Month: April 2023

I love movies, just not all of them. 

The artsy fartsy ones generally turn me off.  Why would anyone watch “Out of Africa”?  It is bummer of story about a woman who moves to Africa to be with her philandering husband who neglects her, while she tries to run a failing coffee plantation. She falls in love with an ivory hunter, but that does not work out, so she eventually moves back to Europe with a raging case of syphilis. This is entertainment??  Only if you are into masochism or dead elephants.  This sad, oozing puss of a picture won 5 OSCARS including best picture.  How fucked is that! After that I made it a point to never pay for a movie that won an OCAR for anything. Obviously, Hollywood does not understand why I go to a movie.

Paying for a movie is analogous to going out to eat. I want sushi, spicy Mexican, some French dish that I can’t pronounce but order it anyway because its an adventure. I do not order meatloaf. I pay to watch a movie to escape from the daily grind that is normal life. I want to laugh, be scared, go on an adventure. I don’t want to learn about AIDS, gay love, drug addiction, and serial killers. I get enough of that on the news. If the director and actors take a few unrealistic liberties with the location, plot, or dialog, I don’t care as long as I have a good time.

Which brings me to the point of this my latest rant. Of late there has been a lot of crap on social meda about movie details the “ruined” the pictures. Here are just a few examples.

In “Django Unchained” Will Smith sported sunglasses that had not been invented in the era of the antebellum South. Really! A slave kills off white people including a plantation owner with the help of a German bounty hunter and the purist want him to be realistically attired! And Will Smith looked really cool in those shades.

In “Raiders of the lost Arc” Indiana Jones carefully removes a small volume of sand from a bag in an effort to match the weight of a golden idol on a bobby trapped pillar. So what if the figurine was pure gold that in reality would require Arnold Schwarzenegger to move it. The scene was dramatic and led to one the greatest foot chases of all time compete with rolling boulders, poison darts, and a pet snake named Reggie.  Would you really want the future governor of “cal-if-ornia” to play Indie over Herrison Ford for the sake of reality?

In Star Trek Into the Darkness, purest trekies complained when a gorgeous blond undresses but in the next scene she is wearing the exact same clothes. “It’s so dumb. Why did she get undressed? It definitely wasn’t to change.” For the sake of clarity let me repeat what I originally stated…A GORGEOUS BLONDE UNDRESSES! Do I care if she puts back on the same outfit? Oh hell no!

In gravity George Clooney saves Sandra Bullock by cutting the rope that is tying them together. This is a dramatic cliché that has been used in many mountain climbing movies and never fails to touch my sole. Ok, it was in space and Clooney falling away defied the laws of physics.  So, what.  It let Clooney behave like the hero he is and allowed Bullock to display the pathos she does so well.  I didn’t make me throw up my hands and walk out of the theater. 

In Iron Man 3, the villainous mandarin turns out to be an actor and not a real villain at all.  Apparently, this was not how he was portrayed in the comic books.  According to the purists, this “ruined the movie”.  I quit reading comic books in grade school. Grow the fuck up and move out of your mother’s basement loser.

Saving Private Ryan may have been the most realistic war movie of all time. It certainly was the best.  But the nit-picking bastards found 24 factual errors that ruined the movie for them. These included things like the tanks they were fighting were not Nazi Tigers, but Russian T-34’s, the tank traps on Omaha Beach were not in the proper orientation, when bullets hit a dead cow the blood that spurts out was the wrong color of blood in a decaying cow, in the typing pool scene one of the manual typewriters is too modern. How many of you under the age of 60 have ever used a manual typewriter, let alone could tell the make, model and year in a movie back drop that lasted five seconds. Give me a fucking break! You have heard the old expression that some people can’t see the forest for the trees.  These anal retentives can’t see the forest for the bark.

But the one that really get to me are the people who opine on things that were not rigorously explained in the film.  For some reason these people have to know the unspoken backstory.  For example, in Forest Gump, they are obsessed with Jenny’s death and what she died of. Was it AIDS due to her free love lifestyle, or hepatitis C or was she just pining for the Fjords? Why did she have to die at all? BECAUSE IT WAS IN THE FUCKING SCRIPT YOU MORONS.

My wife sells doll cloths and American Girl dolls which she refurbishes.  She does this not for the money but for the joy she brings to pre-teen girls. She has three regular and two embroidery machines, plus three sergers, and blind hem machine.  All of these are in a 10 X 10 room with 22 plastic totes of fabric, each weighing in excess of 50 pounds packed from floor to ceiling on one wall. Then there is the thread, patterns, and sewing nosh crap that fills the rest of the claustrophobic space. I don’t enter that room voluntarily. Getting crushed by an avalanche of flannel and cotton knits is not a way anyone should die. I also have a phobia about sewing machines brought on by a mean grandmother when I was four years old. I played with her Singer, and she punished me by threatening to sew my fingers together. Never messed with her’s or anyone else’s since.

 As Judy’s devoted husband of 53 years, I am fine with her doll business, especially when she sells some as it partially offsets some of the cost of her obsession, and the fact that there are fewer doll faces to look at before my morning coffee. In the mornings I sometimes see movement as I walk past the shelf, they are on in the living room. No, they are not all in the sewing room.  Like the Russian army in Ukraine, they are slowly spreading out in the living room, dining room, and even in the closets in my weight room/man cave. I have applied for NATO membership but was denied as those cowards believe they may be next if they help me.

Judy has tried to sell dolls on the internet but has had better luck selling at Christmas craft bazaars. We live on the Oregon Coast, and there are craft fairs here, but coasties are cheap bastards. Therefore, we need to travel to the Willamette Valley for the more lucrative bazars so that we don’t lose even more money.  This means we camp in our travel trailer, usually at a fairground.  It costs fuel to get there, and the campground is not free.  We usually eat out two or three times as well.  Therefore any money she makes is eaten up.  I keep quiet about this.  First the back of my head is already flat and after I help her set up her table, I get some alone time with old war movies and nice single malt.  I used to smoke a lot of cigars as well, but I have given them up, god damn doctors!

The last bazar she attended was a doll show in Rickreall, Oregon.  Just imagine an 8,000 square foot building filled to capacity with dolls of every description with the exception of the anatomically correct blow-up kind.  Trust me, I looked.  If you have never been to Rickreall, I cannot recommend it unless you are into farm equipment and the traffic jams they create as they move from field to field along a two lane highway. Having said this, it does have one major redeeming feature.  It is in the heart of Oregon’s Pinot Noire wine growing country. There are so many of these within a few miles of the Rickreall fairgrounds that I spent a whole day tasting and tasting and tasting. Lucky for me that the last vineyard I tasted at was right across the street from my trailer, which means I could stagger rather than drive home.  Just had to wait a bit for a piece of farm equipment to show up in the distance to slow traffic to ensure that I made it even if I had to crawl.

I have been drinking wine since I was a boy.  Mom used to occasionally let me have a small glass at dinner on special occasions.  She preferred sweet reds like Manischewitz or Mogan David (AKA Mad Dog). These are kosher wines. No wonder that Judaism is the smallest of the five major regions on this planet. If they wanted to move up to number four, they need to up their wine game.  OK, Islamist don’t drink, but they used to smoke hash out of cool looking water pipes, which has some appeal.  However, it is now forbidden, so much for them moving up in the race to be number one.  Mom hated Jews but she liked their wine.  She drank it all her life and lived to be 93, surviving cancer four times. She had cancer when she died, but that is not what killed her.  I am not saying that her longevity was due to Mad Dog.  More likely her longevity was due to being to mean to die, but that is another story.

The point of the above is that I started drinking wine when I was in pimples and have kept up the habit to this day.  As time went on and as my pallet improved, I graduated to more sophisticated non-kosher vintages, like Boones Farm Apple, Pagan Pink Ripple, Chateau Lau Sall and ultimately Gallo Spinada. At one memorable binge drinking college party I was mixing Spinada and crème soda in what was known as a wine flip. Had a hangover for three days.  I think we called them flips because for those three days I spent a lot of time flipping open the toiled seat either to puke or shit.  And we called that fun.

My point is that I was in my late forties before my wine pallet was refined enough to discern a cabernet, from a merlot.  I have only recently leaned to appreciate Pinot Noire. I will never have a refined enough pallet to decern which of the three soil types the Pinot grapes were grown on, nor could I tell one vintage year to the next, but the maybe because I have a 75 year olds memory and by the third glass my decerning taste bud are numb.  By the fifth glass, it could be Mad Dog and would think it was the best I ever tasted.

What I can’t understand is how the barely out of high school, cheerleader type girl with the big hooters seems to have much more discerning pallet than myself. I had to drink an oil tanker worth of wine to get to my present state.  How did they get so knowledgeable without having to endure Mad Dog and Ripple.  Did they go to wine tasting school between trips to the tanning salon and cosmetic surgeon? Then I realized that they were not tasting the wines they were displaying next to their ample boobs.  I was being conned like a horny sailor in a Bangkok trans bar. They could never tell the difference between a Syrah and a Tempranillo. Neither could I, but I admit my ignorance.  But it was too late. Four bottles and a $150 later, I staggered across the highway and passed out in my trailer while watching Band of Brothers for the 15^th time.

After a few hours, I woke up, hung over but wiser.  I looked at the pricey wines that I bought and read their labels. How does a wine taste of blueberry, plum, and dark chocolate, or black currant, wild blackberries and vanilla? Aren’t wines made from grapes? Do they add these flavors in the chemistry lab? Wild blackberries? Are there tame blackberries? At least these flavors are edible, unlike some of the others flavors these overpriced libations claimed to have. Folks, I am not making the following up, these are actual flavors that these wines claimed to have. Are you ready? Hang on to your panty hose!

Tobacco

Smoke

Black fruits violets

Baking spice

Lush stone

Wet stone

Cracked pepper

Forest floor

Douglas fir

Douglas fir??? Really! What does Douglas fir taste like? Is it different than the taste of other coniferous trees? I get what wet stone tastes like, having slipped and face planted on it, but it is not a particular flavor that I would pay to taste, although I did. Lush stone? WTF.  Forest floor? In Oregon the forest floor is covered with pine needles, dirty moss, poisonous mushrooms and slugs!  They have to be making this shit up. And I can do better! Actually, I had help from my son with these. He went wine tasting with me.  After a few glasses at the second vineyard we started making up wine flavors as we ogled the wine girls presenting the uncorked bottles next to their boobs.  We were having a great time. His wife and designated driver er……not so much. Here are just a few of the flavors we came up with. There were many more, but it was hard to decipher my handwriting the next day.

Bubble warp

Kitty Litter

Fish tank gravel

Phiz Ed

Vinal lunch box

Bungy cord

Postage stamp

Yarn

Styrofoam cup

Wet dog collar

Unwashed socks

Warm light bulb

Tooth paste spit

Dry wall spackle

Recombinant bike sweat

Stripper thong

And finally..Pressure treated Douglas fir.

So much for Rickreall wine tasting.  Can’t wait to go again. I wonder if kosher vineyards have tastings?