Food Blogging Yet Again...

...This time with a quick, cheap, yummy snack.

A very, very SOUR snack. Be aware of that; this is for those who like sour foods.

Right. You will need:

1 small saucepan

3-4 tablespoons of lard

1 of those little plastic lemon juice things that looks like a lemon

1 can of artichoke hearts (NOT PICKLED.)

some minced garlic and onion

First, put the lard, onion, garlic, and lemon juice in the saucepan, and melt them together on high heat.�

Drain the artichoke hearts.

Once the lard is melted - this will happen VERY quickly - put the artichoke hearts in the pan, trying to get them mostly covered by the mixture. flip them over every 2 minutes or so; you'll want this to cook for maybe 6 minutes to really get the flavors into the artichoke.

Spoon the artichoke hearts out onto a plate with a couple of paper towels to drain off the excess fat.

Enjoy! This is a very SOUR treat, but if you like strong lemony flavor, there you go. You can mitigate the sourness a bit if you really want by adding some grated orange peel to the lard mixture, but I don't reccomend it.

So, Xeno, Where Ya Been?

...Well, the computer is worse off than I initially thought. At first, I thought that the problem was that my hard drive and video card had been damaged; no problem.

In fact, the damage is to the motherboard.

In a Compaq, that's the kiss of death, so I am going to replace the motherboard and processor entirely in a few weeks.

Bear with me, please, as I am already shaking and grouchy without your input.

...But, that's the deal... hopefully in a week or two I will be up and ready to go again.

I Don't Get It, Guys, Seriously. How Can I Be This Lucky?

Ok, so, as far as most people are concerned, I am a rude fucktard.

They don't like me; they try not to talk to me; and they generally ignore as much of my bullshit as possible.

But my friends...

I am blessed and honored beyond measure by my friends.

My computer died; I blogged it. Bitch, moan, gripe.

In less than ten minutes, I had no less than 3 different people message me to ask if they could send me money to help out.

I love you guys, I really do.

I'm not asking for donations, guys, I was just complaining.

But I have your back forever, just for the offer.

So, Happy Father's Day, Dad!

My son, the other night, (Friday)got away from his mom, and speared my computer's power button with a chubby finger.

Somehow, this process killed my video card and corrupted my hard drive. I have had to reinstall windows, only to find out that no matter which driver I use for my video card, the instant I install it, my computer dies irretrievably.

So, since an extra $100 for a passable replacement isn't in the cards, here I am, borrowing Tara's machine for a few minutes a day.

Interestingly enough, the computer that got irretrievably killed, is a pre-built Compaq we bought brand-new a year ago.

The computer we have that still works, of course, is the Frankenbox computer I assembled myself in 2002. It not only still works, it runs basically trouble-free.

I fucking KNEW I should have built my own again.

Terminator: Salvation

Rating:	★★
Category:	Movies
Genre:	Science Fiction & Fantasy

Let me start by saying that the Terminator franchise has always created time paradoxes with willful and brain-aneurysm-inducing abandon; plot accuracy has never been a strong point.

But T4, takes this to new lows.

Back up a bit.

A few years ago, I wrote a review of The Core, a really terrible "disaster" movie, and was...

...Kinda rude.

Ok, I gave it the worst review I've ever given a film, and this says something, because I have seen Manos: The Hands Of Fate, and Van Helsing.

So, it says something that when I was in the last 15 minutes or so of T4, I called it "almost as bad as The Core."

First, "McG," whoever he, she, or it may be, is a really, really terrible director. This was handing a multimillion dollar franchise with endless merchandising tie-ins to... well, ok, it was giving Lord of the Rings to Peter Jackson. Good God, man, what were they thinking?

They were thinking McG was made of unobtanium, that's what.

But I'm not going to spend too much time dissing the direction. That was terrible, but the special pit of hellfire from this review is reserved for the screenwriters - the same team that brought us "The Net" (and the direct-to-dvd sequel,) Catwoman, and Terminator 3.

Somewhere out there, there is a Great Book Of Screenwriting Dialogue Cliches.

They used most of them in T4.

"It's quiet."
"Almost too quiet, it's like they're waiting for us."

This exchange - I wish I was fucking kidding - happens in the first five minutes of the movie, while the credits are still rolling. It ranks #8 on Screenwriterguy's top 10 list of worst dialogue cliches. Uberfluff.com noticed the final fight scene in T4; that cliche was the third one they noted.

The screenplay is riddled with cliches and lazy dialogue; the "science" - I use quotes because it needs them - doesn't even agree with previous Terminator movies, much less reality; plus there was stuff the screenwriters threw in because it was "cool" that frankly made no damn sense.

For example, there are motorcycle Terminators.

...Made of unobtanium...

These are frankly awesome, and are in most of the best scenes in the movie; they're robotic motorcycles with machine guns on them.

They're fucking awesome.

...Um, until John Connor needs a ride, and somehow removes the Terminator portion from the bike, leaving a perfectly serviceable but no longer hostile motorcycle for Connor to ride.

I'm sorry, what? What possible reason would Skynet have to make the machine guns, armor, and computer controls detachable by a man with no tools?

...Because unobtanium.

They also happen to have a copy of the Guns N' Roses song "You Could Be Mine," because you know, that song has to play every time John Connor rides a motorcycle, because he did in Terminator 2, and they're making a reference.

Unobtanium.

John Connor has to pause dramatically to say "I'll be back," because Arnold Schwartzenegger said it a couple of times in previous Terminator movies, and they're making a reference.

Unobtanium.

The Governator shows up, as a matter of fact, at the end of the movie, for no reason that's immediately apparent given the armies of robotic, metal, no-flesh-having Terminators around, but hey, he was in the first two movies and they're making a reference.

Unobtanium.

I bet they thought those references were pretty cool, too.

I disagreed.

ALL the Terminators, it turns out, are in fact controlled by Skynet only because they have a radio control antenna (made of unobtanium) built into the back of their neck that allows Skynet to control their every thought and action I WISH I WAS FUCKING KIDDING that isn't armored at all (with unobtanium) and at one point is removed by a character's BARE HANDS I WISH I WAS FUCKING KIDDING. In fact, one character, who turns out to be a sort of super-Terminator, (and made of unobtanium,) is informed BY Skynet, in the ever-so-cliched "I will reveal my entire master plan before the final showdown, bwa ha ha" moment they just had to include, that he is under Skynet control and cannot save the resistance, whereupon he reaches back and pulls out the control array, because Skynet obviously couldn't use that control array to... stop... him... from... pulling... it... out... I WISH I WAS FUCKING KIDDING.

...Because of unobtanium.

Also like unobtanium, they're able to start something electrical at one point by attaching wires to something that couldn't possibly match voltages even if it COULD generate electrical current.

At every turn, this movie is hurt by shoddy science, lax attention to detail, poor direction, horrible, horrible dialogue, and screenwriters who left enough logic holes in the plot I'm surprised it didn't spontaneously combust.

Ok, stuff blows up, and I know a ton of people are going to be all about that, but frankly, it's not hard to blow stuff up. You can make plastic explosives and decent detcord at home from stuff you can get at Wal*mart, so I require a bit more from a movie than loud explosions and cliches.

Seriously, this franchise should at this point either get a serious reboot with a real director and a real screenwriter, or just fucking die already.

Happy Father's Day

Each year of the past few, I've blogged on (or about) Father's Day, and this one is no exception.

As my own son goes from "immobile lump" to "noisy toddler" I am - as is natural - forced to reassess my childhood understanding of my own father's actions.

I am forced to reassess his decisions in the light of my own; his ideas, in light of my own; his actions, his words, his beliefs; as I take on more of the same responsibilities, fears, challenges, and joys that he shouldered, my every thought, decision, emotion, comes under that same light of ruthless scrutiny.

My father was deeply flawed, but nonetheless, the smartest and toughest man I have ever known.

It hurts my soul in an undefinable way that I cannot have those discussions with him sons are supposed to have with their fathers, when they've grown up, and, going through those same moments of choice, are forced by reality into a more visceral understanding of what fatherhood really means, and the truth of the things they remember from childhood.

I'm never going to have the chance to tell him that NOW I understand why he made the decisions he made.

He's never going to have that validation - however slight - from me.

I hope he's listening.

You were right, Dad. About a lot of things.

I never knew; couldn't have known.

I hope you know I do now.

When he crawls out of his bed, comes over, climbs across Daddy like I was an inconveniently placed hill, flops into a heap next to me, sighs, and goes to sleep, I know.

When I turn him upside down and he giggles, I know.

When I have to tell him "no!" and his face crumples all up in that silent "I am SO going to cry now" face, I know.

When I leave for work and he says "bye-bye, daddy go work!" I know.

When I come home and he says "Daddy!" and runs for a hug, I know.

When he runs his tricycle across my foot three times, just to see if I will notice, I know.

When I play Guitar Hero (badly) and he grabs his toy guitar and comes to sit with me and play along, I know.

When he gives me a dead serious three minute speech in monkey, ending with an obvious question, and I say "I don't speak monkey," and he walks off waving his hands in the air, I know.

When he watches Willy Wonka and at the end of the movie says "You get nothing! You lose! Good DAY sir!" along with Gene Wilder, I know.

When he listens carefully to his mom yelling for ten minutes about something, waits until she's done, and says "aw, shit," I know. (I know we're gonna have to be a lot more careful.)

When he announces that any food he likes is pizza, because he likes pizza and therefore good food equals pizza, I know.

Right or wrong, every move he makes - and every reaction on my part - serves to show me, over and over, all the places where my father was right. I don't agree - even now - with everything he did; but I sure understand it a lot better.

So, tomorrow's Father's Day.

If you HAVE a father but you AREN'T one yet... you'll get it once you get there.

If you ARE a father... thank you. No matter the degree of success you achieve, thank you for trying.

If you HAVE a father and ARE a father... I bet you're learning some sharp lessons, aren't you?

If you DON'T HAVE a father and AREN'T one... I am so, so sorry that you're missing out on this experience.

If you DON'T HAVE a father and ARE one... Do your best. One day your son WILL understand, even if you're not there to see it. He WILL.

I never knew why my father tried SO HARD to get it right.

I do now.

I hope he knows it.

Ok, This One Is A Bit Off My Beaten Path...

Normally, I go all politically ape-shit this time of day.

But I have decided to postpone my article about Sonia Sotomayor - since there is nothing whatsoever that can be done to prevent her from being appointed to the Supreme Court anyway, and thus my comments will still be topical, say, this weekend - and instead blog about something lightweight.

...I'm tired. Sue me.

So, since I've been watching Hulu.com a lot, and buying the occasional TV box set, I have some reviews for ya.

...As a note, I LOVE LOVE LOVE the TV box sets. One of the reasons I never have really been a devoted fan of ANY TV show is that I always end up missing stuff. Miss an episode because of work. Or five. Miss something crucial because I took a leak during the ads and didn't get back fast enough. Watch it get pre-empted on the night I have off so the Teleprompter In Chief can give yet another pompous exhibition of windbaggery on 14 channels simultaneously.

With DVDs, no such issues exist. I don't have cable... but I do have a GREAT DVD player, and a pretty nice TV.

So.

First up: Dollhouse.

There's been a lot of buzz about this show, on the pro side from legions of rabid Joss Whedon fans, and on the con side from errr everyone who remembers what FOX typically does to shows created by Joss Whedon.

There ought to be buzz about the show because it's damn good TV. The premise, for the five or six of you still living like Amish, is that a technology has been discovered that allows human bodies to be stripped of their minds - and reprogrammed with any mind they want. This technology is being used by an outfit called the Dollhouse, which takes "volunteers" and uses them as reprogrammable secret agents - "operatives" may be a better term, actually, since they're not always spying. Unfortunately for the Dollhouse and its shady owners, the imprinting process isn't always perfect - and neither are the erasures.

The show is smart; carries a more mature level of social commentary than has really been present in Whedon's work before; has a solid cast, and thus far pretty solid scripting. The show has been renewed, thankfully, for a second season, and FOX reportedly BOUGHT OUTRIGHT the next season of episodes, which means that hopefully Whedon and company will have a real chance to shine.

I heard a lot of people rambling about the show before I ever saw it, and they pretty universally said episode 6 was where the show really started to take off for them; frankly, not so for me. I liked it from the jump. I grant that I seem to have a bit different tastes than the rest of, well, everybody, but I thought it was pretty badass from the get-go.

Next up is a show struggling right now to find a way to stay on the air for another season, which I somehow managed to completely miss out on last season, called Reaper; Reaper follows a guy named Sam Oliver, who - under threat of the forfeit of his mother's soul - has to serve the devil as a Reaper, capturing "escaped convicts" if you will - souls who escaped from Hell, and returning them to their appointed punishment.

Let me get it out of the way. Reaper is fucking funny. The NOTION of a bounty hunter for Satan who works in a hardware store, and fights demons with magic cigarette lighters I WISH I WAS FUCKING KIDDING is pretty goofy from the start, but the cast makes it ten times worse by virtue of the fact that they're really, really good at playing very goofy scenes, and the screenwriters are doing a fantastic job. There's at least one legitimate laugh-out-loud joke in every episode, and considering this is the kind of show that DOESN'T use a laugh track to tell you when you're supposed to think it's funny, that's an achievement of note.

Next is a really, really unusual one: Harper's Island. This show is odd for all kinds of reasons. First, it's on broadcast TV, and it's GRUESOME. I am frankly amazed they are keeping it on the air; in the first episode a guy gets run through a boat propeller WHILE THE CREDITS ARE STILL RUNNING. Secondly, it's really, really, really good. Thirdly, it's plotted start - to - finish as a complete single-season show which claims "all" questions will be answered by the final episode.

The premise revolves around the titular island, off the coast of Seattle, on which, 8 years prior to the events of the show, a serial killer named John Wakefield killed a bunch of people and hung them from trees before being killed by the island's sheriff. As the show begins, former residents of the island are pouring in for a big wedding, but the guests - and pretty much anyone else - keeps getting bumped off in very, very Wakefield-ish fashion.

There are questions - lots of them - and the show seems to delight in tricking you. The promise is that the cast will lose one (or more) members each week until they figure out who the killer(s?) is, and some of those deaths are not only gruesome, but actually shocking. So far the death tally is ten, in seven episodes; after having seen all 7 that have hit the intarwebs so far, I am looking forward eagerly to having the chance to prove or disprove my theory that Wakefield himself was never killed, and is the killer for this round as well - and the sheriff covered that little fact up for reasons unknown.

Frankly, this show - among people watching it - is generating as much in the way of discussion, conversation, and theorizing as the first two seasons of Twin Peaks, and that's a good thing. A hall mark of awesome TV is hearing about it at work, in my book, and Harper's Island - if you haven't seen it - is GREAT TV. Very much not for kids, but GREAT TV.

Another one - this one's odder - is Legend of the Seeker, which is a fantasy show based - very, very loosely - on the Sword of Truth series of fantasy novels by Terry Goodkind.

This is also really pretty cool TV, although if you even attempt to relate the TV show to the books, you are doing both the books and the show a grave disservice; the translation between the two media didn't work for this show, at all.

It's a hell of a lot of fun to watch a wizard in a TV show actually DO something, though. Fireballs from the palm of your hands? Staple in FICTION, but never, seemingly, on TV, at least not that I've seen, so LotS is a big win in my book.

Especially since, from the episodes I've seen thus far, they managed to keep the endless political theorizing Goodkind shoves up your nose in the books to a bare minimum. Look, I'm a small-L libertarian, ok? I AGREE with Goodkind's espoused viewpoints a lot of the time; that doesn't mean I really want a major character dropping everything that was previously time-sensitive (kinda like that stimulus bill) to make a 31-page speech about how freedom must be earned by those intending to enjoy it.

Gotcha. Can we go back to the part where you find the badguy, stick a sword through his head, and then set him on fire with magic? Please?

*sigh* At least they did, on TV.

Finally, and possibly most oddly, is the HBO original series - by which they again mean loosely adapted from some books - TrueBlood.

These come from a set of books by Charlaine Harris, titled the "Southern Vampire Mysteries" but pretty commonly known to anyone who has read them as the "Sookie Stackhouse books."

Yes, I've read them.

I read 10,000 words per minute. You get bored, ok?

Anyway, unlike most examples of the genre - again, you get bored - this particular series is actually quite good; most of the "supernatural" novels that seem to be in vogue for women right now frankly suck, and have the level of technical writing to be expected from a 7-year-old native Hindi speaker.

So, I was enthusiastic - not delighted, but interested enough that I was looking forward to it - when HBO said they were turning it into a TV show.

And fortunate enough that a friend ordered the first season on DVD for us as an anniversary present.

Awesome! Free shit!

I will say that to many people some of the casting decisions may seem a bit odd. The one that stands out to me is the lead role; Anna Paquin is an enjoyable actress, and pretty enough to look at, but lacks a bit... hmmmm. How to put this.

...In the novels, which are narrated by the "Sookie" character, she makes a point of emphasizing - making a specific note of - the fact that she has big boobs.

...This is an issue, because the character has a fairly low opinion of herself, and mentions frequently that they (the twins, y'all) are her main selling point to men.

Anna Paquin is a pretty enough girl, a competent actress, and is maybe a solid B cup. Nothing wrong with that, but that doesn't really sound like the description the character gives herself in the books.

...Fortunately, this is a minor cosmetic ding, and it's typical of the kind of casting changes that you can expect from this show: evident, but not significant enough to get your panties in a bunch about.

This show is actually much closer to the books than LotS is to the Sword of Truth novels, thankfully in both cases. The changes in the LotS series are, I suspect, at least in part due to the fact that each of the eleven novels in the series is literally 800 pages or so long; this is not a small reading project, even for me, and in translation to the small screen, some of that just plain has to get cut out.

In the case of the TrueBlood series, however, most of the changes I have noticed so far are little more than cosmetic, and it seems to be conforming pretty well to the general idea of the books. I am enjoying it; that is worth what you paid for it.

Now I just have to get around to watching Fringe, and seeing what everyone's going on about for that one.

Mockery, Derision, Fandom, And Why I Don't - But Maybe Should - Go To Conventions.

OK.

There's this series of books, right? They're by this British lady who wrote the first novel - or so the story goes - on cocktail napkins in a pub.

They're for kids.

They're about wizards.

Have you guessed that I'm talking about the Harry Potter books yet?

Right.

Now, I've read them, and seen a couple of the movies; they're good entertainment for kids.

But out there...

...Out THERE, in the world, there's a disturbing, secretive subculture.

Fans.

Fans come in all varieties - I admit to being one (for Firefly) - but some are more disturbing than others.

I, for example, really liked the Firefly TV show, and the movie (Serenity) which concluded the series; I bought both on DVD. I quote the show occasionally, and look for cast members in other shows. 

But I don't go to conventions.

"Real" fans go to conventions.

Conventions are a horror that should not be beheld.

...Don't worry, I am totally going to torture you. Get the eye - and brain - bleach ready to wipe out the flood of horror. This post is like a slippery slope into OMGWTF, so brace yourself.

...Back up a bit.

Let's start with my friend.

I have a friend named Kelli. Kelli is smart, funny, and full of awesomely weird comments. Kelli is one of my favorite people, and I spend more time yakking with her than with almost anyone else.

Kelli is a fan.

Kelli is a Harry Potter fan.

Kelli is a fan who goes to conventions.

This is Kelli with... errr... Voldemort.

Now, I love Kelli to pieces; she's a complete sweetheart.

She TOLD me to post this blog. She said "I will laugh while you mock Potter fans."

...I said, "you will hate me, so VERY much."

...Got my marching orders anyway. You asked for it.

Believe it or not, there is something about the Harry Potter books that makes people willing to spend $189 a night to stay in a not-as-advertised hotel room over a long weekend thousands of miles from home, to wear costumes from the books,

pose awkwardly,

...and, errr....

Hey, wait a sec, Potter gear aside, a couple of those girls are kinda cute... more on this later.

So, right, Kelli just went to a convention, from which I got dozens of text messages detailing things she thought were cool.

Not cool.

Lame.

Frighteningly, unendurably, terrifyingly lame.

PARALYTICALLY, APOCALYPTICALLY LAME.

...OK, there were a COUPLE of things that were pretty funny.

Yes, those two statues are doing what you think they're doing.

Well, Michelle likes the statue, anyway, so that's a relief.

Errr, wait. That's not a relief. That's... so very, very wrong.

But Wait, There's More!™

Kelli paid $189 a night to stay at the Boston Park Plaza hotel, which has a pretty lobby,

rooms that look like a Best Western with better wallpaper,

...a roommate, although I note you two are doing it wrong, because I seem to remember something about Gryffindors supposedly being enemies of Slytherins, and you two giant Potter dorks should know this,

...and fans.

Lots of fans.

Lots of whom are fairly presentable girls.

...who make homemade Potter-themed T-shirts, and try to throw Xbox games in such a way that they can be captured by camera to look like a levitation spell.

Did I mention these people are lame?

But Wait, There's More!™

These are people who have a capella concerts to sing Harry Potter songs, in costume.

I bet you thought I was kidding. You should know better by now.

But Wait, There's More!™

Some of these fans, these troglodytic, lame, deranged fans who think it's cool to go to conventions for a children's book - sans kids - in their late 20's and early 30's, can - sort of - play instruments.

Which means they form bands.

They form bands that play themed music.

Prepare yourself for horror.

They call this monstrosity "wizard rock."

Yes, that's a guy in a squid costume. I didn't know there were any giant squid to be found in the Harry Potter books, but ok.

They take this stuff waaaaaaaay too seriously.

Allow me to make a momentary interjection here, and point out that that is shudderingly, horrifyingly terrible. The giant squid passed out cooked bacon to the crowd..

*twitch*

But Wait, There's More!™

Right. They took video.

*Ohnoes*

Oh...

My...

God...

...Words fail me.

Ok, no they don't. That was an astonishing display of the inherent Brownian motion (look it up,) of nerd herds, a vast petri dish full of some strange, extraterrestrial species of pseudohuman, built as prototypes only possible in societies with too much free time and liquid capital.

*Watches nerd girls awkwardly bounce up and down like jackrabbits doing alternating spy hops*

Lots of girls, though.

Shy, reclusive, emotionally vulnerable girls. (My wife smacked my wrist and said "No!")

I was informed that I am going to be dragged "one day" to one of these conventions. I replied that - based on my nature, and the seemingly endless supply of lame, but otherwise passable if socially inept females, taking me to a convention was a BAD idea.

Kelli told me, "you have to be careful, or you'll get thrown out of the con."

I replied that I would have a T-shirt made that read "I GOT THROWN OUT OF A HARRY POTTER CONVENTION."

So, there's my friend (on the right.). At a Potter Con. Making "rock fingers" at a band called "Swish and Flick."

You cannot make this shit up, I'm telling you.

...I wonder if there are that many girls at Firefly conventions?