Oh my word! Breaking news!
Brace yourself, now.
Researchers have found that girls learn better from female teachers and boys learn better from male teachers. Apparently, a teacher's gender makes a world of difference.
It appears that, in classroom settings, girls can be intimidated by male teachers and can view whatever subject is taught by the man as likely irrelevant to their future. This makes the girls less likely to say, raise their hands or answer a question in a man's classroom. And on the flip side, female teachers will tend to see boys as disruptive nuisances, where a "chatty" girl might not get in so much trouble with her.
I'm not even kidding. I got a whole long press release on email this week from some organization, or maybe PR firm working on its behalf, to shout the findings in 48-point font.
Yes, you read it here first. Real people actually wasted breath and time and I'm sure, taxpayer money, to inform of us of something they assume we couldn't possibly have known, since, oh, maybe KINDERGARTEN!!
I can just hear my Grandpa "harumphing" now, asking who's the dad-blamed idiot that paid somebody to look into all that when he, or just about any random individual, could've told 'em the exact same thing. I'm confident he would have objected to these sort of "research" trends in the so-called "scientific" community.
I think more grandfathers should be consulted for their Two Cents when it comes to stuff like this. Goodness knows, it would sure be cheaper.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
You, Me and Why I Couldn't Cry over "WTC"
Since the computer ate Erich Van Dussen's homework, I'm going to make some confident, educated guesses as to why he didn't like World Trade Center. I'm sure we're on the same page, 'cause I wasn't crazy about it either.
Let me preface this entire argument by saying I have seen both United 93 and WTC. The former is all about the flight of the same name, the fourth and final plane to crash on 9/11, brought down, as we best know, by passengers attempting to wrest control from the terrorists before they could hit their presumed target, D.C.'s Capitol building. The latter is not so much about the collapse of the two World Trade Center towers as it is about two New York Port Authority officers trapped in the rubble and how they helped each other stay awake, and therefore alive, until their rescue.
I saw United 93 in May, with my brother, who is a history teacher and wanted to be able to intelligently communicate the cultural touchpoints with his students. By the end of the film, it was all I could do to keep my sobs (and I do mean sobs) quiet enough so as not to bother others in attendance, many of whom I could hear sniffling and/or quietly weeping nearby. I had brought along a huge wad of tissues -- just in case -- and went through every last one. As the credits were rolling, and I continued to sit there in complete devastation, I remember him patting my shoulder or arm or something, in an attempt to comfort me. It didn't work. On the ride home, I told my brother I could have sat in that theater for another half hour after the screen went dark and sobbed until I was spent. In fact, that is exactly what I would have preferred to do. But I worried that even though the next screening wasn't for several hours, someone might kick me out, or worse, speak to me. So I tried to do the well-mannered thing, and went to the ladies' room to wash my eyes with cold water. I saw another woman in there attempting to do the same. I didn't have to ask what she had just seen because, clearly, it wasn't Pirates of the Caribbean: DMC. We didn't speak. We didn't have to. Personally, I felt words would have tarnished the shared connection.
So when my brother caught an early screening of WTC, he reported back that he was sure I would cry worse than I had at United 93.
He was wrong.
Not only did I not shed a single tear, and not even open a single tissue, (despite being well-prepared again), I left knowing exactly how to describe the film. That's not a good sign when United 93 so completely wrecked me I literally couldn't settle on even one adjective to accurately sum it up. Months later, I'm still not sure how to describe it. Devastating? Incredible? Resonating? Powerful?
And it's not that WTC is a terrible film. Not by any stretch. It's well-made, well-shot, well-written, doesn't run too long, and is probably the closest thing to a "feel-good"
movie that could possibly come out of the horror of the 9/11 attacks. (Did Erich or some other critic say that already?) But here's my bottom line: I don't ever want to feel good about the 9/11 attacks. As one character notes, quoting from, of all things, "G.I. Jane" (Yeah. Go figure.) "Pain is good. It lets you know you're alive." In a similar fashion, I see United 93 as the film version of Darryl Worley's country song "Have You Forgotten?" It's a gut-checking reminder of why American troops are over in the Middle East right now, no matter what people think of exactly how we got there or everything that's happened since. And before anyone descends into a political pit of polarization, back to the films.
Here's what doesn't work in WTC:
To begin with, it's poorly titled. It is only set inside the rubble of the World Trade Center, and because it focuses so narrowly on just the two officers, and by extension their families, and not the thousands of others who died there, titling it World Trade Center is quite misleading. Plus, there's minimal time spent on the towers, the hits they took from the planes or their collapse. My suggestion? "Will to Survive"
Second, there's a lot of distractions. Nicolas Cage's mustache, for starters. (I hate that look on him.) Then, there's his accent. To which I add Mario Bello's accent. (But I loved her haircut: quite motherly, yet still stylish.) Only Michael Pena came across as having a natural accent. But then, why didn't Maggie Gyllenhaal seem to have one at all? (Cute maternity outfit, by the way.) People, when you are sitting in a theater asking yourself these questions as a "big, important" film is playing, it's not a good sign.
By contrast, United 93 had no such problems, not with a cast of complete unknowns, where the only questions to distract you were: Is that the "Let's Roll" guy or the other one? Now, what did I read about him? Oh my word, the military flight headquarters were in Rome, NY? That's practically next door!
Third, is the larger question: What about the film is going to stay with you? What images or lines will be forever imprinted on your brain? The films you can instantly answer that question, those are the keepers ... and I daresay, the ones that, over the years, rise to the top of the "Best of" lists. (Just try it with, say Saving Private Ryan, or Braveheart or Bridge over the River Kwai or Rabbit-Proof Fence. See what I mean?)
Stream-of-consciousness as I left WTC? "That was pretty good. Good themes, strong focus on family and responsibilities and duty and keeping commitments ... the Starsky and Hutch song really broke the tension there ... that Pezzulo guy and the other one was kinda cute, and where have I seen that Marine guy before? Gosh, I'm hungry. Hmm, there's a lady crying. Why am I so unmoved by this? Is there something wrong with me? "
As I left United 93? "I don't ever want to hear that Arabic prayer again. That was so chilling to have it play over the shots of city traffic. I can't believe that was that airline overseer's first day on the job. What a way to start. Oh my word, that couple leaving messages for their kids for where to find their wills? That one lady passing her cell phone to the girl so she could call her Mom to say goodbye? That was awful. I'm not sure I ever want to see this film again ... but I'm never going to forget this."
I believe I have made my point here. (Though I'm sure Erich would have made it in far fewer words. What can I say? I'm a detail girl.) While I won't go so far as to tell you not to waste your money on WTC, I will say, if you have a choice, choose United 93, especially if it is still playing in a second-run theater near you. (I fear some of its power might be lost on a smaller screen, where a remote control would make interruption permissible.)
Beyond that, if you want to see the real World Trade Center movie, rent the documentary 9/11 by French brothers Jules and Gedeon Naudet. It's just as unforgettable as United 93.
Maybe that's the adjective I've been searching for.
Let me preface this entire argument by saying I have seen both United 93 and WTC. The former is all about the flight of the same name, the fourth and final plane to crash on 9/11, brought down, as we best know, by passengers attempting to wrest control from the terrorists before they could hit their presumed target, D.C.'s Capitol building. The latter is not so much about the collapse of the two World Trade Center towers as it is about two New York Port Authority officers trapped in the rubble and how they helped each other stay awake, and therefore alive, until their rescue.
I saw United 93 in May, with my brother, who is a history teacher and wanted to be able to intelligently communicate the cultural touchpoints with his students. By the end of the film, it was all I could do to keep my sobs (and I do mean sobs) quiet enough so as not to bother others in attendance, many of whom I could hear sniffling and/or quietly weeping nearby. I had brought along a huge wad of tissues -- just in case -- and went through every last one. As the credits were rolling, and I continued to sit there in complete devastation, I remember him patting my shoulder or arm or something, in an attempt to comfort me. It didn't work. On the ride home, I told my brother I could have sat in that theater for another half hour after the screen went dark and sobbed until I was spent. In fact, that is exactly what I would have preferred to do. But I worried that even though the next screening wasn't for several hours, someone might kick me out, or worse, speak to me. So I tried to do the well-mannered thing, and went to the ladies' room to wash my eyes with cold water. I saw another woman in there attempting to do the same. I didn't have to ask what she had just seen because, clearly, it wasn't Pirates of the Caribbean: DMC. We didn't speak. We didn't have to. Personally, I felt words would have tarnished the shared connection.
So when my brother caught an early screening of WTC, he reported back that he was sure I would cry worse than I had at United 93.
He was wrong.
Not only did I not shed a single tear, and not even open a single tissue, (despite being well-prepared again), I left knowing exactly how to describe the film. That's not a good sign when United 93 so completely wrecked me I literally couldn't settle on even one adjective to accurately sum it up. Months later, I'm still not sure how to describe it. Devastating? Incredible? Resonating? Powerful?
And it's not that WTC is a terrible film. Not by any stretch. It's well-made, well-shot, well-written, doesn't run too long, and is probably the closest thing to a "feel-good"
movie that could possibly come out of the horror of the 9/11 attacks. (Did Erich or some other critic say that already?) But here's my bottom line: I don't ever want to feel good about the 9/11 attacks. As one character notes, quoting from, of all things, "G.I. Jane" (Yeah. Go figure.) "Pain is good. It lets you know you're alive." In a similar fashion, I see United 93 as the film version of Darryl Worley's country song "Have You Forgotten?" It's a gut-checking reminder of why American troops are over in the Middle East right now, no matter what people think of exactly how we got there or everything that's happened since. And before anyone descends into a political pit of polarization, back to the films.
Here's what doesn't work in WTC:
To begin with, it's poorly titled. It is only set inside the rubble of the World Trade Center, and because it focuses so narrowly on just the two officers, and by extension their families, and not the thousands of others who died there, titling it World Trade Center is quite misleading. Plus, there's minimal time spent on the towers, the hits they took from the planes or their collapse. My suggestion? "Will to Survive"
Second, there's a lot of distractions. Nicolas Cage's mustache, for starters. (I hate that look on him.) Then, there's his accent. To which I add Mario Bello's accent. (But I loved her haircut: quite motherly, yet still stylish.) Only Michael Pena came across as having a natural accent. But then, why didn't Maggie Gyllenhaal seem to have one at all? (Cute maternity outfit, by the way.) People, when you are sitting in a theater asking yourself these questions as a "big, important" film is playing, it's not a good sign.
By contrast, United 93 had no such problems, not with a cast of complete unknowns, where the only questions to distract you were: Is that the "Let's Roll" guy or the other one? Now, what did I read about him? Oh my word, the military flight headquarters were in Rome, NY? That's practically next door!
Third, is the larger question: What about the film is going to stay with you? What images or lines will be forever imprinted on your brain? The films you can instantly answer that question, those are the keepers ... and I daresay, the ones that, over the years, rise to the top of the "Best of" lists. (Just try it with, say Saving Private Ryan, or Braveheart or Bridge over the River Kwai or Rabbit-Proof Fence. See what I mean?)
Stream-of-consciousness as I left WTC? "That was pretty good. Good themes, strong focus on family and responsibilities and duty and keeping commitments ... the Starsky and Hutch song really broke the tension there ... that Pezzulo guy and the other one was kinda cute, and where have I seen that Marine guy before? Gosh, I'm hungry. Hmm, there's a lady crying. Why am I so unmoved by this? Is there something wrong with me? "
As I left United 93? "I don't ever want to hear that Arabic prayer again. That was so chilling to have it play over the shots of city traffic. I can't believe that was that airline overseer's first day on the job. What a way to start. Oh my word, that couple leaving messages for their kids for where to find their wills? That one lady passing her cell phone to the girl so she could call her Mom to say goodbye? That was awful. I'm not sure I ever want to see this film again ... but I'm never going to forget this."
I believe I have made my point here. (Though I'm sure Erich would have made it in far fewer words. What can I say? I'm a detail girl.) While I won't go so far as to tell you not to waste your money on WTC, I will say, if you have a choice, choose United 93, especially if it is still playing in a second-run theater near you. (I fear some of its power might be lost on a smaller screen, where a remote control would make interruption permissible.)
Beyond that, if you want to see the real World Trade Center movie, rent the documentary 9/11 by French brothers Jules and Gedeon Naudet. It's just as unforgettable as United 93.
Maybe that's the adjective I've been searching for.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Drowning our Sorrows in Goat Milk
So, what exactly do co-workers do to commiserate on the day they find out the company they have worked long and hard for is being sold? Why, cheer on a colleague in a goat-milking contest, of course!Performing arts, it is not. Glamorous, it is not. But by golly, it's different and unusual, and for a time, it helped take our minds off that scary "What's going to happen?" question. Well, for eight of us, at least.
So, there we were, the mini-Messenger gang, at the Wayne County Fairgrounds in Palmyra, deep in the heart of what one reporter calls "315er" territory. (She says it with an affectionate condescension.) We had brought along our "Go for the Goat!" signs, our cameras, and stadium-style face-posters (Photoshop meets popsicle stick) of our grinning community editor, Steve.
When he was finally called to the center of the tent to compete, we cheered him on, waved our "Steve-heads" (picture the J-Mac sign President Bush took home when he came to town last March) and in general, stirred up as much attention as we could. Luckily, Steve is a good sport about it all. He even posed for some pictures for a Wayne County paper, surrounded by a few of his screwy co-workers, and several of the signs and "Steve-heads." (And no, we had not been drinking.) Though Steve didn't milk enough to garner a gift basket, he was briefly in the running for the second round. (Would the proper term be "milk-off?")
After the competition, most of us debated ramifications of the company's sale further over chicken barbecue, funnel cakes, and Pepsi. (And no, no one drank the goat milk.) We didn't solve the problems of the world, and we certainly didn't solve our company's quandary, but we enjoyed hanging out as fellow staffers, in it together.
My co-workers rock, and I can only hope there's plenty more odd-ball activities in the coming days, weeks?, months? where we'll have more chances to support each other like family. Goodness knows we'll need it.
But it was fun. Really. Right up there with frying an egg on the hood of another editor's pickup truck on the 100-degree day we recently had. If we had to drown our sorrows in anything, a goat-milking contest was definitely the way to go.
Bottoms up!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Another Tuesday, Another Temptation
It's Tuesday again! Which means, another sneak peek at this week's Van Dussen review. (I was working later than I should have at the office today, and was about to leave, but no! There was the movie page, in my mail slot. Of course, I stayed the extra few minutes to proofread it.)
Tuesday also means the weekly re-opening of my favorite local ice cream haunt, Shark's Custard & Candy, which, for all you not-so-local yokels out there is over Bloomfield way, on Routes 5 and 20. Right when I got out of college, I briefly "temped" as caretaker to an elderly man who once worked as a quality control "technician" for Sealtest. It was a lot of fun to watch Ray dig into ice cream. His favorite was Breyer's and he would rattle off a whole list of reasons why, though I never came to care for it. (Too granular, plus it has a nasty habit of melting in a hurry.) But I must say I could definitely relate to the man as a connoisseur. He knew how to enjoy the stuff, and I'm sorry he never had a chance to visit the then-Custard & Candy. I'm sure he would have become a new fan.
Anyway, Shark's is all about the homemade, hard ice cream. They perfected chocolate butter fudge, and in my opinion, cookie dough, but I always find myself veering towards the coffee or mocha chip, or sometimes, peppermint. I've never been wild about nuts or peanut butter, but I know others in my family love their butter pecan, peanut butter cup, and one of my friends and co-workers is a huge fan of the black cherry, too.
There are some fun Shark's traditions, which, after many a summer night spent there, I will share: 1) What's that hiding at the bottom of your waffle cone? Ta-da! The mini marshmallow is the secret to avoiding the proverbial ice cream drips. 2) Standing in line there is practically an art form as you torturously choose which flavors to mix and match. Anticipation is half the fun, which also leaves plenty of time for ... 3) mini spoon samplers of the special of the week. My faves so far this summer? Key Lime Pie and Cake Batter. 4) At Shark's, chocolate "chips" do not exist -- only chocolate chunks.
My own personal traditions include late-in-the-week afternoon jaunts over with the "girls" from work, usually to celebrate someone's birthday. For a while there, I also got in quite the habit of taking new friends or simply friends to whom C&C was new to, there for a tasting. I've sworn it's the best homemade ice cream this side of the Mississippi. (Not like I could prove that scientifically, or would even care to, but it sure rolls off the tongue and sounds important.) Somewhere around 80 "newbies" I stopped counting. I'm sure it's long since passed 100.
Back in the day, original owner John Haluch was pretty renown for massive scoop sizes big enough that even my Texas cousins were in awe. I will forever remember the picture my Mom snapped of my cousin's husband hoisting a 4-or 5-- scoop cone, which naturally he couldn't finish. Back then, it probably only cost him $3 or so, which these days, gets you a "small" which is still more than plenty. John's nine-scoop banana split finally left the menu because a) it took, like 10 minutes for the staff to create and b) nobody could finish it anyway. At least not solo. Once upon a time, I shot a photo series of two friends working their way through it. They said they had plenty of room, but the pictures didn't lie. They were both clutching their stomachs in the last frame, looking at the empty dish with a what-have-I-done? expression. Classic.
I really like what co- owners Lynn and Diana, who took over a couple years ago, have done with the place. They expanded the hours, expanded the season, expanded the patio and really carried the Shark theme out. (I've always been a fan of themes.) My two-year-old niece loves the giant fish tank, and driving by late at night, you can see it, gleaming neon blue, from the road. Of course, the signature ice cream recipes are all the same, which makes it hard to avoid temptation and stick to my somewhat-new, striving-to-be-healthy "rule" of only visiting once a week. But life without that ice cream would be poor life indeed. ;)
But don't take my word for it. Taste and see for yourself!
Tuesday also means the weekly re-opening of my favorite local ice cream haunt, Shark's Custard & Candy, which, for all you not-so-local yokels out there is over Bloomfield way, on Routes 5 and 20. Right when I got out of college, I briefly "temped" as caretaker to an elderly man who once worked as a quality control "technician" for Sealtest. It was a lot of fun to watch Ray dig into ice cream. His favorite was Breyer's and he would rattle off a whole list of reasons why, though I never came to care for it. (Too granular, plus it has a nasty habit of melting in a hurry.) But I must say I could definitely relate to the man as a connoisseur. He knew how to enjoy the stuff, and I'm sorry he never had a chance to visit the then-Custard & Candy. I'm sure he would have become a new fan.
Anyway, Shark's is all about the homemade, hard ice cream. They perfected chocolate butter fudge, and in my opinion, cookie dough, but I always find myself veering towards the coffee or mocha chip, or sometimes, peppermint. I've never been wild about nuts or peanut butter, but I know others in my family love their butter pecan, peanut butter cup, and one of my friends and co-workers is a huge fan of the black cherry, too.
There are some fun Shark's traditions, which, after many a summer night spent there, I will share: 1) What's that hiding at the bottom of your waffle cone? Ta-da! The mini marshmallow is the secret to avoiding the proverbial ice cream drips. 2) Standing in line there is practically an art form as you torturously choose which flavors to mix and match. Anticipation is half the fun, which also leaves plenty of time for ... 3) mini spoon samplers of the special of the week. My faves so far this summer? Key Lime Pie and Cake Batter. 4) At Shark's, chocolate "chips" do not exist -- only chocolate chunks.
My own personal traditions include late-in-the-week afternoon jaunts over with the "girls" from work, usually to celebrate someone's birthday. For a while there, I also got in quite the habit of taking new friends or simply friends to whom C&C was new to, there for a tasting. I've sworn it's the best homemade ice cream this side of the Mississippi. (Not like I could prove that scientifically, or would even care to, but it sure rolls off the tongue and sounds important.) Somewhere around 80 "newbies" I stopped counting. I'm sure it's long since passed 100.
Back in the day, original owner John Haluch was pretty renown for massive scoop sizes big enough that even my Texas cousins were in awe. I will forever remember the picture my Mom snapped of my cousin's husband hoisting a 4-or 5-- scoop cone, which naturally he couldn't finish. Back then, it probably only cost him $3 or so, which these days, gets you a "small" which is still more than plenty. John's nine-scoop banana split finally left the menu because a) it took, like 10 minutes for the staff to create and b) nobody could finish it anyway. At least not solo. Once upon a time, I shot a photo series of two friends working their way through it. They said they had plenty of room, but the pictures didn't lie. They were both clutching their stomachs in the last frame, looking at the empty dish with a what-have-I-done? expression. Classic.
I really like what co- owners Lynn and Diana, who took over a couple years ago, have done with the place. They expanded the hours, expanded the season, expanded the patio and really carried the Shark theme out. (I've always been a fan of themes.) My two-year-old niece loves the giant fish tank, and driving by late at night, you can see it, gleaming neon blue, from the road. Of course, the signature ice cream recipes are all the same, which makes it hard to avoid temptation and stick to my somewhat-new, striving-to-be-healthy "rule" of only visiting once a week. But life without that ice cream would be poor life indeed. ;)
But don't take my word for it. Taste and see for yourself!
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
On Headlines (Or how does Van Dussen do it?)
Ah, it's Tuesday!
Tuesday, when I am the lucky girl who gets to proof the movie page at the Messenger for the coming Sunday's Freestyle section. Little-known "secret": Sunday's Freestyle section is printed the Wednesday prior. Meaning, all proofing is done Tuesday and Wednesday. Meaning, I get to read Erich Van Dussen's review of the week several days before the rest of the world. Did I mention I was lucky?
Here's what I love about Erich, whether or not I always agree with his takes on any given flick.
Somewhere in that review, I know I am going to chuckle. If it's a low-number loser, I am guaranteed to laugh even more. And the man can write headlines with the best of 'em.
I mean, c'mon, you can't help but grin at a cheeky one like "Scum like it hot" (Miami Vice) or "Luke - Up in the Sky" (No. Not Superman Returns, but My Super Ex-Girlfriend).
And "Fear and clothing" (The Devil Wears Prada) gets an A-plus as my most recent personal favorite.
He's been writing reviews for our Sunday paper at least as long as I've worked there (nearly six years now) and even the cutlines (aka, captions) on the photos are hysterically creative.
"Matey, Matey Not" is the start of the description of the movie still featuring Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom for Pirates 2. Under a photo of the new Superman actor: "The sky's in love with you"
Face it. He can be downright punny.
I am completely jealous, of course, because I would love to be paid to watch movies, then write about them. Erich does so well, I've no hope of ever claiming his job, so I dream instead of replacing Richard Roeper. Seriously, doesn't "Roger and Rachel" just roll off the tongue?
The only problem with being a movie reviewer, as opposed to a simple movie buff, is that you have to watch so many bad films. Well, that and horror and/or slasher flicks. Breathe easy, Van Dussen. It'll never happen, because I don't do horror or gore.
My college townhouse mates can attest: I couldn't even stay in the kitchen and listen to "The Shining" play from the other side of the wall. Yes, that would mean both volumes of Kill Bill were definitely not on my list of must-see movies. I did manage to make it through The Sixth Sense, but only while every light in the room was on, friends and family were standing at the ready, finger on the remote, in case I needed them to fast-forward through something especially gruesome, and I was allowed to ask whatever question I wanted, at any given moment. (Good thing they had all seen it before.)
It was probably a sign when, as a fifth-grader, I had nightmares for a week that the Beast That Worked For the Nothing from the NeverEnding Story was hiding in my closet.
Yeah, me and horror/slasher flicks are just about as do-able a combo as me and roller coasters. If it weren't for the stomach-plunging, G-force gyrations and the absurd heights, I'd be fine.
But that's another blog for another day.
For now, I'll be content to remain a rabid reader of Erich's reviews (and headlines.) Especially when I get my own sneak peek on Tuesdays. :)
Tuesday, when I am the lucky girl who gets to proof the movie page at the Messenger for the coming Sunday's Freestyle section. Little-known "secret": Sunday's Freestyle section is printed the Wednesday prior. Meaning, all proofing is done Tuesday and Wednesday. Meaning, I get to read Erich Van Dussen's review of the week several days before the rest of the world. Did I mention I was lucky?
Here's what I love about Erich, whether or not I always agree with his takes on any given flick.
Somewhere in that review, I know I am going to chuckle. If it's a low-number loser, I am guaranteed to laugh even more. And the man can write headlines with the best of 'em.
I mean, c'mon, you can't help but grin at a cheeky one like "Scum like it hot" (Miami Vice) or "Luke - Up in the Sky" (No. Not Superman Returns, but My Super Ex-Girlfriend).
And "Fear and clothing" (The Devil Wears Prada) gets an A-plus as my most recent personal favorite.
He's been writing reviews for our Sunday paper at least as long as I've worked there (nearly six years now) and even the cutlines (aka, captions) on the photos are hysterically creative.
"Matey, Matey Not" is the start of the description of the movie still featuring Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom for Pirates 2. Under a photo of the new Superman actor: "The sky's in love with you"
Face it. He can be downright punny.
I am completely jealous, of course, because I would love to be paid to watch movies, then write about them. Erich does so well, I've no hope of ever claiming his job, so I dream instead of replacing Richard Roeper. Seriously, doesn't "Roger and Rachel" just roll off the tongue?
The only problem with being a movie reviewer, as opposed to a simple movie buff, is that you have to watch so many bad films. Well, that and horror and/or slasher flicks. Breathe easy, Van Dussen. It'll never happen, because I don't do horror or gore.
My college townhouse mates can attest: I couldn't even stay in the kitchen and listen to "The Shining" play from the other side of the wall. Yes, that would mean both volumes of Kill Bill were definitely not on my list of must-see movies. I did manage to make it through The Sixth Sense, but only while every light in the room was on, friends and family were standing at the ready, finger on the remote, in case I needed them to fast-forward through something especially gruesome, and I was allowed to ask whatever question I wanted, at any given moment. (Good thing they had all seen it before.)
It was probably a sign when, as a fifth-grader, I had nightmares for a week that the Beast That Worked For the Nothing from the NeverEnding Story was hiding in my closet.
Yeah, me and horror/slasher flicks are just about as do-able a combo as me and roller coasters. If it weren't for the stomach-plunging, G-force gyrations and the absurd heights, I'd be fine.
But that's another blog for another day.
For now, I'll be content to remain a rabid reader of Erich's reviews (and headlines.) Especially when I get my own sneak peek on Tuesdays. :)
Monday, August 07, 2006
Ain't That a Kick in the Head?
I'm sorry, but I just have to say something about the debut of Sunday Night Football on NBC.
It felt fake.
There was John Madden in his pale yellow Hall-of-Fame jacket, all dressed up with -- let's face reality, people-- no authentic place to go. And there was Al Michaels trying desperately to pull the wool over America's eyes with a They-swore-this-peas-in-the-pod sportscasting-duo-would-help-a-copycat-show-pass-for-the-original, -they-did!-they-did! spiel.
I don't care what they call it, who they put on, or how closely they can replicate it and still not get sued for broadcast plagiarism. It ain't the real thing, baby. And frankly, ESPN's version won't be the real thing either, primarily because, Hello! It'll be aired on the wrong network.
Yes, we are talking Monday Night Football, the beloved, FREE American tradition that has now gone the way of the Edsell, the eight-track, and apparently, five-channel analog TV. (Yes, I am old enough to remember a time when there was only CBS, ABC, NBC, PBS and a pre-cable Fox, or was it technically UHF?)
Will it keep the theme song? Will each show still get a highly creative, water-cooler-caliber introduction? I'll never know, because I'm sticking with my five channels, thankyouverymuch. But I bet that transferring ownership of such a renowned staple can bode no good. Now, instead of one great show once a week, we'll get watered-down bits and pieces: a sportscasting legend here, an fX trick copied there, and no one show will be able to rise to the top.
Sure, we can still get a virtual glut of free football broadcast coverage on Sundays, but for so many of America's living rooms (especially my father's) to be dark on Monday nights ... It's just wrong. Besides, with gas prices already killing the family budget, this football-tax-in-disguise thing is so not cool.
If they can mess with Monday night, (and thereby, Sunday, too) what are they going to ruin next? Mom's apple pie?
It felt fake.
There was John Madden in his pale yellow Hall-of-Fame jacket, all dressed up with -- let's face reality, people-- no authentic place to go. And there was Al Michaels trying desperately to pull the wool over America's eyes with a They-swore-this-peas-in-the-pod sportscasting-duo-would-help-a-copycat-show-pass-for-the-original, -they-did!-they-did! spiel.
I don't care what they call it, who they put on, or how closely they can replicate it and still not get sued for broadcast plagiarism. It ain't the real thing, baby. And frankly, ESPN's version won't be the real thing either, primarily because, Hello! It'll be aired on the wrong network.
Yes, we are talking Monday Night Football, the beloved, FREE American tradition that has now gone the way of the Edsell, the eight-track, and apparently, five-channel analog TV. (Yes, I am old enough to remember a time when there was only CBS, ABC, NBC, PBS and a pre-cable Fox, or was it technically UHF?)
Will it keep the theme song? Will each show still get a highly creative, water-cooler-caliber introduction? I'll never know, because I'm sticking with my five channels, thankyouverymuch. But I bet that transferring ownership of such a renowned staple can bode no good. Now, instead of one great show once a week, we'll get watered-down bits and pieces: a sportscasting legend here, an fX trick copied there, and no one show will be able to rise to the top.
Sure, we can still get a virtual glut of free football broadcast coverage on Sundays, but for so many of America's living rooms (especially my father's) to be dark on Monday nights ... It's just wrong. Besides, with gas prices already killing the family budget, this football-tax-in-disguise thing is so not cool.
If they can mess with Monday night, (and thereby, Sunday, too) what are they going to ruin next? Mom's apple pie?
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