad I didn't watch this in Blu-ray, because the screen is so busy most of the time, I think my eyeballs would have exploded. That and the sad, horrible objectification of that young, talented actress Megan Fox, who is subjected to long lingering camera shots while she airbrushes a motorcycle in skin-tight cut-offs. (Fox, not the motorcycle.) One day, Ms. Fox will win an Oscar for an adaptation of Shakespeare, no doubt, even if it is performed in skin-tight cut-offs. (Fox, not Shakespeare.) But I digress...although I can't seem to remember what from...

Oh, yeah! So these giant robots are so busy and filled with doohickeys and moving parts and stuff that in Blu-Ray I think my TV set would overheat and start smoking. And then there's the part where suddenly Shia LeBeouf has his hand all bandaged up. No explanation (unless I was looking at Ms. Fox's skin-tight jeans), just the price he paid for rolling his truck during shooting (albeit off the set). He may have been hoping for a coma, at least until shooting ended.

For your own protection, I strongly urge you to NOT watch these two films on the same day. I didn't, and I'm thankful for that one small bit of simple common sense on my part. Otherwise my head would have exploded, and I hate when that happens.

Photo finish...

I have spent the bulk of my weekend looking at photos for a work project. This will sound like an exaggeration, but I "only" have 6,000 more photos to look at out of 37,500. Those 6,000 represent just TWO photographers. One folder I opened had over 2,800 photos in it. To say I'm a bit bleary-eyed is an understatement, but mainly I'm worried about my poor computer's right arrow key. I've abused it steadily for 4 days now. In fact, the arrow looks a little...wilted.

While looking today, I was also watching...well, I don't really watch football as much as have it on the TV for company. SILENT company. I think most sports network sports announcers are morons in embroidered logo jackets, so I keep it on mute. But the interesting thing about watching the home team--in this case the San Diego Chargers--with the sound turned off is that you always know when there's a big play, even if your eyes aren't glued to the screen. I live downtown and if the Chargers score a touchdown, I know it. A roar goes up from the numerous bars and restaurants up and down my street. So when the Bolts scored with like 40 seconds left to tie the game, then went onto to kick the extra point to pull ahead 21-20, you'd think the Berlin Wall came down again.

So tonight I'm giving my eyes and my arrow key a rest. The last episode of Mad Men is on in one hour, and I have a good book to fall into. Those other 6,000 f*ckin' f*tos can wait until tomorrow.

Friday Foto #102...

Man of Steel and Sunshine. To see more of my photos, Friday or otherwise, click here!

Of tomato juice and dinner rolls...

I've recently added tomato juice (well V-8) to my daily regimen of food. Okay, that sounds too high-falutin'. Let's just say I've made an effort to drink a glass of it a day because of it's "2 servings of vegetables per 8 oz. glass" claim. This was something I wasn't quite able to do in recent years because of recurring heartburn, but that's a problem I solved with over-the-counter Prilosec™. Seriously, the stuff works...well, it did for me, at least.

But I sometimes think I could subsist on tomato juice and dinner rolls. Family legend has it that I ruined more than one fancy-schmancy dinner by doing so as a kid. I remember one such event, an after-funeral dinner for a distant relative. This occurred when I was 5 or so. The story goes that I downed so many glasses of tomato juice and ate so many buttered dinner rolls that when the actual entrees came I refused to eat anything else, much to the chagrin of my mother. We were at one of my hometown's fanciest eating emporiums, the Beacon Diner, and I'm guessing the funeral spread cost a pretty penny, maybe three bucks a head at the time. All for poor Uncle Carl, whoever the hell he was (jeez...they saved 3 bucks on him alone).

I somehow equate the whole tomato juice/dinner roll scenario more so with Thanksgiving though. We weren't big on appetizers in my house, either when we ate out or at home, so a thin glass of tomato juice before dinner was a rare treat indeed. And the dinner rolls were always on the table at these holiday fetes. To this day I like my Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners to start with a glass of tomato juice. So I guess what I'm saying is that I'd actually be fine with a bread and liquid diet, providing it was dinner rolls and tomato juice.

Which strange combo of food and drink brings back memories for you?

Wednesday is new comics day!

Slim pickins' at the comics shop today as--once again--a few boxes were missing from the store's weekly shipment. Economically-speaking--and critically, for that matter--I'd be fine if a few more boxes went missing occasionally, to be honest. But there is an inherent problem here...

The comic shop I frequent seems to have this missing box thing as a consistent problem. Since all comic books in America come from one distribution company (albeit different distribution points), it's easy to point a finger (you can pick which one) and say here is where the blame lies, but I'm not entirely convinced that the problem doesn't lie with my local comics shop and the payment of bills. So here's my question to you West Coast-living comics fans who visit your local comics shop every Wednesday: Are missing boxes a regular thing at your shops, too? Is there product that regularly doesn't make it for new comics day? Is this a distributor problem or one peculiar to the shop I visit? I know when I was publishing my comic back in the 1990s (a century ago), the Los Angeles branch of the world's largest comics distributor was often a black hole into which books descended and never appeared again. Is this still the case?

And while I have your attention...

Many moons ago, when I was but a mere lad in short pants (or maybe I was short and the pants were long), DC started a new thing called "Dollar Comics." It was a sincere effort to help stem the tide of the dying newsstand sales of comic books, an attempt to get a higher-priced product into the hands of retailers (in the days before comics-only retail shops) to compete with the likes of Time, Newsweek, and Playboy. At that point in time, visionary that I am, I had the brilliant idea that DC should take it's entire monthly output of say, Superman titles and put them into one Dollar Comic book...Superman, Action, World's Finest, Superboy, Adventure...so instead of buying 5 comics a month, we would be buying one. Needless to say, they didn't listen to me (mainly because it was an idea I myself had and didn't share it with anyone), but fast forward to the new millennium, and what does Marvel do? Take all their Spider-Man titles and consolidate them into one title, Amazing Spider-Man (the flagship one) and kill the others and bring it out weekly. Or three times a month. You pick.

So here's my question(s), oh True Believers...why bother to do this and publish what is ostensibly a weekly comic, and then only do it three times a month? Why then add a FOURTH title, a resurrected Web of Spider-Man, and have it sort-of, kind-of relate to the ongoing storyline? Why not add a fourth issue of Amazing Spider-Man, thus making the almost-weekly ASM a true weekly? And while we're on the topic, why does the skip week--or sometimes two weeks--frequently seem to occur between the next to last and last part of a storyline, thus absolutely KILLING any momentum in the story? I'm all for weekly comics; the format is more immediate and compelling from a story-telling standpoint, but Marvel--DEAR Marvel--you're doing it wrong. Your thoughts?

Ennui and me...

Okay...vacation is over, Daylight Savings Time has disappeared from the American landscape, and a heavy weight has descended on your humble blogger. Yes, ennui is me.

The dictionary defines ennui as "a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction: boredom" and that certainly sums up my feelings in a nutshell. Perhaps it's the instant loss of daylight...it's dark here at like 5:15 it seems...maybe it's the passing of a most-excellent vacation and the feeling of nothing to look forward to, not even--dare I say it--new comic book day on Wednesday. Whatever it is, ennui is nothing new to me. I've wrestled with it all my life. In fact, if I had ever had a son, I probably would have named him just that: Ennui. I would have spelled it Andre, just so he wouldn't have felt bad, but I would have pronounced it Ennui. Poor kid. I imagine with either spelling or pronunciation, he'd be pretty much pummeled every day. On second thought, maybe it's better I didn't have kids.

So bear with me (or bare with me, if you like) through the coming "winter" (this term used loosely in San Diego and surrounding environs) months as we hunker down and hibernate through the dark times. (Hey...why should winter be any different than the other 9 months of summer?) I don't blame you if you decide to bail here...go right ahead. See you in April.

9 Dragons by Michael Connelly

Harry Bosch is back in Michael Connelly's latest novel, 9 Dragons, and he's brought his kid with him. Yeah, Harry has a kid: the pre-teen Maddie, who has been living in Hong Kong with his ex-wife, Eleanor Wish, the ex-FBI agent poker queen, who gambles professionally. I couldn't make this stuff up...but Connelly can.

9 Dragons is a good, quick, compelling read, but it's no Last Coyote or Concrete Blonde, two of the better Bosch books. As #16 in the HB series, it's not the worst, nor is it the best, but it does bring one character--Maddy--firmly into Bosch's life, while ending the story of another. Other Connelly-verse characters appear, too, as Harry almost causes an international incident when he runs off to Hong Kong to save his daughter who he thinks is being threatened by people involved in the current murder investigation he's trying to solve.

I love Connelly's work, and I love Bosch, so any new Harry book is a great thing for me. The introduction of a further-humanizing factor in Harry's life--i.e., living with a teenager--freshens up the sour old boy's life a bit and I'm sure it'll have an impact on his future tales. One bit of bad news from the world of Connelly though is the casting of the featherweight rom-com star Matthew McConnaughey as Mickey Haller in a film of The Lincoln Lawyer. Connelly fans know that Haller has a particular tie to Harry Bosch, and we hope there isn't an Avengers-like crossover in the works for the characters on the big screen in the future. Connelly hasn't had a lot of his work filmed: there's the regrettable Blood Work, starring and directed by Clint Eastwood, and an aborted adaptation of Void Moon, which was reportedly to star Diane Lane and Al Pacino, but never even made it to the filming stage. I think the Bosch books would work best as a series of HBO movies or mini-series, and I've always pictured Tom Selleck as Bosch, but he might be a bit too long in the tooth for the role now. As of 9 Dragons, I'm guessing Bosch is about 54 (Selleck is almost 65). But I digress...

Whether there's a Bosch movie or not in Harry--and Michael's--future, 9 Dragons is a great addition to the Bosch canon, moving Harry's life forward in a new and different way.

Our Halloween tradition...

Don't worry...I'm as sick of this thing as you are...but, Happy Halloween!

Friday Foto #101...

Watching out. La Jolla, CA. To see more of my photos, Friday or otherwise, click here!

Thank you, Mr. President...

I will, eventually, get around to blogging about my vacation last week and my quest to find fall. Not the act of falling, but the season. You know, cool and windy weather, cloudy skies, yellow, orange, and red leaves and the soft, firm crunch of dead foliage underfoot. Yeah, that fall.

But first, here's something completely different.

As I traveled this country from coast to coast last week, I kept encountering a strange individual. He's a person much admired--and sadly, despised--in this great land of ours. Personally, I like him, but if the truth be told after three almost-close encounters with him in eight days, I am a mite p-o-ed at him right now. Because the long arm of the President of these United States reached into my life and touched me...and not necessarily in a good way.

I'm talkin' about you, Obama. Yes I am.

My personal tale of woe starts on Thursday, Oct. 15th. The first leg of my journey takes me to the beautiful city by the bay, San Francisco, for a work-related weekend. Our flight from San Diego to Oakland was flawless, even landing early. (By contrast, some of my workmates were delayed for hours because they flew on chi-chi Virgin Airlines into San Francisco. Hope the magenta cabin lights and touch-screen teevess were worth the wait.) The three of us hop into a cab and are promptly told getting to our hotel will be difficult because President Obama is in town for a fundraiser (emphasis added) at a hotel one block down the street. He's also staying near Moscone Center, so the streets are closed off.

Okay...no big deal. We make it to our hotel maybe 10-15 minutes late because of that. But that evening, when a group of us try to go to a restaurant we all like next to the fundraiser hotel, we find the entire block cordoned off, all restaurants and shops closed for the evening. This causes some friction amongst our tiny little dinner expedition, but basically no harm, no foul. There are other places to eat in San Francisco.

The rest of my weekend there passes without any further presidential incidents.

On Tuesday, Oct. 20, I arrive in New York City for a short stay. It's a cold, cloudy morning when I land at JFK (hey...he was a president, too, until he was...oops...nevermind), but I find the weather invigorating and rather than crashing after a long red-eye flight from San Francisco, I go out and do my favorite New York pastime: visiting the Strand Bookstore. Late afternoon comes and I take a nap, and head out around 6:00pm for dinner and more bookstores, this time up Broadway, past Columbus Circle.

I get to Columbus Circle and New York's finest are everywhere. Streets are blocked off, crowds are milling. I overhear what's going on: President Obama is in town for a fundraiser. Yes. Again. This time I can still go to where I want to go, though, with some minor walking detours, so again...no harm, no foul.

The rest of the week in New York City is beautiful...great weather, and despite being a bit under the weather myself (sore throat, sniffles, slight fever...probably the 50+ version of Swine Flu), I'm able to do everything I want to do and have a wonderful time. Friday rolls around and I head to the airport for a 6:05pm direct flight home to San Diego. The plane taking us there arrives a little late, but by 6:30 or so we're on the plane and pulling out from the jetway.

And then we stop. And the pilot comes on and says: "Sorry, folks, but we are on an all ground traffic stop at JFK for a VIP plane on the runway. We'll get underway shortly." Someone looks out the window and a murmur goes through the cabin...Air Force One is on the runway. 

President Obama is in town for a fundraiser.

So we sit. And sit. AND SIT. (Well, most of us sit. Despite the pilot's request to remain seated because we could move at any time, pretty much the entire cabin decides now is the time to take a leak. And I'm sitting right by the rear bathrooms. During this parking time on the tarmac, the flight attendants break out water bottles, thus inspiring another bathroom run later in the flight. Obviously, I need to rethink my seating strategy on long, coast-to-coast flights.) Finally we move. The pilot tells us the VIP plane is gone and traffic is starting up again. We move slowly up the line. The pilot gets on again and says "Flight attendants please take your seats for takeoff."

And we stop.

The now sheepish pilot gets back on and says, "Well, folks, I'm sorry but...there are TWO lines of planes and the tower stopped us while they let 15 or so of the planes in the other line go. So it'll be another 20-25 minutes until we take off." And eventually we do, over two and a half hours after our scheduled time of departure. I get into San Diego at a little before 11:00pm, thankfully making up some of the time in the air (we were originally scheduled to arrive at 9:15pm).

So thanks, Mr. President, for all that fundraising. I hope it was successful for you. And as much as I like your politics, if the next presidential election were being held this coming Tuesday my sore butt from sitting on a f*cking plane for 8 hours would try its best to persuade me to vote for the other guy. (Unless of course, the other "guy" was Sarah Palin...then even my ass wouldn't argue with me on that choice. After all, it takes one to know one.)