Turning Japanese

I swear to God, I'm about to just hold down ctrl+V on this one. That's not entirely fair, though, because it just took a while to get started. Hence why I'm starting like this. At least I'm not apologizing (yet). I've been having the usual heck og a time figuring out what I'm going to write about, which only makes me be up later, which only makes it harder the next day to write quality terrible blog posts. And then I wonder where my glasses go. They weren't on my head, at least. Thank goodness for small miracles, huh?

I was going to go with the simple repeated Lana, but then I found the actual quote. Small miracles, huh?

I just binged through some Archer gifs. It was oddly satisfying, although getting up tomorrow morning will not be. But when is it, really?

I'll tell you when: Japanese TV shows.

Okay, that ended up being a bit of a non sequitur. Please, allow me to elaborate.

When I was a kid, my parents had some pretty extreme rules regarding when we could watch TV. From 1st to 3rd grade, it was just a matter of finishing homework, which was cool, because, hey, Saved by the Bell, and we all deserve to get totally unrealistic expectations of high school life.

Did not exist near my school. Also, where are these kids' parents? Also, why are these kids 30?

Third grade, though, shit got real. No TV until we were done with our homework or we had finished dinner, whichever came last. LAST. WHAT. I mean, that didn't apply on Fridays, which meant that I just went THAT MUCH HARDER for Dragonball Z and Reboot and the various other Toonami programming.

Thankfully, everyone forgot about the 4th one a year or so ago. MAY HE NEVER RETURN.

Now, before Mom and Dad start trying to defend their opinions and get all fussy, let me say this: I am a TV addict. It's gotten better since college came along, and it was FAR better when I was in France (because TV meant living room meant Bev. I actually did watch something once, and it was some bizarre Renaissance mystery thing. There were wolves that, I shit you not, looked like people with blankets over them, all Princess Mononoke style. There was some red headed lady who ran a sex dungeon and would then throw the people outside to be chased by the wolves. There was terrible, terrible slapstick. This movie was TERRIBLE. And I can't find it again, because I know nothing of the title and imagine that it wasn't even very distinctive in French circles.).

Unlike this Serbian train wreck that plagues my mind.

But, yeah, I watched a lot of TV. I tended to sit in front of screens. It certainly lent itself to being useful once I had to do that for my college courses, to say nothing of grad school. And like I said, it got better as time went on (somewhat), since I was always busy with classes or extracurriculars or the like. But I'm sure for my parents, having a smart but socially inept son who was pleased as punch to just sit in front of the TV all day was not their fondest dream.

We all know, of course, that their fondest dream was to have a pirate. Alas, costumes did not make it true.

Where was I before this interlude on my poor, deprived childhood, being forced to read and go outside and probably clean grout with my bare hands just to build character?

Oh, yeah. Japanese TV shows in the mornings.

I grew up at a sorta weird time for cartoons. Don't get me wrong- I hit some of the big name stuff (the Kids WB lineup, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Captain Planet (ugh), the DCAU (Kevin Conroy and Mark Hamill FOREVER), etc), but I was just a little too late for other big names (GI Joe, Transformers, He Man, and all that jazz). I get what people are talking about, but I don't pick up on the intricacies (such as they are) of the shows as much as some of my slightly older friends.

But you know what I hit right on the giant, Godzilla nose?

Power Rangers and Pokémon.

For Power Rangers, I feel like I always managed to be just a little bit behind the curve. In preschool and kindergarten, kids were always talking about it, but I didn't know when it actually came on. Near as I could tell, it was some ungodly hour in which, I dunno, teachers cleaned out cubbies? I was four, not a philosophy major. Then, once I was in first grade, everyone was all about VR Troopers. For those of you who don't know, VR Troopers was basically Power Rangers with computers, a shady businessman, and a talking dog.

And I don't think anyone remembers Beetleborgs or Masked Rider aside from me, so we'll leave those out for the moment.

But, hey, I figured out when to watch Power Rangers, and I stuck with it. I stuck with it for a sorta unreasonably long time. I mean, I won't say that I kept up with it religiously, and I still don't get what was going on with the Kat character.

I mean, first she's an actual cat or something and then Rita- GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF TOMMY. KIMBERLY AND TOMMY FIVE-EVER (IT'S LONGER THAN FOREVER LIKE IF YOU CRY EVRY TIEM)

I mean, honestly, I think my timing of leaving Power Rangers was entirely reasonable. One week they're all, "Oh, yeah, we had to kill Zordon, but he cleansed the universe of all evil, so we don't need the Power Rangers anymore." You know, a reasonably satisfying ending that came after several nice continuity nods (including JOHNNY YONG MUTHAFUCKIN BOSCH coming back and being amazing, as JYB tends to be).

Then, what do I see a few weeks later?

Oh, HELL no.

Even bringing Tommy back wasn't going to save that for me (the fact that I was like 11 probably also contributed).

Pokémon, though, was (thankfully) a bit of a different story. See, the video game came out right as I was about to go into middle school. It was, and is, an incredible game. It has possibly the greatest midi soundtrack I've ever heard, it has some subtle but somewhat compelling story arcs and backstories, and you could name your rival "ASSHOLE" (it was hard not to do all caps on Game Boy).

Oh, Professor Oak. You're such a card. (Also, for those of you who aren't in the Poké-know, your rival is Professor Oak's grandson. You can make him call him ASSHOLE and then scold him about how terrible he is at Pokémon. We are truly a warped culture.

 Despite the weird inconsistencies in the Pokémon games (why are you wandering around looking for wild Pokémon with a level 5 Squirtle? Wasn't Professor Oak supposed to be a good trainer? Why aren't the police stopping Team Rocket?), you didn't care, because there were flashing lights and, again, a really solid soundtrack. There were puzzles, there were challenges, but, most importantly, there was MOTHER. FUCKING. BLASTOISE.

"Now I know what you're thinking. 'Did he use 5 hydro pumps or only 4?' Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a MOTHER. FUCKING. BLASTOISE, A FUCKIN' TURTLE WITH CANNONS ON ITS SHELL, and would knock your pokémon right out, you've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?'  Well, do ya, punk?"

 And then there was the show.

I was disappointed. They went ahead and marketed Pikachu, who is frankly kinda mediocre. It's a mouse. You know what else is a mouse? Rattata. You know what Rattata does? Sucks. Boom. Logic. (Okay, fine, it also uses quick attack, but that's a coward's move.)

But, yeah, you had a pretty egregious break from the game storyline, and like a lot of the early anime, the voice acting was pretty shoddy.

If only they had learned from Power Rangers and gotten JOHNNY YONG MUTHAFUCKIN' BOSCH

To make matters worse, it came on at like 6 in the morning. WHO WATCHES CARTOONS AT 6 IN THE MORNING? THAT MAKES NO SENSE. (The giant magic talking animals that can only say their names, though? Totally reasonable.)

I mean, don't get me wrong. I still totally watched episodes. I just don't remember them as well or as fondly as I might.

I feel certain that I was going somewhere with this. OH! Yeah. Blah blah blah, I only watched the show now and again (because 6 in the morning? Some of us had to get to school at that hour. Thanks, Shelby County bus routes!). And, you know, to show my disapproval, I only watched the movie ONCE (and only the first movie, because standards). It was okay for a Pokémon movie.

For comparison, I have probably seen the Power Rangers movie at least a dozen times. It is wonderful and hilarious and terrible. There's the obligatory kid who you never see otherwise. Where are the Juice Bar and Ernie? And why are teenagers skydiving, regardless of their degree of attitude? But despite all of that, there's Ivan "Beloche gonna ham it up in the club tonight" Ooze. Also the lady in the leather bikini who probably started all sorts of awkward conversations between my parents about their son, but mostly Ivan Ooze.

You know, even with the makeup, purple really isn't that menacing of a-

GAAAH NIGHTMARE WIZARD NIGHTMARE WIZARD.

And, also, to beat Mom to it, yes, "You think she's cute too, huh?"

The things I had to put up with in my dark, TV-less childhood...

Ze Spirit of Nurvai

Well, once again I'm back here. And if we assume that my words don't have a chance to mean anything unless you read them, that means that you've come again.

WELL, I TELL YE THERE'LL BE NO BUTTER IN- Oh. Okay. I guess that was a bit of an overreaction.

Of course, since this is early in the month and I'm therefore out of practice, tonight was once again a night of writer's block. Do I write about the couple yelling on the street about how she never says she loves him or her parents and that's why he won't apologize? Of course not- that would just be awkward. What about how I voted today and felt cheap because I voted for one guy because his name sounded like a pizza place that I went to once? Well, that would just be trigger warning central and cause all sort of chagrin and bashfulness.

"BECAUSE THERE WILL BE NO CHAGRIN AND BASHFULNESS ON THE NIGHT. AND THAT GOES FOR EVERYBODY-THERE WILL BE NO CHAGRIN OR BASHFULNESS ON THE NIGHT." Sir Ian, what are you doing here? You're wonderful, but you're stealing my show.

I could talk about trivia, but I believe that I've already promised to never do that except for the times in which I already have. There's still the list of worst possible means of delivering a break up message, but I just finished a two-parter, and I wasn't pleased with how it went. As such, I have once again consulted the sage and wonderful Kookaburra (name changed to protect the not entirely innocent, but who really is innocent these days, really?)...

Potatoes said it first, man.

... No, I'm not above shameless self-promotion like that), but back to the point I was getting to before the ellipsis, I have consulted the brave and inimitable Kookaburra, and it has been declared that I shall write about a topic I have not undertaken before this very night. I know some of you are a bit surprised. You object, saying, "But you've talked about everything! Nazi zombies, beards, crazy landladies, THE LADIES, potatoes, everything!" Ah, but it was made clear to me tonight that there remains at least one topic into which I have not delved, nor have I devoted to it my ample (and supple) assets.

That topic, of course, is the Vikings.

Images will be courtesy of this tall glass of water. If you haven't read her stuff, it's worth checking out of the library or possibly using as a gag gift for an open-minded compatriot.

Okay, fine, that last bit was a lie. I devoted many assets to the Vikings in the 6th grade for Ms. Berry's social studies class, and it resulted in my obligatory middle school B for the year. I couldn't find the images I wanted through the school's parental blocks (which was silly, because most of those sites were fine, but nooooooo, they hadn't been properly vetted by whoever the fuck does that for public school systems).

If only I had titled my presentation "The Very Virile Viking." Good enough for USA Today's Bestseller list? Good enough for 6th grade social studies. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

And, yeah, we've got Thor (and his sequel, now with less Branagh), but where is the Viking, really? I mean, the last non-comic book movie I can recall about Vikings was The 13th Warrior, which I never even saw, so I can't even confirm that it HAD Vikings. (However, it DID have Antonio Banderas, who is almost an adequate substitute, at least for camp value.) I don't really get the Scandinavian Sanction going on in Hollywood right now (new ideas for the name welcome as long as they are placed under the sole purview of Yours Truly, Copyright Regaling the Asylum 2013, All Rights Restricted To This Blog Unless Substantial Sums Surrendered Subsequent to Said Stealing, Because Like I Said, Alliteration Is Awesome (but assonance is less so)).

Let's talk about it, shall we? Adorable. As if you had any say in the matter.

1. Star power.

Well, there are admittedly Viking CHARACTERS out there. Thank goodness, because if they weren't around, I don't know how we'd manage to fight off the Frost Giants and protect the Rainbow Bridge. I'm rubbish at wielding a seax effectively.

As opposed to the Very Virile Viking, now in orange.

There's obviously Chris Hemsworth (of so much Thor fame), but there's also Alexander Skarsgard (because even with an International keyboard setup, I can't make that friggin' circle over the a. It would make talking about Angstroms so much simpler, since, you know, I do that so often, what with being a scientist and just generally getting to throw around circles over a's like that), who looks like the first Very Virile Viking, but with doe-ier eyes and probably more personality. While we've got Alexander, we might as well snag Stellan, who might not win any beauty contests but could portray some variety of Viking warrior king (because they had kings, right? Of course they did. Who did that not-quite-failing report in 6th grade, after all!) with an intensity to match... um... a troll? A troll hunter? Sure. Yes. That sounds right. There weren't Grendel hunters since the great post-Heorot hunt of... um... Helm's Deep? So it'd have to be trolls. And everybody knows that there are trolls up there- Disney World said so! Not just Disney World- Epcot, AKA educational Disney World with beer.

If you can't trust God's golf ball, who can you trust?

So, yes. There's star power. BUT IS IT ENOUGH?

No. It's never enough. These are fucking Vikings. What sort of question is that? Go into a corner and think about what you've just said for a little bit.

2. Writing

Okay. You've got me. You need a story. You need dialog. You need some sort of believable character arc that these folks can go through and grow as people.

Like this guy who can. Um. Take off those chains?

 Okay, aside time. I actually read that book years ago, because wouldn't you? Okay, maybe you wouldn't. However, apparently books have trailers now, and I've hopefully embedded the trailer for VIKING UNCHAINED BY SANDRA HILL IN THIS VERY ENTRY. Exciting, I know. Take a gander.

WHY WOULD YOU NOT READ THIS? I mean, the trailer is a train wreck of terrible awesome. The concept is something I could only DREAM of coming up with on a night where I'm in rare form. AND SHE HAS A FRIGGIN' SERIES AROUND SIMILAR CONCEPTS.

Maybe this aside has shown you something. Namely, Viking movies don't need real plot. There are Vikings. They go fuck shit up. Maybe they become Navy SEALS. I'd watch that. Hell, I already watched Navy SEALS, and that was pretty terrible. Throw Vikings into it? I'd watch it again in a heartbeat.

3. Music. Duh.

Let me tell you about Othello. Okay, fine, let's narrow that down. Let me tell you about a particular film version of Othello. Okay, fine, that's too esoteric and boring. My point is that it sucked.

Oh, you wanted more? Okay, okay, okay. There were some pretty solid actors (Anthony Hopkins, Bob Hoskins, and probably somebody else, but who cares because we've got Othello and Iago taken care of) and a legit script (some guy named Shakespeare who I guess has done some okay stuff before sorta, but he's no Sandra Hill).

But who is, really?

It was terrible. Just terrible. A big part of that was that a.) the mic setup was abysmal, so you couldn't hear them half the time, and b.) there was no music. Music is important, guys.

How is he even playing the guitar with that cannon hand?

But for a Viking movie? Man, you need some pretty amazing music, don't you?

That's why we have Viking metal. Okay, again, probably not the right term, but I'm told by sources that are in fact people (or so their words claim) that there are entire groups of people devoted to playing songs about Vikings. Since I can't name a single one, they must not be that popular, which means that the right to their music are probably super cheap. This, in turn, leaves more money for badass Viking fights between Alexander Skarsgard and Chris Hemsworth over the troll's beautiful daughter, played of course by Christina Hendricks.

Because, see, she's wearing a hat like one that was in a book about a girl outsmarting a troll. Very Viking.

See, afterwards, though, they all learn a valuable lesson about how Mrs. Hendricks is, like, her own person and isn't just a prize to be won. Then there's a high five as they all go to pillage the New World and leave a colony that will die out until some Italian fuck gets sent by the Spanish to discover Syphilis. While guitars shred in the background to guttural stylings of bearded men, of course (and, hey, they can even be in the movie). We could even call it The Norse King's Daughte-

DAMN YOU, SANDRA HILL!

Pardon me for a moment. I have to watch some videos that I've been waiting for since Halloween (get it together, Internet). I also need to participate in the annual "freeze your freaking oversized butt off" in my apartment (now in its third year). While I do that, (and freak out at my watch falling slightly and thinking it might be a roach Palmetto bug (jeepers! Identifying information! HIPAA won't like that!) when really it's just gravity (go fuck yourself, Newton) being a straight up prick) take heart in the fact that five Frenchmen took a llama out in Bourdeaux. I've never been to Bourdeaux, but the fact that people snitched on the llama-crew clearly means that the city deserves stitches.

Because animal theft is the new pot.

Okay, one down, one to go. I can finish this first, though.

Or, okay, fine, I could if I knew what I was going to talk about. My usual sources are down for the night, so this might get a tad bit ugly. I even went ahead and took a look at some of last year's late Novemblog posts, and they're downright inspired. I mean, they're utter freaking madness, but it's real madness. None of this "Ha ha I'm so random I'm going to quote The Perks of Being a Wallflower now" bullshit.

With all credit to Randall Monroe. This is comic number 16, as evidenced by the graph paper. He does XKCD. I don't really know any better way to give credit for this. If you're upset, Randall, let me know, and I'll do what I can to make this right. Even if it means bearing your math child. ... Well, that escalated quickly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Additionally, fuck you, fly. You die at my hand, because it's too cold for your shenanigans. Hell, it's too cold for MY shenanigans. It's too cold for all the eggs we've got in our fridge (capacity for 72 at this point. I believe that the actual figure is more like 50. I DO NOT BUY THESE EGGS. HOW DID WE GET SO MANY.). And yes, sometimes I like to ignore the punctuation that might follow more readily from diagramming sentences (you're welcome, 3rd- maybe 10th? grade English and Dad) in favor of going with the punctuation that follows the tone and intended delivery.

Of course, then we get into arguments about whether or not the playwright deserves any real say in the play itself beyond the basic text. I've heard it argued that the only playwright who really put in enough thought to stage direction is Tennessee Williams, but I've read Summer and Smoke- nobody wants any part of that.

They are clearly confused/suffering from Stockholm syndrome. I was going to make a joke about Ibsen, but he's from Norway and was pretty dull the last time I read him. Oh, culture.

It is getting extraordinarily tempting to throw in the towel, but thankfully I took a look at some of my EARLY Novemblog posts, too. They're chock full of writer's block (BECAUSE ONLY ONE PERSON GETS IT AT A TIME. YOU'RE WELCOME, ALL OTHER WRITERS. TIME TO WORK ON THAT NOVEL.) and also beards. Of which I have a full one now. Because, you know, testosterone and aging and receptors and follicles and transcription factors and the next thing you know your son is playing for money in a pinchback suit and listening to some big out of town Jasper talking about horse race gambling. Make your blood boil! Well, I should say.

Returning in full regalia from uncharted Asia, where they have boys' bands that have never seen a traveling salesman. It was quite a difficult time for the Professor, but as always, with a cool head and a keen eye (cultivated, along with his horse sense, from games of billiards in his youth), he was able to prevail.

Oof. Haven't even hit 700 yet. This could be a long night, dear readers, but let it never be said that ol' so and so welshes on his word.

Although he may Concord grape on it.

Geez. That caption disappeared for a minute. Truly, we have reached a harrowing time. I blame daylight savings time's end. I mean, I guess I do. I don't really know. NOBODY KNOWS. Well, Keanu Reeves might.

Seriously. I feel like I'm just trying to get up after getting the shit stomped out of me. I'm misspelling words left and right, there's no flow developing just yet, Hugo Weaving won't return my calls, and I don't even have one of those snazzy long coats.

I... I was going to include a picture of Agent Smith looking threatening with a caption of, "Why, Mr. Cameron? Why do you persist in calling me, even when I don't return your calls?  Why do you do it? Why pick up? Why keep calling? Do you believe you're calling for something? For more than your amusement? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it for dinner? Or drinks? Perhaps to come and watch the big game? Yes? No? Could it be for help moving? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. The temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify a blog that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although only a human mind could invent something as insipid as this blog. You must be able to see it, Mr. Cameron. You must know it by now. You can't win. It's pointless to keep calling. Why, Mr. Cameron? Why? Why do you persist?" And then maybe I'd follow it up with something more impressive than lifting a quote from IMDB and switching the words around a little bit and basically just plagiarizing that whole speech for my blog and being a general dick about it.

But then I found something better. Something I hadn't expected. See, in April, GE launched a new medical devices campaign about how they help communication in hospitals. Here's what they came up with.

Yes, I know. I've been going downright video crazy the past few nights. (I only wish that their dialog fed into my word counts, because then all of this would just be a whole lot easier. I can only hope I got a hundred or so from the Matrix quote, AKA cheating, because this is and has been a rough one).

On the one hand, I'm not sure what GE was going for here. The Matrix hasn't been the big thing since 2004 at the latest. Bigger movies with better effects and plots have been made. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy The Matrix a whole lot. I actually think Keanu is a better actor than people give him credit for. Plus, when you hear about how nice of a person he apparently is, you want to give him a hug. Sometimes he looks like he really needs it.

When he's not laughing at our puny "mortality," at least.

And they went with Agent Smith? They actively tried to have a bad guy promote their product? We have enough people out there who are paranoid about the medical device clauses in the ACA Affordable Care Act (word count, suckaz!) because they don't understand what a pacemaker is and why it might be problematic to get a defective batch of them.

But, at the same time, Hugo Weaving! He's Hugo Weaving! Priscilla! V! Megatron! The Red Skull! Elrond!

Okay, he's pretty much universally intimidating (except MAYBE when he's Priscilla, but doesn't he win a few bar fights in that? Plus, he's Australian, and you don't fuck with them. They have Australia on their side, and it doesn't have to put up with your shit.). But when he's Elrond, maybe he gets to share screen time with Lee Pace, who is adorable.

I DON'T CARE THAT IT'S FICTION, IT'S ADORABLE AND THERE IS PIE. YOU CANNOT COMPETE WITH THIS.

Maybe he doesn't, though. I haven't seen the first Hobbit movie. I might be a bit scarred from our four-scene high school production of it, which actually wasn't TOO far fetched for the first three (okay, two and a half) scenes. Then the elves saved them from the goblins (NO) and Bilbo killed Smaug (NO NO NO) because, see, Smaug wasn't eating him because he had a toothache (WHAT NO), and Bilbo convinced him that he was a dentist.

Hold on.

Wait for it.

PATIENCE.

Wait for it...

You might not have guessed, but he's saying, "No," repeatedly. (I think.)

I mean, I'm a little bitter, because I would have been a freaking stellar Gollum. My audition consisted of alternating between creepy old dude and six year old girl. That could have been chilling (or just fucking stupid), but I lost out to a guy who could do a decent Andy Serkis impersonation. I hear he was hell to work with in the show. Tons of respect for most of the cast, though- they just had a shitty script to work with. Also, it was high school, so there's not much to be done. Plus, I got to do quiz bowl and Model UN (which led to the Today Show incident), so I think I came out pretty firmly ahead.

Okay. I should probably pack it in (because, depending on how wordy I can make this last bit, I think I can cruise right past the word limit. Coast would probably be a better word, though. See how it's done?), because I need to make eggs in the morning. Yeah, you thought I was kidding about all the eggs.

If only you were here, Gaston.