The best worst movie

Originally, I was going to post about Rare Exports:  A Christmas Tale.  Since, however, I was going to use the subject of this documentary as a contrast, perhaps I should explain for those of you unfamiliar with it.

The student owes me 95 minutes of my life back.  Or he can watch Bloody Mallory and we'll be even.  In 2007, he talked me into watching Troll 2.  If he does watch Bloody Mallory, I'm not sure which of us will be getting the better deal.  On the one hand Troll 2 has a 2.3 star rating, and Bloody Mallory has a 4.4, on the other hand, typing in "Troll" on the search bar will get you Troll 2 as the second suggestion, whereas you can type in the entire "Bloody Mallory" and it still won't suggest it.

What can you say about the movie Rotten Tomatoes gave a 0 rating?  The title of the documentary (directed by the star of the film, Michael Stephenson) says it all.  It is in fact, the best worst movie.

I've seen a lot of trash in my time as a movie fan.  Most is so bad that I only watch it on the general principle that I always watch movies I start to the end (Although I will admit that I have given up on three).  This is a movie, however, that is so bad that apparently some people like it.  A lot.  During the documentary, they had several screenings that sold out.  There are Troll 2 parties (including one in the Green Zone, Iraq).  At one point, someone referred to it as The Rocky Horror Picture Show for the Myspace generation.

Spoiler alert

The basic premise is that vegetarian (the writer was mad at her friends turning vegetarian) goblins (yes, the title says "troll," but they are actually goblins) are turning people into plants so they can eat them.  A family on vacation, being trailed by the daughter's boyfriend and a couple fellow students, go out for a visit to the country in a town called Nilbog, apparently because the writer was channeling Stephen King ("Ahh!  'Nilbog' is 'Goblin' spelled backward!").

Anyway, with help from his dead grandfather's ghost, the preteen son fights them off with a Molotov cocktail and a double-decker bologna sandwich.  Don't ask about the sandwich:  it's never explained.

Of course, once they get home, the boy's mother gets eaten.

End spoilers

The best part is that the director actually thought he was making a hit movie (come to think of it, I know a director like that).  Everybody on the set did.  Most have since come to grips with the fact that it was atrocious, although one actress and the entire production crew are still insisting that it's a serious and, in fact, great movie.  The director, who was livid for the majority of the documentary, is planning a sequel.

For those of the cast who could appreciate the true horror of the film-the total lack of production value-the filming of the documentary seemed to be enjoyable.  They got into it, although by the end, the number of screenings had taken their toll.  While I cannot give the original film any stars, the documentary is well worth watching.

The seldom seen side

I have recently been informed that my tastes in equipment have come to define me.  I have a penchant for professional grade tools, quality clothing, and upper middle shelf personal accessories.  I was raised that one spends extra money on the front end to save money on the tail end.

This reputation has caused the beloved to find my collection of cheap alien trash thoroughly confusing.

In an earlier post, I found that dots like aliens.  This new information inspired me to retrieve my collection form the basement.

A small sample

While my brother spent his early years collecting smiley face paraphernalia, my tastes ran a bit more eccentric.  Consequently, if it's cheap, tacky, made in China and has a green face on it, I probably own one.  Granted the X-files I want to believe poster isn't precisely cheap, tacky (arguably) or made in China, but every collection has its exceptions.  I would also like to point out that my brother's smiley face collection is much larger.

Unfortunately, the beloved has already introduced the woodland critters theme, which prevents me from surrounding the dot with my much more tasteful collection.

Maybe for the next child.

Spants!!!

And in one of the more clever balloon animals I've seen, this is someone's submission for Halloween this year:

Life in the lab

Of course, if one is as obsessive as myself, one will note that there are only 6 legs.  Which caused some discussion on night shift as to what the explanation was.  Someone suggested that maybe it was actually a black ant.  At that point, I noted that it had only two body segments, and posited the idea that perhaps it was a cross between an ant and a spider.  Having seen a fair amount of really bad sci-fi in my time, I decided I could run with this idea.  So here it is, my second official screen play:

SPANTS

Scene I

A brightly lit, sterile looking laboratory

Hot but ditzy graduate assistant: “Dr. Whackjob has developed this new solution which weakens the chemical composition of the insects DNA. He hopes to find a way to prevent them from reproducing, or even to stop the cells of the adults from replicating. Or something like that. He made a lot more sense in bed last night.”

Corrupt government inspector: “What is this random jar of spiders for?”

Assistant: “Oh, Dr. W likes spiders.”

Inspector, leaving: “Incidentally…”

Assistant: “Oh, right, your bribe.” Hands over wad of cash.

Inspector: “Um, I don’t take bribes.”

Assistant: “Oh, I meant administrative fee.”

Inspector: “Much better.” Counts cash, then pockets it. “Well, all the enclosures look secure to me.”

Scene II

Dimly lit laboratory.

Night janitor, mopping floor and knocking over jar of spiders: “Aw, crap.”

Spiders escape and run across floor

Janitor: “Double crap”

Spiders break into ant enclosures and start screwing the queens.

Janitor: “Well that can't be good.”

Scene III

Brightly lit laboratory, next day.

Dr. Whackjob: “Where the crap did my spiders go?”

Assistant: “Like, IDK”

Dr. W: “Aw crap, they’re in the ant enclosures. I knew I shouldn’t have scrimped on the seals.”

Assistant: “OMG.”

Dr. W: “If you weren't so good in bed, I wouldn't put up with you.”

Dr. W and Assistant clean out ant enclosures, hampered by his constant perusal of her butt each time she bends over.

Assistant: “Doctor, do these ants look fat to you?”

Dr. W: “Who cares, let’s go wax the desk in my office.”

Scene IV

Night janitor enters looking down, walks into big web.

Janitor: “What the...”

Fire ant drops down on line in front of janitor’s face.

Zoom to door. Screams echo down hall.

Scene V

Dr. W and assistant enter lab next morning.

Assistant, walking funny: “Wow, what a night.” Sees mop laying on floor. “Is that Frank’s mop?”

Dr. W: “Frank?”

Assistant: “The night janitor.”

Dr. W: “You know him from somewhere?”

Assistant: “He used to come and work on my plumbing.”

Dr. W raises eyebrow.

Assistant: “Oh, that came out wrong.”

Dr. W: “Really.”

Assistant: “Well, he has a huge plunger.”

Dr. W looks up and sees janitor’s desiccated corpse hanging in web above head.

Dr. W: “Had”

Assistant: “Had?”

Dr. W: “Had a huge plunger.”

Assistant looks up. Ants start to drop from ceiling on lines.

Zoom to door. Screams echo down hall.

Scene VI

ICU room.

Instrument: “Beep. Beep.”

Handsome, chiseled young doctor: “It would help if I knew what inflicted these injuries.”

Grizzled sheriff: “I don’t rightly know. All he kept moaning was ‘Spants’. Sounded like a danged record.”

Doctor: “Well, it reminds me of my days with medico sans frontiers.”

Sheriff: “Medi-whazzit?”

Doctor: “Doctor’s with out borders. I was in the Amazon River Basin.”

Sheriff: “That near Stinkin’ Creek?”

Doctor: “In the rainforest. These bite marks look like the army ants. But an ant big enough to amputate a man’s leg would have to be 7.4 meters long.”

Sheriff: “Ampu-huh?”

Doctor: “Cut off.” Rolls eyed and continues. “And this stuff looks like tarantula web. But I’ve never seen web this thick. This would take a spider 12.3 meters long.”

Sheriff: “So you’re telling me that we have a gang of insects including a 7.4 something long ant and a 12.3 something spider?”

Doctor: “Well, a spider is an arachnid, not an insect.”

Sheriff: “Boy, don’t make me knock the far outta you.”

Scene VII

Sheriff’s office

Graduate assistant’s bookwormy-but-hot-in-a-girl-next-door-sort-of-way sister: “Sob! Why won’t you tell me what happened to her?!?”

Sheriff: “We don’t know.”

Sister: “Then why aren’t you out looking for her?!?”

Sheriff: “’Taint been 24 hours.”

Sister: “That’s not actually law and you know it.”

Sheriff: “Woman! Go back to the breakroom and get me a doughnut!”

Sister: “Up yours banjo-player!” Storms out, slamming door.

Young, rakishly handsome deputy: “Wait miss!”

Sister, turning on sidewalk: “What!”

Deputy: “Look, I’m sorry my boss is a sexist jerk. I’ll help you.”

Sister: “Thank you, but I’m gonna go it alone.”

Deputy (who has seen a lot of sci-fi): “Well, when you need me to dramatically rescue you, just scream.”

Scene VIII

Abandoned warehouse which happens to be connected by sewer to lab.

Sister, trapped in web with spants advancing toward her: “Help! I need to be dramatically rescued!”

ICU Doc, bursting in: “I figured out what happened! The spiders and ants crossbred! They made Spants!”

Sister, rolling eyes: “Do tell.”

ICU doc: “I brought Dr. W from the hospital! He’s perfected his formula!”

Sister: “He’s awake?!?”

Dr. W, hobbling in: “I woke up just in time to finish my research and to atone for what I did.”

Sister: “What did you do? Where’s my sister?”

Dr. W, in voiceover with flashback footage of him locking his assistant in fuzzy handcuffs and shoving her into the queen spant’s maw: “I…I sacrificed her selfishly to escape.”

Sister: “Noooooo!!!!”

Dr. W: “I know, but I’m here to atone for my deeds by heroically sacrificing myself to save the town.”

Sister, as fire spants start biting: “Kill them! Kill them!”

ICU doc: “With what?”

Sister, rolling eyes: “The spray, moron!”

ICU doc: “We can't, we've only just submitted it for EPA approval. The FDA won't get their sample until next month!”

Sister: “Okay, now you're just screwing with me.”

ICU doc: “Just because I have a highly developed sense of responsibility...”

Dr. W, muttering: “I'll bet that's the only thing well developed on you.”

Deputy, bursting through wall in tank: “Enough of this crap!” To the people in the halftrack rolling in behind: “Light it up boys!”

ICU doc: “Where did you get a tank??”

Deputy, unslinging rifle: “Same place I got these sweet mint-condition flamethrowers. The army hasn’t restocked our National Guard armory since Korea. I think they forgot we even had one. Billy there so scored a Tommy gun!”

Sister, bitten by first spant: “Ahhhhhh!”

Deputy, unsheathing machete: “I’m coming!” Hacks through web and retreats with cocooned Sister over his shoulder, shooting dozens of spants with uncanny accuracy and no need to reload with his recently acquired pistol. “Light it up!”

Billy and other friends: “On it!” Proceed to torch hive.

Queen spant, charging out of the dark to avenge her disintegrating hive: “Raaaarrrrr!”

ICU doc: “Wow, that thing is at least 7.4 meters tall.  And 12.3 meters long.”

Deputy: “Crap! My flamethrower’s out!”

Other guys: “Ours too!”

Deputy: “What horrible and yet unsurprising development!”

Billy, emptying tommy gun: “And bullets don't hurt it!”

Deputy: “Saw that one coming, too!” Fires tank cannon: “Neither do shells! I must admit that one is kinda surprising!”

Dr. W: “My chance to redeem myself!” Seizes can and stumbles toward Queen.

Sister: “Won’t that weaken the DNA more and make further mutations more likely?”

ICU doc: “Don’t ask inconvenient questions. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”

Dr. W, throwing himself into Queen’s pincers and getting cut in half: “Arrrgh!”

ICU doc: “Oh no! He dropped the can!”

Deputy, dramatically jacking a round into the chamber of his rifle: “I got it!” Aims at can and fires.

Can not only bursts but explodes into a 100 foot ball of flame. Queen perishes screaming in pain.

Scene XIX

Heroes burst through wall clinging to various places on the tank, Deputy standing tall in the turret with Sister clinging romantically to him.

Sister: “Thank you for saving me, Deputy. Lets get married and have lots of sex and kids. Also, what is your name?”

ICU doc: “What about me? I really thought we had a connection.”

Sister: “Well, the thing is, Deputy’s not an idiot.”

ICU doc: “Well, screw you! I’m gonna go occupy Wall Street!”

Billy, looking forlornly at burning warehouse: “Well, there goes my half-track.”

George: “It's okay, there's three more at the armory. And I'm getting the Jenny to replace my old crop duster.”

Billy, brightening: “You're right! Coming Deputy? We're off to misappropriate some government property!

Deputy: “I'll be along later. Remember I called dibs on the Willy’s!” To Sister: “Do you want anything?”

Sister, looking dopily into Deputy’s eyes: “I have all I want.”

Deputy and Sister walk into sunset as credits roll.

Epilogue

Large cockroach stumbles out of building with egg sac stuck to carapace.

Coming soon:  Spants II:  Sproach

First Book

From 10/26/2011

Yes, I am a horrible parent an just now got around to reading my first full book to the dot.  For the record, there were a few abortive attempts prior to this.

For my first selection, I went with that classic of all time, Mr. Happy by Roger Hargreaves.

Who remembers this one?  Show of hands

My original attempts had been stymied by the dot's ill-timed crying fits that always seemed to coincide with reading.  Apparently, finishing a good four ounces necessitates immediately -- and indeed, sometimes concurrently -- jettisoning an equal amount.  This would seem to be a traumatic experience due to the inherent attachment the dot has to her processed food.

It would seem that the proper way to read to a baby is to push through the screaming until she passes out from hypoxia, then continue reading to her unconscious form.

That might be a slight exaggeration.

See, she's not actually blue

It is, however, a good example of cooperative parenting.  One parent must hold the dot and the book while the other parent maintains proper pacifier placement.


Addendum:  Another technique which has since proven effective is to place the dot on her stomach.  This not only eliminates the necessity of a partner, but also provides an opportunity for neck exercise.

On her eccentric way

The dot has proven to be just as unconventional as her father.  One can only assume her natural preference for second shift is genetic, as is her preference of squeaky aliens to "Brahms Lullaby"-playing bears.

Don't laugh:  it works.

Apparently taste in music is also inherited.  I can arrive at no other conclusion from the fact that this makes her sleep while this makes her fussy until this plays, at which point she falls back to sleep.  Of course, I like Kemper Crabb, too, but at least I can determine that her musical taste does not wholly come from the beloved.

Obviously, I shall someday pay for this.  So I'll enjoy it while I can.

10/23/2011  Addendum:  According to the beloved, all dots are simply fascinated by symmetrical faces.  Ergo, I believe it is time to unpack all my alien memorabilia and stash it all over the room.  There has been some debate as to the wisdom of this idea, however, I am confident its merits will be borne out by time.

Week 1

Just so everyone knows that the beloved is not the only one who can post cute baby pictures:

Week 1 has come and gone.  The beloved is insisting this qualifies as a milestone, but I think I'll wait until one month to use that term.

In the past week, I have learned:

1)  Picture above is quite rare, because the squirt doesn't like her arms swaddled.  Apparently she had enough of that after 9 months.

2)  Girls are just as dangerous to change as boys.  After the following incident, I have acquired a face shield in case I don't get my hand up in time during another 10-inch fire-hose incident.

            Me (dripping tan-ish poop onto the changing table): "Well, I'm glad that happened before I took my gloves off."

            The beloved (with incredulous look on face): "Why do you glove up to change your own daughter's diaper?"

            Me (with equally incredulous look on face): "What part of 'ACK! She's spraying crap everywhere!' did you not catch?"

3)  Babies can, in fact, look just like their ultrasounds.  Fat cheeks + lots of hair + squished nose = cute baby.

4)  C-section babies are cuter.  No squished head that has to even out later.

5)  Never send a new father grocery shopping.  Babies absorb daddies' brains, too.  Corollary:  Instant coffee is lighter than ground.

6)  Skype-ing weddings can work quite well.

7)  The proper way to induce pooping is to change the diaper.

8)  Possibly the most important, new fathers should be prepared to deal with thoroughly irrational behavior and expectations.  The laws of non-contradiction no longer apply.  And the old saying "Insanity is doing the same thing twice expecting different results" can be ignored for the indefinite duration.

These are the important facts of my current situation.  If any are of assistance to any hypothetical soon-to-be first time fathers (you know who you are), then perhaps my suffering is not in vain.


Also, for the record, number 8, was approved by the beloved.

The 3rd girl

At 0749, 09/28/2011, the third of my eponymous three women officially made her appearance.  It was interesting to hold her for the first time, but the whole "life-changing moment" thing is a bit overstated.

I'm sure a fair amount of that has to do with having a severe sleep deficiency.  Probably the whole working the second day, and running all over the place the third part had something to do with it, too.  Or maybe I just have ice water in my veins.  I have it on good authority (I Love The 80's!:  Strikes Back) that is the case with anyone who doesn't cry during Field of Dreams.

Beyond that, though, it's that we'd already had a name (for longer than she's been around), been talking to her all the time, getting to see her twice a week, showing off her pictures and enjoying making her roll around and kick.  Well, I liked the last part, anyway; the beloved was a little annoyed by it at times.  Frankly, she was more interactive before she was born.  She used to perk up and squirm when I talked to her.  Now all she does is sleep, poop, and cry (thankfully not that much of the latter).  And while I didn't think I would ever say it, she really does look like the ultrasounds.

I think we get 9 months to come to grips with the end of the world as we know it (Leonard Bernstein!), and if you use it to get up to speed, there's not as much whiplash to it.

Or maybe it just doesn't hit you until diaper number twenty.

09/26/2011

Less than 48 hours away from seeing my first child.  Well, seeing her in something other than black and white or sepia, anyway.  My co-workers insist that I'm excited despite my insistence that I'm merely ready for this whole trip through prenatal hell to be over with.  I suppose I might be looking forward to holding my baby a little bit.  Maybe.

Unfortunately, my tendency toward procrastination has once again reared its ugly head.  My crib conversion is not completed; there are piles of unsorted baby stuff; and I'm still finding random tools in random places.  On the bright side, subtracting time for our last OB appointment, boarding the dogs, a hardware run for the bassinet, a haircut and a final pre-kid dinner, I'll have almost 5 whole hours tomorrow to work on getting the house ready!

In other news, at some point today, ETSU's admissions committee reviewed my application file, hopefully resulting in an approval for matriculation.  We'll find out by Monday, but I see another wait list on the horizon.  Just because things can never be easy.

Old post

The start of my affair with Theseia:

New Jeep

July 5, 2009 at 1:22 am


I've just got in from my shakedown cruise with the Jeep of Theseus. It was without a doubt the most laughably miserable shakedown cruise of my life, and that includes the Lake Superior voyage of the Argos.

I started out with the safari top configuration, which was fine for the first 20-30 minutes, at which point it decided to come out from underneath the little track on the driver's side rear. So I pull over and pull the top down. Which, by the way, was really fun.

Continuing on, I reach the bottom of the mountain, at which point I start noticing sprinkles on the windshield. So I pull over again, and put the top up. But by the time I'm done, the sprinkling is no more, so I do not put the top halves of the doors or the side and rear windows on.


Big mistake. About a mile past the Cumberland county line, more sprinkle start to show up, and they turn to rain, which proceeds to get heavier.  At first I think the windshield wipers will take care of things, then realize they do nothing for the inside. Now, I'm driving with my head out the door watching the center line and trying to keep from crossing into the other lane or pt it in the ditch.


Eventually I find a place to again pull over, put the top halves of the doors on, take my top T-shirt off and wipe the inside down. Then, once home, I have to put the rest of the top back together in the pouring rain.


But, the Jeep is still a winner. Even if it's owner's fortune is not.

New blog!

Since Google+ doesn't have notes (quite possibly my favorite part of my soon to be frozen Facebook account), I am dragged kicking and screaming into the blogosphere.  So, with thanks to Bob Dylan for my title, here I am. I sort of doubt that anyone will actually be coming here, but that'll just make me like 90% of the other blogs.  I'll adsense it anyway, though.  I need as much money as I can to keep my women happy, after all.