Hi there, cats and kittens, long time no see! I won't get into why this post is so late; it seems much more fun to leave you to your assumptions. (Hint: if you assumed "drunk in a gutter," you're on the right track!)
Speaking of assumptions: when you hear about how one pop star began her career (e.g. backup dancer, Mousketeer, relative of someone important), you start to assume that everyone in that profession had a similar start. And by "similar start," I mean "they're okay to look at and generally got very lucky." Which is why I was surprised to read this about Lady Gaga:
Playing piano by ear from the age of 4, she went on to write her first piano ballad at 13 and began performing at open mike nights by age 14. At age 17, she gained early admission to the New York University's Tisch School of the Arts. There, she studied music and improved her songwriting skills by composing essays and analytical papers focusing on topics such as art, religion and socio-political order.
which is pretty much the last thing I ever expected to read in her Wiki article. It is comforting to know that at least one pop tart got famous through hard work and study. Or, studying until dropping out of school to pursue her career, but she's two years younger than me and has a number one album, so who made the right decision?
And honestly, being part of the New York art scene probably goes a long way to explain this:
This link was sent to me by Erin... via iPhone. That's right, you can send me links even when you aren't sitting in front of your computer like a dork. Learn from Erin's example.
Some of these cases are understandable, like Vlad the Imapler, "who was beheaded following his assassination." You don't want to make a mistake and have that guy coming after you because you didn't kill him properly. Or Gerard Butler, who was beheaded and crucified after he died at the end of that movie. They were pretty grumpy with him, boy howdy, and desecrating a corpse can be a good method of working out those issues.
Some of them, however, are just ridiculous. "John Wycliffe (1328–1384), was burned as a heretic 45 years after he died." Why? This was the 14th century, nobody lived past 18! Nobody! Why would you get mad enough at some guy who was talking smack about Jesus to your grandfather to dig up and burn his corpse? There weren't any other live heretics running around to burn? Or at least more recently deceased heretics? I am so glad that I have Twitter to distract me from doing stupid crap like this.
There's also the dramatic example of Oliver Cromwell, whose corpse was exhumed, then hanged, drawn and quartered, and tossed into a pit sans head. His head was later given a burial in 1960. Lesson learned: don't try to kill your monarch. This also leads us to one of the best out-of-context sentences on the Wik: "See also Oliver Cromwell's head." He's so historically relevant, his dismembered body part has its own Wikipedia article!
For today's entry, we make a rare safari into the jungles of Wiktionary. Exciting, I know!
I've been familiar with the word "twitterpated" to mean lovestruck, but I was not aware that the first usage of the term was the movie Bambi. Let's all thank our lucky stars that we have monolithic entertainment corporations to embiggen our collective vocabulary.
Bambi was released in 1942 and the book it was based on, the dynamically titled Bambi, a Life in the Woods was published in 1923; so I suppose this would make "twitterpated" a neologism. But then again, what's the expiration date on a term being a neologism? Twitterpated has been around for at least 67 years; there are certainly many people still alive who were around before the advent of the word-- and oh what a dark and wretched time it was, only being able to describe someone as "besotted" or "smitten"-- but it's still a word that gained popular use through a movie, which, relative to the history of language is pretty cutting edge. So does that mean it's a paleoneologism? Destined in a few decades to become a simple word before retiring to Boca Raton with (obsolete) tacked onto the beginning of its definition?
Okay, good. Now, before I start this entry, be forewarned that it will discuss a specific controversial issue that usually starts a debate because everyone has a strong opinion about it, your humble blogger included. A debate that repeats other, similar debates before it, and a debate that never gets very far. In fact, I will recreate that debate here in the post for your convenience:
Commenter 1: I believe X! Commenter 2: I believe ~X! C1: ~X is wrong! Here is some rhetoric that supports my opinion! C2: X is wrong! Here is some rhetoric that supports my opinion! C1: There are logical fallacies in your reasoning. C2: No, there are logical fallacies in YOUR reasoning. Loop until the argument crumbles into personal attacks, and/or Godwin's Law comes into effect. Exuent COMMENTER 1 and COMMENTER 2, neither having changed their mind and both feeling that they have won.
There, the argument has been taken care of. No need for inflammatory comments. Moving on.
The Suckling is a 1989 horror film about a couple who seek an illegal abortion at a brothel (I guess it's a full-service establishment?). The fetus is exposed to toxic waste, and mutates into a murderous beast "complete with prehensile umbilical cord and hooked talons for hands", who "envelops the house in an enormous placenta and slaughters the inhabitants one by one."
Now, I know what you're thinking-- probably something along the lines of "Oh sweet Jesus, what kind of deranged mind would think such a film would be entertaining?"-- but I have to concede to the Wiki article itself for commentary:
As stated in the copy of one release of this film, "THE SUCKLING has been compared to Alien for its claustrophobic intensity and Die Hard for its non-stop action." Given the film's low budget and technical flaws, discerning filmgoers may disagree.
I have never read a more tactful criticism on a website.
What was bugging me, besides the subject matter, was the title. A suckling is, according to Wiktionary, "a young mammal which isn't weaned yet." So I guess it's technically correct, seeing as something that hasn't been born hasn't been weaned yet, but that can't be the correct usage of the term. And yes, I realize that I'm splitting hairs considering it's a movie in which a whorehouse is covered by a giant placenta, but they should have stuck with the alternate title: Sewer Baby.
My friend Pooka, of Art History, LOL, texted me with a request to write about Today's Featured Article. I figured if he sent me a text, it was pretty important. So I sat down to write about it, and...
...oh my. Pooka, you dirty bird! Tsk tsk!
I try to keep this blog family friendly, but this is a too neat to pass up. So be warned, the post contains naughty language and discussions of extramarital dalliances. If you are under 18, reader, ask your parents if you can continue reading this post. And, um, while you're at it, why don't you recommend that they start reading my blog? In fact, ask permission from all your friends. And link me on your Myspace page.
There now, back to business.
In cities throughout the British Isles, there are streets that were originally named Gropecunt Lane. I know!
The information in the article is, frankly, not very surprising. "Gropecunt, the earliest known use of which is in about 1230, appears to have been derived as a straightforward compound of the words grope and cunt...Although the name was once common throughout England, changes in attitude resulted in its being replaced by more innocuous versions such as Grape Lane." The interesting thing is that the article never definitively states that it was the name of the red light districts of medieval England, even though it does bring up that
"Organised prostitution was well established in London by the middle of the 12th century... the practice was often tolerated by the authorities, and there are many historical examples of it being dealt with by regulation rather than by censure: in 1393 the authorities in London allowed prostitutes to work only in Cocks Lane..." (Teehee!)
And
"It was normal practice for medieval street names to reflect their function, or the economic activity taking place within them (especially the commodities available for sale), hence the frequency of names such as The Shambles, Silver Street, Fish Street, and Swinegate (pork butchers) in cities with a medieval history."
However, we can only assume that, in a culture with regulated prostitution and streets named for economic activity, Gropecunt Lane might have been where the whores hung out. Maybe.
I can just imagine what the conversation might have been like:
Londoner of Yore: Welcome to our towne, wanderer! Pray, shall I give thee a tour? Traveler: Aye, 'twould be most helpful! LoY: Sirrah, here be Butcher Street, 'tis where ye may buy a side of beef. And this is Cooper Gate, where barrels be sold. And this is Gropecunt Lane! Traveler: Ah, 'tis where a man might pay a shilling for some time with a strumpet! LoY: Nay, the devil take your sinful tongue! 'Twas named for the parson Nigel Gropecunt, and is where we go to pray and mend the bindings on our Bibles! Traveler: ...'kay.
I love urban legends. Sure, many of them prey on people's ignorance, and a fair chunk are born out of ugly stereotypes, but I can appreciate how they add a touch of the bizarre to everyday life, and how, even in an age where political revolutions are being Twittered, we still have a tendency to whisper to each other about monsters lurking in the night. Might be silly, but I find it very humanizing, and humbling, after a fashion.
This, however? The mortal peril of going to sleep in a closed room with a fan on? Oh man.
It's apparently possible that electric fans could, in rare cases, contribute to heat stroke, but consider some of the reasons given for fans supposedly being deadly:
"That an electric fan creates a vortex, which sucks the oxygen from the enclosed and sealed room and creates a partial vacuum inside." "That an electric fan chops up all the oxygen particles in the air leaving none to breathe." "The fan uses up the oxygen in the room and creates fatal levels of carbon dioxide." "That if the fan is put directly in front of the face of the sleeping person, it will suck all the air away, preventing one from breathing."
Come on. I'm an abject moron when it comes to science, and even I know it doesn't work that way. The way you die from an electric fan is by sticking your fingers through the grate, then the fan blade severs your fingertip clean off and you bleed out. From your finger.
I think my favorite aspect of this urban legend is that Korean electric fan manufacturers cater to people who believe in it by putting timers on their products. GUYS. We're in the 21st century. Surely you'd make a lot more money if you slap some copy on the box about using the timer to reduce carbon emissions.
The blurb at the top of the article pretty much says it all: "The Boston Molasses Disaster, also known as the Great Molasses Flood and the Great Boston Molasses Tragedy, occurred on January 15, 1919, in the North End neighborhood of Boston, Massachusetts in the United States. A large molasses tank burst, and a wave of molasses rushed through the streets at an estimated 35 mph (56 km/h), killing 21 and injuring 150."
I've long held the opinion that any food, given that it is in enough quantity, eventually becomes really disgusting. You know: bulk jars of maraschino cherries, buckets of salad, Michael Moore's lunch (HIYOOOOO!)... I assumed that when I see a food item in such a vast quantity, my mind simultaneously interprets it as something I can eat (because it's a food item), and something that I can't eat (because there's so much of it), and the result is repulsion. But now, I see it's a survival response.
The 35 mph speed is interesting, too. My original response was "35 mph? Pfft.", but then I realized that it was with regards to a substance that is a cliche hallmark for slowness. Plus this was 1919, when nothing when 35 mph, ever. And considering that the company that owned the molasses factory "ultimately paid out $600,000 in out-of-court settlements (at least $6.6 million in 2005 dollars)"... relatively speaking, the wave of molasses must have caused a sonic boom.
Also, I don't know what the status of syrup production is in Boston today, but to be on the safe side, I encourage my Massachucetts readers to wear flotation devices at all times. You can't be too careful, kids.
You guys, this is my 100th post! I'm very excited, because my typical approach to projects is something along the lines of "Hey, I wanna be a lepidopterist! No, I wanna build a model train town! No, I wanna run for mayor of a sparsely-populated town in Montana!" and then I end up spending the night drinking beer and watching cartoons. But I've actually stuck with this. Pat on the back to me!
Additionally, a pat on the back to everyone who has read and supported this blog. Without you guys, I might as well just be talking at a blank wall. But instead, I talk at a blank wall when I'm done blogging. Your comments keep me writing, and promoting TILfW on your websites has taken my readership from nobody to a hair under three-thousand unique visitors in the past month. The fact that there's an audience out there for my half-baked, self-consciously twee ramblings means the world to me. It really does.
Okay, on to the entry.
Thanks to my friends Matt and Jess, whom I have known since high school and still talk to me for some reason, I've gained an appreciation for really awful movies. If the phrase "GARBAGE DAY!" means anything to you beyond taking out the trash, you know exactly what kind of movies I'm talking about. So when I came across this ridiculous clip on YouTube:
I had to know more. "...what?" is right.
Shark Attack 3: Megalodon is, um, the third in the Shark Attack series. It was released direct to DVD-- I know, I'm surprised too-- in 2002. Yes, 2002. Yes, with those special effects.
There's a very long plot summary, which is flagged as being both "too long or detailed compared to the rest of the content" and "[describing] a work or element of fiction in a primarily in-universe style." I didn't even bother. Giant shark, eats people. Moving on. Surely such a ridiculous and low-budget movie has an equally pathetic cast of talentless nobodies?
Not exactly. The protagonist is played by none other than consummate sexypants John Barrowman, aka Captain Jack Harkness from Dr. Who and Torchwood. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when I learned that, I can tell you, especially when I found the YouTube video of the jewel in Shark Attack 3's crown of suck.
Note: the above link is NSFW. I will bowdlerize the quote below for your convenience.
Cataline Stone: *sigh* I'm exhausted. Ben Carpenter: Yeah, me too. But you know, I'm really wired. What do you say I take you home and [stimulate your vulva with my mouth].
One would assume that this was just a prime example of depressingly terrible screenwriting, lay the blame squarely on cocaine, and move on with one's day. But no, friends. No. According to the Wik', the line was an improvisation on Barrowman's part, with the intention of cracking up his co-star, that was left in the final cut. It stands to reason that whatever line had been in the script to end the scene, the above was considered the preferable dialogue.
My European readers and the more worldly among the non-European readers are probably going to find this post repetitive and boring. My apologies.
Last night, my friends introduced me to Eurovision, an annual music competition among the members of the European Broadcasting Union that has been going on for over fifty years. Each country enters a musical artist (or artists, up to six) performing a previously unreleased song; citizens of the participating nations vote for their favorite songs (excluding the entry from their own country).
We watched every entry on YouTube; admittedly, we couldn't sit through most of them the whole way.
"But if these songs are supposed to represent the best the country has to offer, why couldn't you listen to them?"
Because these songs are designed to be palatable to as many people as possible, they end up being (for the most part) the blandest, most inoffensive, middle-of-the-road easy listening pop imaginable*. Take, for instance, Britain's entry. Remember now, this is the country that gave us the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Clash... I'm going to stop before I depress myself.
Listening to that song, all the corporate executives and government officials and marketing consultants and endless focus groups are practically a section of the orchestra. And Ms. Ewen came in 5th.
Some of the entries were pretty good. I quite liked Estonia's Urban Symphony:
My friend Ziggy was a fan of the Armenian entry, "Jan Jan" by Inga and Arnush:
There was also Gipsy.cz, the Romani rapper/superhero representing the Czech Republic:
Anyway, I was Wiki'ing furiously during this smorgasbord of mediocrity, and oh man I learned so much about Eurovision! Bullet points away!
- The song that Georgia entered, "We Don't Wanna Put In" by Stefane & 3G, was withdrawn from the contest due to the political content of the lyrics (specifically, a criticism of Vladimir Putin). - Even more controversial: Spain had to preempt their live feed by about an hour, and had to rely on a jury to cast their votes, instead of public voting. - Entries are allowed to be sung in any language. "This linguistic freedom led to the Belgian entry in 2003, 'Sanomi,' being sung in an entirely fictional language. In 2006 the Dutch entry, 'Amambanda,' was sung partly in English and partly in an artificial language. In 2007, Romanian participants Todomondo sang 'Liubi, Liubi, I Love You' in six different languages and in 2008, again a Belgian entry, 'O Julissi' was made in an imaginary language." - "The most notable winning Eurovision artist whose career was directly launched into the spotlight following their win was ABBA, who won the Contest for Sweden in 1974 with their song 'Waterloo.' ABBA went on to be one of the most successful bands of their time." See, told you not all the entries are awful. Yes, I like ABBA. No, I am not a middle-aged gay man. - "The Contest has long been perceived as politically influenced, where judges —and now televoters— allocate points based on their nation's relationship to the other countries, rather than on the musical merits of the songs. According to one study of Eurovision voting patterns, certain countries do tend to form 'clusters' or 'cliques' by frequently voting in the same way. Defenders of the Contest argue that the reason certain countries allocate disproportionately high points to others is because the people of those countries share similar musical tastes and cultures and speak similar languages, and are therefore more likely to appreciate each other's music... Another influential factor is the high proportion of expatriates living in certain countries, often due to recent political upheaval. Since residents of a country cannot vote for their own entry, countries where a large minority of the population are ethnically tied to a neighbouring country and votes for their entrant can distort the vote considerably... Following these criticisms, it was announced that juries would return to the Contest in 2009. Two systems will work together, with 50 per cent of the vote decided by the jurors and the other 50 via televoting." - "The 'Big 4' countries (United Kingdom, France, Germany and Spain) as they are the 4 largest economic contributors to the contest, and are rewarded with automatic spots in the final." Aw c'mon you guys, that's not fair! - "No restriction on the nationality of the performers exists, which has resulted in countries being represented by artists who are not nationals of that country. One of the most well-known winning artists, Canadian Céline Dion represented Switzerland in 1988 (It seems to be a Swiss tactic, as their 2005 performance was by Estonian group Vanilla Ninja and their 2006 performance is by the multinational group six4one with performers coming from Israel, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Sweden, Malta and Portugal as well as from Switzerland)." Switzerland! Where's your national pride? You make delicious chocolate and useful pocketknives, surely you can come up with some talented musicians. - "As of 2009, the country which has entered the longest with no wins to their name is Portugal. They started entering in 1964, and are still awaiting their first win." Now that is a shame. I thought the 2009 Portuguese entry was really good.
This is probably the longest TILfW entry ever, and there is so much more to say. What were your favorite Eurovision entries for 2009?
Oh, and for those of you who missed it and can't stand the suspense, this year's winner was Norway's Alexander Rybak, performing "Fairytale:"
* And I am aware that my own country is responsible for more than its fair share of bland, inoffensive pop. I shudder to think what the American entry would sound like; it would probably make Kelly Clarkson sound like Kate Bush.
Ah, here's one of those weird historical nuggets that you expect from a blog entitled "Things I've Learned from Wikipedia."
Submitted for your approval: the year is 1518. The place: Strasborg, France. A woman begins dancing uncontrollably in the street, continuing for days without rest. Within a month, she has been joined by 400 of her closest friends and family. Local officials attempt to cure the epidemic by opening guildhalls and hiring musicians, in hopes that that encouraging the dancers will allow them to stop. But unbeknownst to these medieval townsfolk, they are just about to foxtrot themselves into... the Twilight Zone.
Seriously though, a lot of people died.
The article includes several theories as to what caused the Dancing Plague. Mass psychogenic illness seems to be the most probable explanation, but there is another theory:
"Historian Nikhil Murthy of Emory University believes that the epidemic can largely be attributed to the accidental synthesis of MDMA. Although MDMA was not formally synthesized in a laboratory until 1912 by Anton Köllisch, an accidental mixture could easily have been concocted by subjecting Safrole, a commonly available plant in the area, with a basic substance."
DARK AGES RAVE! WHOOOOOOOOOOO! The next time I go to a Renaissance Faire, I'm bringing glowsticks and candy necklaces!
Someone randomly mentioned road rage yesterday, and I was wondering if it's still a "thing." The worst exchange I've ever dealt with while driving has been a honking horn or a middle finger (the latter of which is considered road rage by the article, but c'mon. With regards to driving, I spent my formative years in New Jersey; the bird is tantamount to saying hello).
Two things that stood out to me in the article:
1. The list of websites devoted to dealing with road rage by recording other drivers' license plate numbers and crazy driving habits. I guess this would help you deal with your anger after the fact, but it's not a very good preventative measure, unless you find a list of repeat offenders in your town and memorize their license plates. "Watch out, Louise, FPQ-4291 just merged into the lane behind us, and you know his reputation for tailgating!" Also, if you're in a dangerous driving situation, are you really going to take your concentration off the road and record the other person's plate number? Maybe if you licked your finger and traced it in the dust on your dashboard. Not that I've ever left a note to myself that way.
2. A 1988 newspaper article that was quoted as an example of an early usage of the term "road rage" has a grammatical error, complete with a finger-wagging [sic] added by the editor of the Wikipedia article. Sucks to be you, St. Petersburg Times! Now, I make my share of errors while writing, but that's why I don't work for a newspaper. Well, actually I don't work for a newspaper because it's hard to find an entry-level position in a dying industry, but I digress.
I don't consider my initial question to be answered by the Wik', though, because a lot of the statements in the article were followed by the "citation needed" superscript, a red flag in my mind. Perhaps this "road rage" is a fabrication cooked up by the liberal Jewish media. Or maybe it was the conservative Christian media. Or even the damned dirty neutral Buddhist media. Bastards.
"The Lambeth Walk", a song from the 1937 musical Me and My Girl, led to the creation of a popular dance of the time in England, which was performed "in a jaunty, strutting style." So far about as interesting as the Macarena will be in fifty years (in fact, I'm flinching right now from referencing the Macarena [seriously, what the hell is my problem?]), except for the fact that a few years later, the British Ministry of Information released a short film featuring "The Lambeth Walk" and some other folks known for walking around in a jaunty, strutting style:
It's a proto-remix!
The Wiki article describes it as a propaganda film, which I think is a pretty loaded term (although I can't think of a more accurate one to describe media released by the government to reflect a certain political view, despite that view being pretty cut-and-dry), but I'm generally in favor of propaganda that makes Nazis look foolish. Score one for Minitrue!
Just for the sake of comparison, here's the number from the 1987 Broadway revival:
Last night's Daily Show was a repeat, but it did feature a bit on how funding is going to be cut for laser-mounted jet fighters. Tragic, but as it turns out, our ancestors had a [technically] long-range weapon that was six million times more badass and can be had for a fraction of the price: a herd of pigs set on fire. The finest in anti-war-elephant combat.
"Aelian reports that Antipater's siege of Megara during the Wars of the Diadochi was broken when the Megarians poured oil on a herd of pigs, set them alight, and drove them towards the enemy's massed war elephants. The elephants bolted in terror from the flaming squealing pigs often killing great numbers of the army the elephant was part of."
Despite that final run-on sentence, that's quite the mental image.
Now I know that some of you want to reply "Mmm, bacon." Guys, that's disgusting. Those pigs were covered in tar sometimes.
I haven't read a lot of superhero comic books-- and even less DC-- but a pattern I've been noticing is that the concept for any character whose superhero name ends with "Lad" is going to be kinda dumb.
Take Tenzil Kem, aka Matter-Eater Lad, for instance: he is a lad who eats matter. Any matter. But no mere cafeteria sideshow is he; Tenzil is able to bite through and digest anything. "In his first appearance, Matter-Eater Lad explains his origins, saying that the natives of Bismoll found that microbes had made all their food inedible, and that the populace evolved their ability to eat all matter as a survival mechanism." I'm no scientist, but I would think that evolving an immunity to the microbes in question would be simpler. Then again, Immune to a Specific Kind of Microbe Lad is admittedly a step backwards in terms of crime-fighting and world-saving. Originally a member of the Legion of Super-Heroes, M.L.E. was often written out of the plots because the writing staff had trouble translating making his ability useful in combat. After the Zero Hour storyarc in the 90s, when the world was rewritten, he returned as the Legion of Super Hero's chef. Because a dude who eats through fences obviously has a refined sense of haute cuisine. And he can spit acid. Great.
Best caption ever, might I add.
As alluded to earlier, Matter-Eater Lad is from the planet Bismoll, where his entire species has his ability. According to Wiki, this origin story is shared by many members of the Legion of Super-Heroes: I come from a planet where everyone does this, hand me a cape. Matter-Eater Lad isn't even the best of his kind at eating matter; Calorie Queen, another citizen of Bismoll, can convert the energy from what she eats into super strength. Why not recruit her instead? It makes me wish that some organization was recruiting Earthlings for a similar legion in hopes that we would share a "fantastic" ability that we take for granted. I could be Hair-Growing Woman, or the Salivator...
I'm not industrious enough to double-check, but the plurality of my posts are related to movies. Why not, sounds good to me. It's one of the things that I really love to geek out about, to the point where I have to check myself to make sure I'm not solely using the term "film" and sounding like a complete gasbag.
Anyway, something that gives me great pleasure when browsing Wiki articles on films (see, there I go) is reading about subgenres, like chanbara, Japanese action flicks about samurai. Apparently a lot of these movies are serials featuring well-known characters. I had heard of Zatoichi the blind samurai (and by "head of" I mean "saw a parody of him on The Boondocks"), but the one that really caught me off guard with his sharp sharp katana was Lone Wolf and Cub: six films, four plays, a television series, and a 28-volume manga about a samuai, Itto, and his 3-year-old son, Daigoro, who he pushes around Japan in a baby carriage, all the while stabbing ninjas and seeking revenge for the murder of his wife.
One thing I'm not quite clear on: does Daigoro fight alongside his dad? There's a screenshot of him from one of the movies:
(D'awwwww, baby samurai!) He's holding that stick like a weapon, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's fighting. Besides, if my dad was the Shogun's grand executioner and all I got as a weapon was a lousy stick, I would be pissed. But how would they achieve that in the movies with a child actor? A midget stand-in? I found a trailer for one of them (NSFW):
which includes Daigoro brandishing the stick, but it doesn't really answer my questions. I don't speak Japanese, so I don't have the slightest clue as to what the dialogue is ("What are you, crazy? He's not even wearing armor! I should call child services.").
I'm interested in seeing these, partially because I like a good action flick, but also because the some of English names are the best titles ever given anything in recorded history:
Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart at the River Styx Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart to Hades Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart in Peril Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart in the Land of Demons
How could anyone not want to see a movie subtitled "Baby Cart to Hades?"
So my boyfriend and I have been playing through Tales of Symphonia 2 on the Wii, and there's a character in the game named Ratatosk. I knew I'd heard that name somewhere, so I Wiki'ed it-- of course-- and found out that Ratatosk is a squirrel in Norse mythology who lives on Ygdrassil the World Tree. Already knew that, kind of a mythology geek, just needed a refresher. But what surprised me was the accompanying picture:
Maybe it's just because I've only been exposed to Eastern grey squirrels for the majority of my life, but I'm pretty sure there's not an existing variety of squirrel with green fur and a horn. Now, this drawing is from Iceland. Why am I not surprised? Between this and the Yule Lads, I'm really starting to wonder about Iceland.
It does put Bjork's music into context, though; on an island with green horned squirrels and spoon-stealing Christmas imps, she must be downright boring. I'll bet she's like the Kenny G of Icelandic music, and her music is so internationally popular because the citizens of Iceland decided she would be the most palatable for mundane continentals. Honestly, I don't know if we can (or should) go any further down the Reykjavík rabbit-hole beyond swan dresses and completely a capella albums.
[A quick note of interest before I start the entry: I've just started twittering, if you care to follow my microbloggable exploits. --Regina]
"Bitch, please," I can hear you saying. "I've read Harry Potter. Or at least seen one of the movies. I know what muggles are. And I can tell from your sense of humor that you're a grade-A nerd, so you obviously do too, and have ever since that fateful summer in high school that you were volunteering at a summer reading program for kids at the library and picked up HPatSS to stay on top of things."
No, friend. You do not know what "muggles" means, and neither did I.
In the 1920s and 30s, "muggles" was a slang term among jazz musicians for cannabis. Louis Armstrong, who was "an enthusiastic user of marijuana," to quote the article, wrote a song called "Muggles" about his beloved pastime, which is what the article in question is about.
Now, I'm not saying that J.K. Rowling is trying to get children addicted to anything beyond Harry Potter merchandise. I just think it's a hilarious coincidence, or perhaps a sly (and by "sly" I mean "obscure to the point of being nonsensical") reference.
George Lucas' debut feature film THX 1138 was made for a budget of $777,777 and 77 cents, as set by producer Francis Ford Coppola.
A few comments spring to mind:
- Did George Lucas make a concerted effort to use it all? I have this mental image of him towards the end of production at a convenience store, counting out Slim Jims for the crew and periodically consulting a calculator.
- THX 1138 was released in 1971, but still, that's a hell of a low budget! I think cantankerous old people should use this information when lambasting youngsters: "You damn kids don't know the value of money! In my day, a cup of coffee was a quarter, and you could make a polished science fiction film with top-notch special effects for less than a million dollars!"
- It's a good thing they didn't go 6% over budget, because then they'd have to scrap the whole project.
...
Well, it's funny if you've seen the goddamn movie...
Sometimes I say to myself, "Hey, this director made a movie that I really liked, I wonder what else s/he's been doing recently?" And sometimes I don't want to know the answer.
Julie Taymor (Frida, Across the Universe) will be directing a Spiderman musical. No, really. Bono and the Edge have reportedly composed the music. No, really. I promise this isn't a throwaway joke from Family Guy.
I've recently decided to update this blog on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so imagine my concern when I realized it was midnight and I had bupkis. Lucky for me, if I haven't randomly stumbled upon something neat on Wikipedia, there's a button on my toolbar that expedites the process.
The first thing I came across-- every post is a quality post at TILfW-- was the List of legendary creatures, and I was completely distracted by this explanation at the beginning of the list:
"This is a list of legendary creatures. Creatures of modern invention are not included. Only creatures with English Wikipedia articles should be included.
Species or entirely unique, individual monsters are included, not individuals of a particular species. For example, Pegasus should not be included, as he is an individual of (and the progenitor of) the pterippus species, while Scylla is included as she is a one-of-a-kind monster."
I really love that there are such exacting rules for something so random. Although, I'm really glad that they mention Pegasus' species. It really bugs me when people use "Pegasus" to refer to a random winged horse not involved with Bellerophon. Y'know, while we're on the subject of exacting rules for something random.
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