“Rorschach’s friend to the animals”

Watching The Watchmen

After seeing The Watchmen last Friday, I’m both less disappointed and more disappointed in it than I thought I would be.

Let me try to explain.

I knew that they were making some pretty major story changes in the movie adaptation, which made me pretty nervous. No Black Freighter? No alien invasion? But I was actually ok with the more  substantial changes that they made to the movie. They streamlined the story for movie-goers without going against its big themes.  So, yeah. Surprisingly fine.

What killed me were all the little things–the changes that didn’t seem to do anything but make the story clunkier or less powerful. Some I found most irksome:

• Why the hell does Janey Slater barge into the television studio during Dr. Manhattan’s interview? And why is she all… sweet, and not bitter and shit?
• Why are the people that Laurie and Dan save from the burning building all happy and grateful when it would have been just as easy to make them ungrateful and cranky like they’re supposed to be?
• Why the infinite, infinitely awkward sex scene with Laurie and Dan after said rescue, and why set to Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujuh,” which is the only bad version of the song, despite the fact that he wrote the damn thing?
• Why so many shots of pooling blood? It’s like the most unexciting way to film blood. Look at your “we are filming blood” options, here–splattering, spilling, gushing, spurting…   And you’re gonna go wild on the pooling? Really?
• Why bring Hollis into the story if yer not going to kill him off proper-like on Halloween?
• Why the ending that refuses to end, and Dan’s riduculous “NOOOOO” that reminds me of Tommy Wiseau’s hysterical “WHHHYYYYYY?” at the end of The Room.
• Why do they give Dr. Manhattan’s last line–and arguably the most pinnacle piece of dialog in the novel– to Laurie, who also happens to be played by the worst actress since Andie MacDowell?

And so on…

(Sigh.)

quitting time, pt. 2

Next on the chopping block, Bravo reality tv.

First Project Runway went to hell in a handbasket, and now this travesty of a Top Chef finale.

I guess I always knew these shows were just as schlocky as all the other reality tv stuff I pretend to be too good for, but for a while they at least maintained a veneer of authenticity. Last night was just lame, though. And sad. A truly lovely personality succumbed to a fatal flaw. A consistently formidable competitor’s dominant past performances were deemed irrelevant. And, as a result, the chef who just barely won was not the best (or second best) chef in the finale.

(He also happens, despite all his assertions that he’s “a nice guy,” to be a genuine prick. That’s really secondary, but it doesn’t make it sit any better.)

I’ve decided that, if dumb tv makes me sad instead of happy, it really isn’t worth watching. So I’m done.

(sigh)

It’s the big night!

To get y’all in the mood for the Top Chef finale tonight, here’s my favorite Carla quote from a Q&A she did today for Washington Post’s online edition:

Q: If Tom, Padma, and Gail were foods, what type of foods would they be, which one would you eat, and why?

Carla Hall: Good question! Tom would be a lamb chop because of the strong flavor, some people like it, some people don’t, those who like it really love it and it can be rustic or elegant. Gail would be an apple pie. A food memory that you just smile at, and it’s classic. Padma would be a beautiful French dessert that sits in the window at a patisserie. It’s beautiful but you know the chef took care in preparing it, both beautiful and tasty. I would say Toby would be ugly fruit because it looks ugly but it’s really delicious, so what you see is not necessarily what you get.

(Goooo, Carla!)

Top Chef sad times

This is a little embarrassing, but I had one of those moments this morning when you wake up and feel fine for about three seconds until you remember something really bad that happened the day before. Like, say, breaking up with your boyfriend. Or your dog dying.

Except it was about Jamie Lauren getting kicked off Top Chef.

Despite the producers trying to paint her as this season’s Evil Lesbian Chef, she was too talented and well-respected by her peers (and the judges) to fall into that role, for which you have to be mediocre and, well, evil. I loved the clean flavor combinations she presented each week, and I loved that she was able to make decisions when the situation called for it, and I loved that she acknowledged her competitiveness without being an asshole.

And I loved that she had an arm covered with lotus and orchid tattoos. How cool is that?

But mostly, I am just sad about what these last Top Chef episodes will bring. Stefan, the best chef left in the competition and the one I have a crazy crush on, said it best:

She is by far one of the most creative chefs I have met. She was my biggest competitor on the show. She is fun, and has the sweetest smile and laugh on the face of the earth. And yes, Jamie is that chef I want to cook against in the finale. Boring without her.

Boring, indeed.

(Sigh.)

David goes to the dentist

I have days like this.
Except I can’t usually blame them on anesthesia.

drunk history

Since I like the George Washington rap so much, my friend Jack recommended I check out Drunk History, a series of web videos in which very drunk people attempt to describe events in American history.

The one about Oney Judge, George Washington’s runaway slave, is my favorite. Count the drunken hiccups!:

What’s on my mind

Last night, I dreamed that the professor of the “Queer Theory in Shakespeare” class I am trying to get into this semester was a contestant on last season’s Top Chef. (She only made it to round 4.)

Interpretations welcome.

Quien es Katy Perry?

This was a surprisingly burning question for me this afternoon.

I first became aware of Ms. Perry’s existence when, scrolling through a worst dressed of 2008 list, I saw a picture of her wearing a Wonder-Woman-meets-40s-pin-up underwear ensemble on the red carpet. My goodness, I thought. Then I posted her picture on my blog with some comment about underoos. (See “Train Wrecks of 2008″.) And thought little else about it.

But that crazy bitch has been showing up everywhere these past couple weeks! (Or, now that I know who she is, I have finally started to notice.) So today, in the usual 3 pm effort to avoid work, I did some research.

And I learned many things.

First, I learned that Katy Perry is famous for one decent song and many other bad ones, one of which probably inspired this rather forceful PSA featuring Hilary Duff. But she is most famous for a song about kissing a girl and liking it, which I thought was done, like, 15 years ago by someone who, like, actually kisses girls.

Second, I learned that Katy Perry wears underwear as outerwear to all sorts of events that don’t involved the red carpet. Like mini-golf and fake weddings. It’s kind of her deal. Like Diane Keaton and menswear. Or Jackie O. and pillbox hats. Katy Perry and no pants.

Third, she plays with her hair.

Fourth, a lot of people mistake her for Zooey Deschanel. I don’t see it… Wait. Maybe I do.

That last one almost felt like the point where the internet both begins and ends. It’s all too much, really.

There goes my back-up plan.

“Cue the sound of thousands of blogger hearts breaking…”