Non sequitur

There is a little white plastic fork sitting on my welcome mat. It's been there for about 3 weeks now. At first it was just there and I never got around to picking it up and throwing it away. Somewhere around day 13 I came home and it had been knocked off the mat and was a couple of feet away. I grabbed it and was getting ready to trash it, when for unknown reasons I put it back where it was before.

It looks weird sitting there, but I can't bring myself to move it. I hope this is just a quirk and not symptomatic of something insidious in my brain. I imagine it's good luck by now, moving would just be tempting fate.

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I made a red velvet cake tonight. They're pretty good, but I don't make them very often. Mostly because you can't lick the bowl with your fingers on a red velvet cake - the food coloring is too bright and you end up with red-stained hands. It being a holiday and all, I broke that rule and cleaned out the bowl anyways. It was some really good batter.

After I finished it off and was waiting for the cake to finish baking, I went outside and did my weekly maintenance on the truck of malfunction's air conditioner. Usually I just hop in the cab for the duration (20 minutes) and hunker down with a book. Tonight, though, the air conditioner was super effective and too cold for me. Instead, I hopped in the bed and got down to the business of reading. It was a very pretty evening.

As people would come by, walking their dogs or jogging about, they would wave hello or stop for some idle chit-chat, depending on how well I knew them. There was the occasional odd look, but I shrugged that off as due to my general holiday appearance (pajamas, old ratty shirt, and a complete lack of shaving), along with the fact that I was sitting in the back of a truck in a parking lot on Memorial Day. Whatever, I can take some flack on that end, I refuse to get made up on my one day off.

The truck finishes its business, I pack it up and go back in to check on the cake. As I'm pulling the thing out of the oven, I catch my reflection in the door. I have two huge streaks of cake batter on either side of my mouth. Which is bad enough. But this is red velvet cake, so these streaks are deep, dark, maroon red.

Cannibal sheik - it's totally in, y'all.

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This story will be outside the realm of experience of many (particularly to anyone who is not (a.) male, and (b.) cheap), but I'm here to educate as well as entertain.

While I am a great supporter of boxer-briefs for both their function and look, for a long time I dealt soley in boxers. Which is nothing to be ashamed of, different strokes and all that jazz. But I tend to now prefer the hybrid to the originals, and although I still own many a pair of boxers, they don't see much use unless I'm deep into my rotation and it's been a while since I've visited the laundry room.

This story deals with a very specific type of boxers, however, which can politely be referred to as Very Cheap Boxers. These are generally unforgiving all-cotton affairs with very little...give...in terms of freedom of movement and lack effective closing equipment in the fly-region.

These guys are my one true enemy in fashion, if you discount leg warmers. Because the combination of non-stretching, unforgiving fabric and an unclosable and trap-like hole near a sensitive region of my...landscape makes possible a truly unfortunate series of events.

I was indeed at the end of my clean-clothes rope as last week closed out, and needed to employ a set of these aforementioned guys for my last workday before the holiday. Normally, this would not be a problem, as one generally does not need a lot of freedom of movement while sitting at a desk for huge stretches of time.

Right after lunch, however, I received a call that necessitated me getting to the diametrically opposite end of my office complex in under three minutes. As such, I was booking it at a high speed down the central corridor of the building, between the two main sets of elevators, when my boxers decided the time was right to exert their iron will upon me.

Now I don't know if you've spent a lot of time in office buildings in your life, but it is something of a rare occurrence to see some guy half-running down a hallway suddenly make a sound much like "EEEPPPurghhh!", only higher pitched, and then collapse into a small pile of former-man-bits.

And yet, here we are.

TV Talk

And lo, when the 10 o'clock hour rolled around last night, so ended my year in television watching, with the last of the season finales. And because TV takes up so much of my free time, or is at least on in the background whenever I'm at home, allow me to go in depth with a recap of everything I watched this year with no discernible purpose other than making the clattering noise of many keyboard keys pressed for no good reason. And no one is allowed to make fun of how much TV I actually watch. Vegetables of the world unite!

In vague order of the week:

• Arrested Development: My love knows no bounds. Although there were 3 episodes that I actively did not like (up from the absolute 0, pure-love fest of Season One), this is such a great show. Its renewal extends my belief in humanity for another 8 months or whatever. And its move to Monday will add some brightness to a truly hideous day. My only request is that they use Maeby more next season, I missed her most of all the characters.
• Medium: Who knows why I watch this show? It's insane and sort of derivative and although I love her unconditionally, Patricia Arquette sort of bugs. But seriously, I'm all over the irrational love here. Sort of creepy, funny, and nice. Also glad to see it renewed.
• The Amazing Race: This season nearly killed me, what with it's really good racing marred by some ridiculous leg pacing and the sheer combined weight of all the contestants' moralizing. That being said, it still was my most looked forward to show and continues to hold my personal record for continuous viewing without missing an episode, coming up on, what, 3 seasons now. Actual appointment TV? Shocking.
• American Idol: I don't actually watch this show, I more just absorb it from Frank and Television Without Pity, although I usually do manage to hear a few of the songs while I'm having Big Dinner Preparation Tuesdays. I developed irrational hatreds and loves for many of the different contestants, which I think is an excellent and disturbing feat, considering how little of the show I saw. Also, I see that Carrie won, which is nice, if only for the fact that it pisses Frank off.
• Lost: Watched every episode all season, seems like twice what with all the reruns and whatnot. Incredibly lame for never actually revealing a damn thing about anyone or anything ever, but y'know, nice stuff. Passes the time and it's pretty compelling. It's not like I would ever stop watching, but would it really kill them to pick up the pace a touch?
• Alias: I never actually watch this show, but somehow I'm completely up to date on everything that goes on. In solidarity I watch the last two episodes of the season and was pretty impressed, even if it is a little generic. The old people kick a lot of ass on that show. Lena Olin rules the world.
• Survivor/The OC: These two get the same slot to encourage me not to go on forever about The OC. I once loved you, but now you're barely hanging on by a thread. The season finale bought you a stay of execution, but so much of this season I was actively hating every single episode so much that I was able to singlehandedly keep up with Survivor on commercial breaks and during bad OC scenes. And Survivor was complete awesomeness all the way through, until we hit the season finale and it was such a trainwreck that I longed for Marissa's gaunt visage on my television. I'm not going to get into my problems with The OC, but quickly: the writing of Seth, the writing of Sandy, the plotting of Kirsten, initially the acting of Marissa, the sheer rage that I generated around the whole lesbian issue, the chucking of Alex and Lindsay, the lack of Theresa, the drinking storyline, and the destruction of the dynamic of Seth and Ryan. Whew. Still, a lot of bright spots and my hope is still strong that they can salvage something manageable for next season.
• What I Like About You: Nothing to say other than - I love Amanda Bynes, this is the best guilty pleasure show on TV, and I'm ridiculously happy that it was renewed for another season.

That adds up to at least 7 hours of television a week. That seems like a whole lot and it's definitely more than I've ever actually had in a season before. Because we didn't even cover the little things, like the sheer volume of Law & Orders that I'll consume whenever the remote lands on them, or the thousands of Will & Graces by the same principle.

I should definitely get a new hobby.

PS - Oh yeah, I also got the first two seasons of NewsRadio on DVD yesterday. I cannot believe it took this long for my favoritest show ever to make it to DVD, but I am insanely happy. I watched something like 7 episodes last night and laughed so hard I had a headache. Yeah, TV owns me.

Inter...net?

You know that feeling you get when you have a really bad case of the flu, and you're just so exhausted that the sheer effort just involved in sitting up straight or walking to another room makes you want to never move a single muscle ever again?

That is my life every day after work. Maybe I'm just stealth sick or something, but I've been getting full nights of sleep and not ever really exerting myself, yet I'll get home from work and decide not to cook dinner, because the kitchen is so far away from the couch.

I've become the dictionary definition of sedentary. The only reason my picture isn't there is that I might frighten off small children who are trying to learn new words. And not only that, I can't muster the energy to actually write a decent long-winded narrative of my life for the past week. I have so many things to discuss, but the typing, and then the phrasing, and the spellchecking...seriously now, I'm only one man.

I'm going to try to shorthand a lot of stuff in here all at once and see if starting clean as of today will make things easier on me. Deep breath, dive in:

• I finally won my war against the ants. Of course, my victory was preceded by huge inroads made on their part and involved me be utterly swarmed by them, like in a TV movie of the week. It also had a part in the middle where I made a complete fool of myself in the Target checkout line when several ants chose that key moment to climb out of my hair and across my face and oh god why did I even bring this up? Suffice it to say the ants will never return to my apartment and I can never return to Target. A fair trade for all involved.
• Revenge of the Sith was very good. That is not to say that I cannot or will not go on at insane length about the things that I didn't like or the things that were very wrong with the entire movie (because I have and will. Even now I can feel myself getting warmed up to a diatribe of it's own post, but I'll try to refrain) but it was overall so much better than the first two that I am ridiculously relieved and happy with the whole thing. I think it's really cute that the whole world is letting out this shuddering sigh of "Thank God it didn't suck!" that translates into "A great movie!" But yeah, totally enjoyed it, already seen it twice, you should obviously see it at least once.
• All those little things in the world that were destroying me before have mostly been taken care of. Mechanic fixed the car and although it cost a lot, at least there is a car now. The apartment maintenance has come through on all fronts and I'm back to livable conditions in the house. Still no working phone, but I at least got a stabilized service on my current one so now I get all the incoming calls, even if the reception sucks. Baby steps towards happiness all around.
• Despite the crippling exhaustion from work, I have managed to spend many more nights out doing things with people than staying in with the video games, which is a welcome change. Sometimes I forget that people are good times. And not to be flip or anything, but all the human drama out there among my real-life people is even more exciting than televised drama. Who would have guessed?

Whew. So. Yes. I'm truly spent, now. Who knows when I'll have the energy to get back on things. But someday, man, someday.

A Ben Folds Apology

After all that ranting from last time, it turns out that the new Ben Folds CD is really, really good. I still think it's asinine that you can't play the damn thing, but the CD itself is very well done.

Ben Folds in general gets a whole bunch of allowances anyway with me, so it wasn't like I was going to pan the album in the first place, but, yeah, it's excellent.

A quick recap of all the bonus points he gets (Fametracker style, natch) from me:

• A body of work that includes Brick, Magic, Underground, and Philosophy. [For making a whole bunch of awesome songs, that generally only have one word in the title for easy remember-ability: +5]
• His shows are completely and totally awesome live. [For not sucking without a recording studio and playing the piano at the same time: +3]
• He is sort-of cute, in a very, very dorky way. [For shallowness: +1]
• He has covered both Dr. Dre's Bitches Ain't Shit and George Michael's Careless Whisper and he did them both with a completely straight face. [For taking songs that I already liked when I was younger and making them completely awesome: +2]
• He produced William Shatner's latest album. [For making what I seriously think is the best album of 2004 (Hey, shut up, have you listened to it? You don't EVEN KNOW.) happen: +3]
• Song for the Dumped. [Approx: + 1,000,000 but to make everything even: +1]

And a runthrough of his detracting points:

• Physically impossible to play his new CD. [For inciting my white hot rage of late with yet another annoyance: -1]
• He (okay, mutually) dissolved the Five. [For both losing a cool name and seeming snooty, no matter how it actually went down: -2]

So he's already at a +12 overall.

And the CD really is excellent. Nothing too showy and maybe not as insanely listenable as Rocking the Suburbs, but every song is solid and nice and exactly what I want from a Ben Folds CD. Trusted is easily my favorite song on here, because it is exactly the right amount of old sounding Ben Folds Five and newer completely orchestrated piano rocking out.

I don't know, don't talk to me about music. If you thought I couldn't adequately explain my movie reviews, it's an entirely different level when talking about music.

It's good stuff. I'd totally recommend it, if I thought that once you bought it you would be able to listen to it.

(Also: Gracie should not make me as sad as it does, but it does, and awww.)

Oh Yes. This Is Exactly What I Needed Right Now.

A quick notice to whoever used the dryer in my apartment complex before me:

Watch your back.

Specifically, watch your back for a tiny guy in a bad mood who is wearing clothes that are completely covered in the multicolor glitter that was left in the dryer by your clothes earlier, causing him to have to go into work everyday for the foreseeable future looking gayer than goddamn Tinkerbell.

The results will not be pleasant for you.

Fair warning.

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While we are here.

To the makers of the new Ben Folds CD:

Whatever on Earth possessed you to make a dual disc CD/DVD combo that (according to the tiny, tiny letter box in the bottom right corner of the back of the jewel case) "not all DVD and CD players will play the audio side of this disc?"

Because yes, I totally bought a goddamn CD with the intention of never needing to actually LISTEN to it! I just like the look. It's like a coaster! Or a Frisbee! Or the shape of my bottled but quickly escaping rage at stupid stupid things that people do to ward off musical piracy. But guess what? It did the exact damn opposite thing, because I went out and downloaded every single song on the CD illegally. And I felt completely entitled to it, since I actually paid the money for them, but have no way of accessing them. Great job, that.

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And the only non-angry note of the day:

Kung Fu Hustle was completely and totally awesome. I loved the entire thing. It was like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but instead of a green sword and a sad/confusing ending, there was total awesomeness. And there was hustling! Actually, less Hustle and more Kung Fu than I would have liked, but nothing to complain about.

It really put me in an excellent mood. Right until I realized that I was going to be covered in glitter for the rest of my life-I'm serious watch your back anonymous dude from the laundry room someday when you least expect it I will be there and my wrath will be something to witness and it will involve glitter in a way that I have yet to determine.

Breathe, Jason, breathe.

I Neglect Because I Love

Seriously, y'all.

There is nothing I could write right now that would not be so chock full of bile that it would spill over into other realms of the internet like a particularly nasty virus, possibly killing innocent woodland populations in the process.

Basically look over that last post and then magnify it all by an additional week, because nothing on that list has been resolved. I have stories to tell, but they would be mired in profanity and poorly metered rhyme at this particular moment, and no one wants that.

Someday a series of good things will happen and then the clouds will part and glorious white light will shine down upon my computer and from my fingers will flow words so flawless, humorous, and insightful that they will make you weep from joy.

Until then, I leave you with one thought: Fuck all that noise.

Thank you and good night.

State of the...Union? Nation? Jason?

I don't know if it's just something going around, but man, I am in the worst mood. Sometimes when I'm stressed I get this tiny little tic under my left eye. Usually just during finals, or before a big job interview. For the past three days? Nonstop from-the-eye-to-the-bridge-of-my-nose muscle spasming. Sometimes it gets so bad, my eyelid flutters and it's like my very own strobe light in the office. When your rage physically manifests itself on your face, issues are getting out of hand.

First off, seriously, to the people who run the apartment complex, when you say your hours are from 9am to 6pm, why is it that I have yet to find your office open? I have come at 12:00, 1:00, 2:30, 5:00, and 5:45, with varying degrees of regularity for the past, what, 6 consecutive days? And called at 10:00, 11:00, 1:00, and 5:00 for the past two. There is nothing in this world that can keep you out of the office that much. Are you secret agents? Do you run a back room cock fighting ring during the day? Do you understand that my water heater could at any moment come crashing down off its waterlogged and already partially collapsed perch? This is sort of time sensitive. We're not going to even get into the whole broken garbage disposal, leaking air conditioner, non-functioning sink thing. I'll just settle with making sure the big thing in the kitchen doesn't destroy the entire house, flooding-of-the-Titanic style.

Okay, and the ants. For the love of God. Okay, I understand that nature is out there. And that sometimes there may be an ant or two in the house, if you leave some food out, or if they hate your immortal soul, or whatever, but come on. In the course of the past two days I have killed about 2 dozen ants just randomly about the apartment. These are not ants in a line heading towards food, these are not ants living in the wall, just random ants who think it's cool to hang around by my computer, or over by the dining room table. Just, y'know, checking shit out. Vacuuming and bleaching everything does nothing, these random ants keep coming. Have I mentioned lately that I hate ants?

And arg, just shut up, Mechanic Who is Allegedly Fixing My Sister's Car. Okay, first we go through the suckfest of epic proportions that was trying to put the downpayment actually down without my resorting to physical violence. Then we go through 4 days with no contact whatsoever, despite my calling non-stop for the last 2. And then when I do get through, you inform me that "oh, they sold that part we needed, so nothing has actually been done, and oh yeah, we just weren't going to call you. And also, we have no idea when we might be getting another part." Jesus. Fuck that noise, just fix the car, or tell me you can't fix it, don't just sit on it like it's your new favorite lawn ornament. Also? Shut up.

Oh, and Hi, The Entire Mavericks Basketball team. What are you trying to do to me? Did we all suddenly become bi-polar and forgot to inform me? Did you seriously blow out Houston by 40 points on Saturday and then proceed lose by 20 on Monday? I know they are different teams, and Steve Nash is extra wily, but come on, throw me a bone. He's tiny, smush him or something. I love you, but get it together. I don't need this stress. And right after the goddamn freakiest hour of television I've seen in a while (Medium, which, seriously, shudder to the nth degree. Creepy can't even beging to describe, even if it was so overacted that I constantly feared for the sets, what with all the scenery chewing. British accents are evil. Sometimes sexy, usually evil.) None of this is good for my rage.

Just to level everything else off, let us address The Cement Truck on Highway 12 This Morning Who Lost Control of His Swirling Cement Mixer And Dumped a Load of Wet Cement on My Onramp, Causing Me to be Well Over 45 Minutes Late For Work, Not To Mention the Cement on my Tires.

Actually, you know what? Let's not address him, my eye is already twitching too much as is.

To Cingular: I'm sorry you feel like my cell phone plan is too nice for me. Yeah, I locked it in back in the day, when you were giving away the world for people to sign up. Too bad for you that this plan rules, I get to keep it no matter how hard you try to talk me out of it. I have the lifetime contract in my glove compartment, you can read it if you want. So just take the damn phone upgrade and get it working on my number. No, I don't want to look at those peak minute plans, and no I don't care about the new wireless headsets. What I care about is getting a phone that costs less than a new car in a size that is less than my current footlong model and gets reception in other places than on top of a 4 story building next to a phone tower. Like in my apartment, perhaps. Stop talking and do your job. Rollover this, tool.

Forever and ever, amen.

I really need some chocolate and a nap.

Life. Don't talk to me about life.

There was once a time when I loved driving. Anywhere. To the store, across the state, whatever, there was something soothing about tons of road and my being able to pilot myself anywhere I felt like.

This was really important, since I went to college an easy 6 hours from my parents' house, so there were no light jaunts to be made. These were full on road experiences involving careful time management planning and the judicious use of the question "Can I function in a driver-like manner on three hours of sleep?" (Answer: no.)

But I really dug the whole driving thing and didn't mind the cross-country-trek-ishness of it all. Now, even with a fully loaded iPod, carefully planned drinks and snacks, it taxes my very last nerve just to make the not even 3 hour drive to my parents' new house. What once was a beautiful expression of the freedom of adulthood now just seems like such a gaping maw of time sucking.

I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the new rationalization of time now that I'm gainfully fulltime employed. Every non-working hour needs to be jam-packed with meaning, otherwise you are blowing valuable recreation time by closing the distance on two points of space.

Ranting aside, I had an excellent weekend home with the family, packing up all our earthly possessions into many many boxes for yet another of my parents' moves. This time I've taken physical ownership of all my stuff, minus a couple of boxes of storage, so I'm officially adult-like, in that my apartment is now truly where all my belongings are.

Other things learned: in my absence, my brother still grows, and is now taller than me. I'm still allergic to our cat. The Mavericks still rule. Steve Nash's awesome wiliness is now an acknowledged part of public record. My parents have kept a huge collection of my childhood exploits to degree I previously was not aware possible. And there is nothing better in this world than a deep fried pepper, stuffed with marinated chicken, mushrooms, and cheese.

Other than that, not much went on. All my free time was consumed with driving, you see? Horrible, horrible practice. Where are the transporters? Where are all the flying cars? I was promised flying cars.

Expect later: a retrospective set of entries on my past, because the history, it has flooded back.

In the Depths

Do you ever have those experiences where you feel almost certain that you must be on Candid Camera, or are in the process of being Punk'd even though you're not remotely famous? That was me yesterday.

So, La Sister's transmission fell out of her car. Or exploded while in her car, I am unsure of the exact details. According to people in the know, this is a fairly insurmountable obstacle, in terms of car usage.

However, our lucky number was drawn, in that the place that towed it happened to have a used transmission that could rebuild the car - better, faster, stronger, and able to shift. Though there was a language barrier to contend with, we managed to extract the vital information that A) they could fix the car, in B) two or three days, provided that C) we supplied them with a $300.00 downpayment.

We readily agree to such terms, because we hate the DART system of getting around, what with all the unwashed masses on the buses and whatnot. But I have to get to this place to front the money. This place being somewhere deep in the depths of south Dallas, nestled between 3 bail bondsman offices and a boarded up hot dog stand. I make it over there on my lunch hour, only getting lost 3 times.

I hop out of the car, and the place is completely abandoned. I see La Sister's car over in the shadows but no other cars and no people. I wander around the interior of the place (I use the term interior loosely, as both the front and back doors were missing) and finally happen upon a guy hanging around one of the offices.

I explain who I am and what I'm there for. He just tilts his head and stares at me. At first I think it's just more of the language barrier thing and get ready to dust off what little Spanish skills I have (the only two words available to me: tomorrow and now. This will go well.) to convey my intent, when he says "Oh, right. The Toyota."

Wonderful.

Guy: "Okay, so you'll pay now?"

Jason: "Yes. Credit card okay?" [I pull it out and extend it to him.]

Guy: "Sure." [He stares at me. Looks down at the credit card. Back up at me. Back down at the card.] "Okay." [Stands there some more.]

Jason: "Uhh, so Visa?"

Guy: "Yes. Okay." [More staring. I sort of wave the card to him, trying to convey that, yes, I would like him to take the card and proceed.]

Jason: "You do take credit cards, right? It says here on the sign."

Guy: "Right." [Stares. I near the point of just running away. Finally he reaches down below the counter and pulls up a receipt book. Sweet! Progress.] "Fill this out."

Jason: "Like, with my card information? Isn't there, like a machine?"

Guy: [stares] "Fill this out."

Jason: [With the despair of the damned.] "Okay, yeah sure." [Fills out the form, making up entry lines, as it is a receipt for petty cash, not actually a credit card form.] "Alright. Done. Is that it?"

Guy: [Takes the form. Looks at it. Looks up at me. Looks down at the form. Etc, etc. I start looking for the hidden cameras.] "Right."

Jason: "Okay, so that's it? Two or three days and it will be done, right? You can reach me at that number when it's done or if you have any questions." [I start to back away slowly.]

Guy: "Right. Two or three days. So, you're going to pay with a credit card, right?"

Jason: [Resists the urge to smack my forehead.] "Yessss...?"

Guy: "So, we should run it through the machine."

Jason: [Brain explodes. No longer wants to give this person any money, but at the same time knows that no one else will have this good a price.] "Okaaay. Where's the machine?"

[Guy leads the way to a back office, unlocks the one remaining door in the building, and points the way to the credit card machine. I offer him the card once again. Guy stares at me, looks down at the card, looks up at me....AAARRGyougettheidea.]

Jason: [At the breaking point] "So should I just do it?"

[More staring. Abandoning all hope, I run the card through, input the proper amount, type in the numbers , print out and sign the right copies.]

Jason: [with a level of restrain previously unknown in the world] "Okay, you keep this copy with my signature. I'll take this copy. And we'll tear up the old receipt where I wrote down my account number. Now you call me at this number when it's ready. I have your number. Two or three days, right?"

[More staring. I give up, flee the building, entirely sure I might as well have just set a stack of 20 dollar bills on fire, for all the good this has done.]

So yeah, less of a reality TV show, more of a hideous consumer mishap. Man, I hope they actually fix that car. Naive, thy name is Jason.

Guide to Meh

Well, I don't know. I was all full of dread and foreboding about the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, mainly that it would suck and ruin all my high hopes for a movie adaptation and in the worst case, put me off books forever.

I am happy to report that this was not the case at all, which is a plus.

But in general, I am less enthused with the movie than I hoped. It kept a lot of the spirit of the book, one might say, but it lost a lot in the translation. But then again I knew it would be like this, so I'm not exactly sure where I get off acting so disappointed in it. Ugh, this is so confusing-sounding and it should not be.

Okay, the books were great. And a reason they were great was because it was about a poor schlub who gets dragged around the universe after Earth is destroyed (Spoiler? Heh.) It's easily accessible and funny and that part gets carried off pretty well in the movie. Which is good.

But the thing that carried it over from just, y'know, a good book that you might read in passing to something that I have read about, roughly, 9 times in the course of my life, is the language and quirkiness that Adams managed to compact into every single line. Which is just impossible to get across in a movie, short of having a dramatic line-reading of the book on screen. And nobody wants that, even if we did get some of (read: a lot of) that in the movie anyways.

We did get some of those really sweet elements in there (the whale and the bowl of petunias, as a good example) that really worked and were both funny and true to the original. But more often than not, you get these things that are sort of funny, but mostly are missing what made them priceless in the first place (the destruction of Arthur's house and all the conversations around it, the babel fish, to name just two). So you get a taste of things that make you laugh, but mostly it's laughing at remembering the whole story from the book.

Which isn't to say that the movie was bad. Because it wasn't. There were things to laugh out loud about (I heart Alan Rickman) and it was cute and completely different and fun and I really liked the musical number about all the fish. All the actors were competent and good matches for their characters. I could have done without Sam Rockwell entirely, but it's a hard character to read, let alone play, so I'll give him a pass.

Um. So. Final Conclusion: I completely got my money's worth (read: Devon's money's worth, since she paid for my ticket. I am finally a kept man.) out of the movie, but it's doubtful I will ever go out of my way to see it ever again. But it did get me nostalgic enough that I want to go get a box set of all the books, since the only thing I have right now are pirated eBook versions.

Since when do movies always leave me so conflicted?