The Hobbit and a Bunch of Armies

Wow, the movie was a spectacle of visual thrills, witty moments and stunning battlefield slaughter.  And sure, there were the usual sequences where the entire audience sat in awe of one entirely unbelievable stunt or other—I could actually sense when everyone in the audience saw something and realized that it really was insulting to their intelligence. As to the scenes of wholesale slaughter, of which there were many, I found it truly amazing that parents had brought their 4- and 5-year-old kids along to bear witness. Really, this is one of those points I try to stress as strongly as possible when I review a film:  if you put people together with dinosaurs in a movie, you’ll run out of cast members in a hurry—likewise, if a movie is centrally-themed about turf wars, as is the Hobbit trilogy and happens to carry the title of Battle of the Five Armies, heads are going to literally roll!!  Clearly it is bad parenting to expose children of any age to nightmare-inducing blood-drenched battle sequences.  I just hope that these same children scream so loudly in the night that their parents don’t get a decent night’s sleep for weeks.

By the Glow of the Neon Manger

My mind broke through the veil of cellophane and bows this morning when I went xmas shopping, mostly to replace things that got left behind or altogether discarded during my last re-location.  I thought that I should be the first in my immediate neighborhood to have one of those life-sized creche displays — the ones with injection-molded Jesus, Mary and Joseph with the Wise Men, Angel of God and some farm animals on layaway.  I figure that you start with the basics — the big three, the Holy Family, a ‘trinity’ if you will — and just keep adding a few other figures every so often, I mean churches have gotta get tired of laying out the creche every year and just wait for some wiseacre to kidnap the Son of God or some sheep — there has to be some kind of black market for used nativity figures; a garage sale or maybe a rectory sale — there’s gotta be a way to pick ’em up on the cheap!

Then comes the decision of whether to light ’em up or not.  For me, this really becomes a matter of what’s visible over the juniper hedge and I figure that just being able to make out that Mary and Joseph are kneeling over ‘something’ is far better than say, the tops of Frosty’s or Santa’s heads.  Is there any sacrilege in giving the Holy Family an inner glow?  Maybe it’s not ‘crass commercialism’ if I remember to switch off the optional, synchronized holiday songs medley and remove the blinker bulb from the head of the baby Jesus.  Somehow I feel that I should get some input from my non-practicing-Catholic family on this issue.

C.S.I. Xenia, or The Curse of Modern Television

It’s true what people say about localized crime, whether it be burglaries, vandalism, home-invasion or the more capital of crimes: you really don’t get the full effect unless you’re involved personally.  God forbid it should happen to you, but if it does, it’s amazing how quickly you can transform into a CSI detective.  Not until the advent of the CSI shows did anyone honestly believe that DNA analysis could possibly convict them of anything. Like the characters in the shows always say, you always bring something to a crime scene and you always leave something behind.

Tragically, we had a murder (though I doubt it was pre-meditated) at my apartment complex yesterday.  I awoke this morning to find that one of my perfectly-pampered mums had been completely slaughtered in the overnight hours.

Spawn of EMG

A Pome from Home can be quite a pest
like an electromyelography test;
though painful at times, its cause is quite good—
eliciting responses that you’d think it should.
Richly enrobed in melodious verse,
its glimmering surface belies its curse;
inviting and tempting, it pleases and irks
with neural convulsions and muscular jerks.
Perhaps not precisely what pomes ought entreat
is the knowledge that flows from which apple you eat;
the extraction of secrets both sacred and free
comes of testing a man with electricity.

Revenge of The Pome From Home

A Pome from Home is a delicacy
specifically written for you…by me.
The words are tenderly plucked at their peak
with studious thought to the havoc they’ll wreak
Violets are bluish and roses are reddish…
the truism here is that rhyming’s a fetish;
unless there’s a rhyme, the words are just prose
and prose is quite dry as everyone knows.
When rhyme is the rule and reason’s unsure
odds are that something’s amiss or impure.
Such basics as content will take quite a hit
from surgical placement of iambs that fit.

25% of July

Just wanted to take rein of the opportunity to say that getting ALL of something (if it’s something that you really want) is a really good feeling.  Sometimes, though, you have to settle for half…which kinda sucks because who really wants to share? Divvied THREE ways, whatever that something was looks not so appealing and makes you wonder whether it might not be better just to surrender your share and look to the next big thing.

However, for example, as I have three siblings, each of us is merely a quarter of the group that makes up the entity known as ‘us’. We’ve grown accustomed to scrabbling over the fallout of whatever and feeling good that we got SOMETHING instead of the alternative.

On THAT note, I’d just like to wish everyone a Happy Fourth (and wonder if anybody saw this shaggy dog ambling your way?)

Ode to Spring

O’  Spring has sprung, the tulips have bloomed…
the air has warmed and thoughts resumed
of pulling weeds and trimming shrubs…
and the paramount quandary: Sox or Cubs?

The Fish That Didn’t Get Away

Creator: LotusHead

Moses went out one day into the burning desert to look for what…a sign.  Something to reassure himself that he did indeed have a purpose on the planet and that his guide to salvation wasn’t just the product of folklore.  He got a burning bush, some clay tablets and a true insight into the benefits of high-SPF sunscreen. Me, I don’t have a desert handy when I go looking for answers.  I look more toward the commonplace altars for guidance…and no, I don’t mean the Internet.  The World Wide Web, as its very name implies, snags just about everything in its snare—you can find anything (or everything) if you go looking for it.  I opt for a somewhat lazier route toward illumination…I check the shelves of the marketplace.  I hit the candy aisles.

It’s Christmeese Time

Yes, dear friends, that time of year is nearly upon us again…hot cocoa and mittens, reindeer and jingle-bells, the annual tree-killing ceremony and yes, even the time-honored tradition of finding a home for a stray Christmas moose.  These wandering meese (that’s plural for moose, except in Canada where it’s spelled mousse) come in all shapes and colors and sizes, and are usually found grazing beneath various and sundry conifers or perched politely on a doorstep.  The phraseology that ‘the moose is loose’, however, should not be construed as a commentary on lovesick ruminants nor as a medical diagnosis of a bowel disorder, but rather as a straightforward (and straight-faced) statement on migratory habit.

I was fortunate this season to have been invited to a Christmeese Round-Up (as hunting really is unneccessary—they just stand there) and managed to bag my limit, as it were.  So, I am happy to announce that this year’s supply of meese is better than adequate. 

Anonymous Philanthropy at Halloween

I was just thinking the other day (which is how it always starts, at least in the documented, behavioral surveys, but as I mentioned ‘that’s how it always starts’, so I have to run with it) that Halloween is one of those multi-purpose occasions that can be lumped in with several other gift-giving celebrations such as Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries and the like, but with one notable difference. That difference is that Halloween is a true celebration of CHOICE.  Children arrive on your doorstoop dressed in costumes (to mask their true identities) and essentially pander for your goodies.  The little beggars don’t demand your goodies outright—though they do pose a question in an untimely and rather urgent fashion:  they bombard you with a chorus of “Trick Or Treat”. Which, in case you hadn’t noticed, is not really a statement, but rather a fairly interesting question:  trick OR treat?