Uberfluff

So, I finally got to see The Hangover.  Not only does it get a solid "thumbs up," but it restored my faith in movies a little.  I know that summer is the season for brain-dead blockbusters, but sometimes it feels as though the intelligence level of our big flicks (never high to begin with) has been slowly draining to the point where I begin to imagine the script being written by a slightly slow second-grade child.  That's definitely where they seem to peg their audience's ability to follow plot and dialogue at least.

But I suppose I shouldn't review the new Transformers movie before I've seen it.

Anyway, the Hangover is one of those movies that's going to movie line heaven, where guys repeat the best bits at each other forever and ever, amen.  What I find most interesting about it is how it handles the "crazy stuff happened when we got drunk last night" cliche.  My biggest problem with movies like this is that I usually don't believe that the characters involved really took part in all of this mayhem--it always seems so staged.  But somehow, I completely accept the bachelor party in the Hangover.  I'm not sure why--though I think it may be because the actors seem so ordinary and grounded that they seem to be sharing the audience's bewilderment at what went down the night before.

Oh, and Zack Galifianakis practically steals the movie with his clueless, socially awkward man-boy brother-in-law role.

(P.S. There's also a new Daily Fluff today that has nothing whatsoever to do with anything.)

Yes, we're back.  And today's Daily Fluff and Fluff Five are all about Michael Jackson, who passed away yesterday.  I still feel a little surprised about his death--I suppose I felt as though he would be around, making me feel pity and frustration for many years to come.  I still remember trying to explain to my youngest sister once that there was a time (a much simpler time, I guess) when Jackson was the absolute coolest guy around.  She didn't believe me, of course.  She just couldn't reconcile that image with the more recent and familiar one of Jackson wearing sequined psuedo-military uniforms with epaulets, having questionable encounters with young boys, and dangling babies off of balconies.  You know, Thriller was a really good album, and "Billie Jean" is one of the best songs ever, but we sure cut him a lot of slack for churning out a few years worth of good pop music.

Gator remarked that fame really destroyed Jackson . . . a point that seems inarguable, since nearly every weird, inexplicable thing that he did seemed to come out of some place of isolation and insecurity.  Damn, did that man have some issues.  The only person I can think of who comes close to having the same level of public meltdown is Britney Spears. (Not coincidentally, another pop singer with ambitious parents who hit it big while still very young.)  We like to make fun of Britney and Michael.  Because, let's face it, there's so very much to make fun of.  But it can be sobering to ponder the fact they are, to some extent, our creation.  (Or maybe it's just pop music that does this to people.  Maybe rock stars are able to deal with their problems better because they don't have to sing coy, trite lyrics about being in love.  After all, you don't see this kind of thing out of Lars Ulrich.)

Rest in Peace, King of Pop.

Hello.  Just wanted to assure everyone that (despite the lack of posting this week) we're still here.  Unfortunately, certain professional obligations (like the obligation not to strangle certain colleagues) have prevented me from being able to write, or blog, or edit, or administer, or get a decent night's sleep this week.  However, we should be back next week (and hopefully before that) with some new stuff, fresh and piping hot.

There are a bunch of reasons why I don't use Twitter, most of which boil down to pure laziness.  But part of the issue is the fact that there's nothing like Twitter to reveal how complete banal the majority of one's thoughts can be.  And so I present Exhibit A:

Good morning.  Today, in addition to the Daily Fluff, we have a new Fluff Five, featuring 5 terrible movie tie-in merchandise ideas.  And, if you're catching up on the week, there's always the newest Second Opinion and Poor Decisions.  Have a good weekend!

Hello.  Today, in addition to the Daily Fluff, we have . . . er . . . nothing.  I'm sorry. My bad.  I meant to have begun a regular review of Top Chef: Masters today, but unfortunately, work intervened, and it will have to wait until later this week, when I can catch up on last night's episode.  Having seen the first episode, I'm feeling pretty optimistic about this show, since it features high-profile chefs in Top Chef challenges--a neat way to mix up competition from the now-played-out Iron Chef format.

Speaking of Iron Chefs, I recently finished reading Heat, which spends a great deal of time following the career of Mario Batali, with the author working in the Babbo kitchen, then going to Italy to learn pasta and butchering.  (Quick review: As food-oriented books go, it's pretty interesting, and the writing is very good.  However, if you're not completely passionate about food, it gets a little tiresome to watch someone meditate on it at such length, and you may run out of patience by the time you get to the Dante-quoting Tuscan butcher.) 

Anyway, Heat opens with the author hosting a dinner party in his home, to which he has invited Mario Batali.  His wife asks him something along the lines of, "How could you invite a famous chef to our house for dinner?"  And I found myself agreeing with her to some extent.  Imagine that you've invited a world-famous chef to dinner this week.  What on earth would you cook?  Going by the account in Heat, Batali is a fantastic guest, who arrives bearing armloads of alcohol and gourmet treats, helps clean and cook, dispensing tips along the way, and gets everyone drunk and invites you to share the Commissioner's box at the Giants game the next day.  But even in light of that, I'm not sure if it's worth the trade-off of having to prepare dinner in front of a world-class chef.  I don't have a go-to dinner that I could confidently fall back on, and I know better than to try to do something daring and new in this situation.  I suppose I would go with the, "my ethnic grandmother handed this adobo recipe down to me," route--on the theory that if it isn't good, you can still get points for authenticity if you fail on taste.  (Because under the circumstances, I don't know if sending out for Dominos in the case of total disaster is an option either.)

Good morning.  Today, in addition to the Daily Fluff, we have a new entry in Poor Decisions (today's subject: inexplicable hairstyles).  And if you haven't done so yet, be sure to check out the latest Second Opinion.  Enjoy.

It's possible that I'm just a little crabby this morning.  It might have something to do with not knowing how to pronounce "Uighurs."  Still, whatever the reason, it leaves me a bit mystified by the latest Improv Everywhere video (one of the mp3 experiment series).  Now for the most part, I enjoy the Improv Everywhere stuff--I especially liked the one where they sent a bunch of people in khakis and blue polos into a Best Buy.  But the bunch--of-people-following-random-instructions format kind of weirds me out.  I see how it's clever and amusing (in intention if not in reality).  But please tell me that I can't be the only one who watches and thinks, "there's no way I would do that."  I mean, I'll be the first one to admit that I can be a bit of a pain in the ass at times, but there have to be other people besides me who get a little creeped out and stubborn about following instructions in unison with a large group of strangers.  Right?  Anyone?

Good morning.  Today, in addition to the Daily Fluff, we have a new Second Opinion (on the etiquette of the reusable container trend).  Enjoy

Understandably, not everyone is a huge fan of Team America: World Police, but I confess that I really, really enjoy it for three primary reasons:

1. The way that they make fun of actors, especially Matt Damon.

2. The "We Need a Montage" song.

3. The "Pearl Harbor Sucks and I Miss You" song, wherein they ponder why Michael Bay gets to keep making movies.

It's number three that I'm focused on right now--and for the record, I think it a legitimate question.  No, the first Transformers movie wasn't terrible, but it also wasn't nearly as good as it could have been.  Bay doesn't make movies.  He makes wasted opportunities.  And his plots are so rigidly formulaic that you could swear they're actually written by a monkey with a laptop and a Screenwriting for Dummies book.  Which is why I bring you this parody of a Michael Bay My Little Pony movie: