Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Angel, the Series

If you've ever been to my apartment, you know that I have a large collection of TV series on DVD; if you ever take a closer look, you'll notice that 12 of these dvd sets constitute the complete collection of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (7 seasons), as well as its spin-off show, Angel (5 seasons). These were the first ones I ever got on dvd, and the ones I've spent the most time watching. I've seen every episode of each series several times. So the big question - - Why these shows?

First, I'll admit, the concept sounds pretty silly. A 90-lb blonde chick from California with superpowers who fights vampires. Superchick falls in love with occasionally evil, 240 year old vampire, who then heads to LA to get his own show, and battles an evil law firm.

Just by the title itself, many brush Buffy and its counterpart off as stupid teenage fluff with monsters. But the reason these shows are so good, the reason they developed cult followings and lasted for so long, the reason they achieved so much critical acclaim - - the writer, Joss Whedon. Whedon takes far-fetched, fantastical things like demons, vampires, witches, werewolves, and zombies and turns them into metaphorical representations of the evils we face in every day life. He uses fantasy to explore the truths of reality, and thats what hooks me.

I started watching Buffy at its 4th season; I read a TV guide once that explained the show and told all about its past three seasons, and that a spinoff (Angel) was starting that year as well. The premise of Buffy is simple: High school is hell, literally. The local high school sits atop the mouth of hell. You know how every problem that comes up in high school seems like life and death to a teenager? For Buffy, everything IS life and death. And all of the problems in high school manifest themselves in a supernatural form. A girl that no one notices turns invisible, and starts terrorizing the people that ignored her. The group of mean kids that delight in tormenting people get possessed by a demonic spirit, and really start tearing people apart. Buffy meets an older, mysterious boyfriend with a troubled past; turns out he's a centuries old vampire with a soul, who used to be the most sadistic, vicious killer in the world. A girl who wishes everything were different actually gets to live out that wish in an alternate reality, and finds out everything would be much, much worse.

As the chosen one, Buffy has to deal with every mess that comes up, while keeping her secret identity from her mom. She becomes an outcast at school, because she's always involved in the weird and supernatural. Thus she meets a couple of other outcasts, and they help her fight. Sometimes the fight takes on apocolyptic proportions; other times its simply a matter of growing up. The character development is fantastic; Whedon gives his characters real depth - strengths, weaknesses, awkwardness, success, and failure. And it has real consequences. Whedon's not afraid to kill off his characters for the good of the story. He'll just as soon wrench your heart out and stamp on it before giving you what you want to see. His motto was always to give the viewer what they need, not what they want. And it was never just as simple as kill demons, good over evil. The show explored all of the moral quandries that came with adolescence, as well as the possession and usage of power. And it made for some damn compelling television.

Even more than that, the shows were hilarious, and featured plenty of ass-kicking (especially in the later seasons, when they had a bigger budget. And especially on Angel.) Whedon imbued his characters with his subversive sense of humor, with characters tossing off witty, sarcastic comments at all times, especially in the face of impending death. Then, yes, the fighting. Buffy had super strength, as did the vampires and demons she faced. Other crew members developed powers as well, and at times, there were some full-scale beatdowns. And boy do I like me some kung fu fighting.

So what about Angel? After a painful relapse as psycho-killer (here vampirism serves as a metaphor for substance abuse), Angel skips town and opens a detective agency. Huh? Well, that was mostly a front so he could hunt down evil and try to earn redemption for all the horrible things he did. A couple familiar faces join him, and soon he finds himself in a world of trouble. A mega-powerful law firm apparently controls the city, and represents the vast majority of the world's evil. (something we can identify with, no?) This show really explores the themes of power, corruption, and coming to terms with your past.

As a more adult show than Buffy, I actually enjoyed it more overall. For one thing, plenty more fighting. It was still funny, though not as funny as Buffy because it had a darker tone. But it had the same strengths -- representing real world evil through supernatural creatures, backed by deep characters who developed so much through five seasons.

Ultimately, this show got cut off by the network at its peak; season 5 ended with what's left of the hero core (some had just gotten killed) facing a massive battle which they probably wouldn't survive. Whedon intended the show to go on longer, but it was not to be (Fuckin' WB network).

So the end served as a metaphor - - the good fight never ends. People who stand up and take action against evil and corruption will spend their entire lives in battle. And to this, Whedon's characters live and die by the immortal words of Carl Johnson: "Fuck it. I'm down."

Next in the series: The West Wing

Saturday Night Live

My review of television shows past and present will focus on hour-long shows, rather than sitcoms, cartoons, or others. But first I should give a shout-out to the show that sparked my interest in television, acting, and comedy forever -- Saturday Night Live. I started watching when I was about 10, and watched every Saturday night for probably 6 years or more. What first got me was the political impressions. I've been interested in politics my whole life, and interested in making fun of politics for nearly as long. I walked around spouting off Dana Carvey's catchphrases for George HW Bush and Ross Perot to all my family members back in 1992. That was the time when Farley, Sandler, Spade, Hartman, and (ugh) Schneider dominated the show. Then they moved on, and the show tanked for awhile.

I still watched. It was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. A show like that can make fun of anything, tell any story it wants. Sometimes it was cutting edge, and sometimes it was terrible. But when there's a good sketch, a really good, sharp sketch, that will stay with you for years. And then get made into a terrible, terrible movie. Or, it could spawn the Blues Brothers, still one of the funniest movies I've ever seen. Or the Blues Brothers 2000. Let's not go there.

Anyway, about 1996, the show hit another high period, with the additions of Will Ferrell, Darrell Hammond, and Molly Shannon (although, personally I found all of her popular recurring characters painfully annoying). Suddenly the show was cool again, and there were so many sketches I enjoyed. I had a friend named Adam who felt the same way, and each day at school we'd be doing our favorite impressions, spouting off lines about Bill Brasky, and inadvertently slipping into Harry Caray voices and shaking our heads in attacks of Parkinson's disease.

Then one day I had a English project where one option was to make a video related thematically to a book we read. A couple other friends who were in that class also enjoyed SNL, and we came up with an idea to do a video like an SNL sketch with Harry Caray. I got to play Harry. Now, looking back, my impression was terrible in that sketch. But the whole class loved it. That video got shown to other classes, and I had people all over telling me how funny it was. This was huge for me, since I was generally pretty quiet in school, and now people I rarely spoke to and barely knew were telling me how funny they thought the sketch was.

Around this time Adam and I decided we wanted to make some other sketches. The more we talked about it, the more and more we wanted to do. Our other friends were interested, and pretty soon we had a full show's worth of sketches, plus Weekend Update, fake musical guests, the whole nine yards. Eventually we got it organized and started taping. It was AWESOME. We didn't get much accomplished at first because we kept making ourselves laugh, and we could never complete the sketches. Still, it was one of the most exhilarating things I've ever done.

Suddenly I wasn't just some teenage kid from rural Wisconsin; I WAS Bill Clinton. I WAS Sean Connery. I WAS a Brasky guy, a Roxbury guy, and the host of Weekend Update. I WAS Vanilla Ice, and Ross Perot, and Matt Foley, motivational speaker. I got to be a Blues Brother - - I got to dance and lip synch to "Sweet Home Chicago." Beyond that, I was a writer, and a producer, and an actor. And soon I was known throughout the school for more than just the guy that was going to be president someday.

Of course, reality set in eventually, and we didn't have so much free time anymore. People got jobs, people got busy. It took us all four years of high school to put together a final tape. And then we hit it big. First, we had made a debate between Bush and Gore, where I got to play Gore, and take on a ludicrous Tennessee accent. That got played for our World Affairs and Senior Social Studies classes, until our teacher started figuring out some of the sexual innuendoes. (eg Cheney made a cameo to inform everyone that there's no better combination than "Dick" and "Bush.") Shortly afterward, the full tape got out. By then we were in our last semester, and classes didn't matter much. So any class that had a cast member in it with some down time decided to pop in the tape.

By then, the actual show had gown downhill again, and I didn't really watch anymore, but it didn't matter. It created a monster. In my second year of undergrad, a bunch of us got together again over vacation, and decided to pop the tape in for old time's sake. Someone suggested afterward that we make more shows. That's all it took for me. I was banging out script after script for the next couple of months. And there was that feeling again - - I WAS Sean Connery and Harry Caray and Chris Matthews and Donald Rumsfeld and Christopher Walken (!!) all over again.

On top of the new show, I wrote a script for a Matrix parody. I got to be friggin' Neo. We staged fight scenes. We had fake stunts. We had Uzi's. We had futuristic techno. We had trench coats and Agents and a sweet-ass "your mom" joke. The thing turned out to be 14 minutes long, and we used it as a fake movie preview. Hella tight.

I had to push that show through by sheer will, because by that time we were even more scattered, and even more involved with other projects (ie "real life"). But eventually we finished, and it was, in my opinion, even better than the first. And once again, we had an incredibly good time making it.

Hence my love for Law Revue. It gives me a chance to express some creativity, live vicariously through characters, talk about "alleged vaginas," and, as in MZRM, say some incredibly sexist, racist, and straight-up bad-assist things in front of a large crowd of, well, douchebags. And I get to be Cliff Thompson. How sweet is that?

So here's to you, SNL. The show that carried me through my formative years, and made me love television so much I wanted to make my own. That was the big thing for me - - with the actual show, I watched it, I appreciated the humor, and I laughed, and I enjoyed myself immensely. But making one myself -- I got to give back. I got to make others laugh, and make others enjoy themselves. That's one of the most rewarding feelings I've ever encountered. And now, on to Law Revue '07...

Next in the series: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel

Stay Tuned

So I'm a complete television junkie. I get hooked on a show, I watch it religiously. I buy the DVD sets, and watch it again. Then I find another show, and repeat the process. I always used to have a few shows on that I watched constantly; now I have 6. Two are new, replacing two that just ended last season. Television has become such an inexorable part of my life that I mark my calendar (theoretically, since I'm not organized enough to have a real calendar) by what TV show is on each day, and by what DVD set is coming out each week. I've gotten so into it at times that I've even read virtual TV shows, and spent a large portion of time writing a virtual series of my own, as well as writing, producing, and acting in an amateur TV show in high school and undergrad. As I've said before, if I had the chance to ditch law completely and write for a tv show, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I love it that much.

Possibly even more than movies, and anyone that knows me knows I love movies. So why TV? Because it allows for so much more development. Compare a 2 hour movie to a standard 22 episode season, with each episode around 45 minutes long -- somewhere in the neighborhood of 17 hours. You can really connect with a character a lot more in television than movies, because you get so much more time watching them, in so many different situations. Plus, a good series can change the tone of every episode. Each individual episode can emphasize drama, action, or comedy. And each can still advance a long-term story arc. They're like the chapters of a book -- each one is meaningful in its own right, yet each is a building block which leads to the final payoff, the big conclusion - - the reason why the writer created this book or season in the first place. Each season has the same importance to the series as a whole, just like each book.

Of course, TV has its downsides too - the incredibly long time commitment it takes to watch, and it takes longer to get the payoff moments. Individual episodes can vary dramatically in quality. And, of course, you've got commercials. Pain in the ass.

However, the bottom line for me is that with a good television show, a well-written one with excitement and humor and well-drawn characters and deep storylines, you get to spend a lot more time in a fictional universe that you really enjoy. It's like a really good book or movie that never ends; you can pick it up and keep going and keep going.

The point of all this? I pretty much want to write about TV. So over the next week or so, this blog is going to be dedicated to my television addiction, and present a rundown of all the shows I've watched, all the ones I watch now, and why. So there.

The Greatest Collection of Crap in All the Land

As an extended part of Kristin's birthday celebration, we went to the House on the Rock on Saturday. Whether you have been there before or not, it is definitely worth seeing. The house is pretty pimptastic, what with all the surfaces (and even some rocks) carpeted. It has an Infinity Room, basically just a giant phallic room that extends outward over a forest. There's a little glass area where you can look down and see how far you are about the trees. Unnerving for some, but old hat for those of us who worked tactical skydiving missions in 'Nam. Still cool though. Especially when you realize there is nothing holding it up at the end, and it shakes pretty badly, and you could die at any moment.

But then you get to the crap collections. Now, these are still pretty sweet, at least judging purely on volume. But then shit gets creepy. For instance, dollhouses. I had been there a couple times before, and I had looked at all this stuff, but I never really took in the fact that the guy has roughly 3.8 billion dollhouses in his collection. KHays pointed this out for me, which I hadn't really considered - - the guy who assembled all of this must have been bat-shit crazy. It's like "Hey, look at all these dollhouses." Then you turn a corner, and you've got another hallway of dollhouses. Then, another corner, another hallway filled with dollhouses. Pretty soon you start to think the dollhouses will end, but you move into another theme-crap collection, and hey look - - it's another dollhouse, just randomly placed. Sure enough, we make it through to the final room, and at the very end, there's a frickin dollhouse apparently floating in mid-air.

I don't want you to get the wrong impression - it's not just dollhouses. Specifically, the guy has roughly the same amount of wooden horses. We're walking through a vast room filled with actual dolls, and look at the walls -- wooden horses lined up one on top of another, twenty rows high, fifty rows deep. Walk along the walk way, turn around, look at another wall, and you see the exact same thing. Then you enter a room with a giant carousel. Turn around, horses everywhere. Holy balls are there wooden horses.

Okay, so these are collectible items. Maybe it's wierd, but maybe the guy is just obsessive compulsive about getting every dollhouse and wooden horse in existence. He's got collections of absolutely ricockulous crap that no one in their right mind would ever build, much less collect. There's one room filled with gigantic mechanical crap; a walkway winds around and winds around, and you start to take in the sheer magnitude of what's there. These are not collectors items. It's not like you buy yourself a 25 foot tall windchime, and then another, and they just start piling up. There's a cannon in there which would fire a cannonball roughly the size of a hot air balloon. Okay, so in battle, that would be sweet. I can't imagine it was ever functional. Then you've got a hundred-foot tall mechanical gear contraption which, apparently, is used to run a small clock. Then, more flippin' dollhouses.

Again, the place is incredible. There's a gigantic whale, a collection of armor, guns, swords, reproduced crowns, old elixirs, tapeworms in jars, the biggest carousel ever, and an ice cream shop. Absolutely worth seeing if you've got 3-4 hours free one afternoon. But still...god damn...

Just....

Wishing my girl a happy birthday :)

Onward and Upward?

Let's take a moment to marvel at the breathtakingly progressive changes happening here at the UW. First we had our ultra-efficient new transcript system, which proved to be neither 1) efficient, 2) beneficial, or 3) functional. Now the U-dub sends me an email saying I need to change my NetID password, because the old passwords are not secure. So I change it. The result? I can no longer access my email.

So at this rate, next week we should be switching from our apparently steam tunnel related heating system to a cutting-edge solar panel energy system, just in time for winter. This way we no longer have to suffer through those 50* temps, and can look forward to each classroom being set at a balmy 18*.

One More Year

Thanks to everyone who came along to Devil's Lake to celebrate my birthday yesterday, and those who would have been there if not for an avalanche of work. I had a great time, and I hope you all did too.

Turning 24 is not the biggest deal in itself, except that it means I am one year away from being able to run for Congress. One year away from storming Washington, advocating a bold policy of concealed-machete laws, a movement toward developing giant lasers in space that can shoot hippies from light-years away, and a dramatic increase in hovercraft production.

All of which puts me only two years away from resigning in disgrace, retiring to a hut somewhere in the mountains, where I can be that bat-shit crazy old coot who used to be somebody important, and now just shoots at people who get too close to his possum traps.

Oh, the achingly sluggish passage of time.

How Morally Turpitudinous Are You?

I decided to stick around for Criminal Litigation today, and truthfully, I’m glad I did. That’s because in discussing immigration, we got a crash course on what offenses constitute moral turpitude. Why? This is the standard used in evaluating whether immigrants should be convicted for committing crimes. I have to say, I was a bit surprised by what the courts say involves moral turpitude and what does not. Thus the inspiration for a new challenge - -

How Morally Turpitudinous Are You?

Are you a deviant, incorrigible person with loose morals? Are you a rebel who will never be any good? Do you think you have what it takes to be morally turpitudinous?

Put yourself to the challenge. The following is a list of laws. Some of these laws involve moral turpitude, while others are just posers, according to American courts. Look over this list, decide which of these you have broken recently, and decide which you think are morally turp'd out. Then find out whether you are indeed morally turpitudinous, or just wish you were.

1. Aggravated Stalking
2. Loan-sharking
3. Bastardy
4. Possession of Stolen Bus Transports
5. Intent to Ravish
6. Fornication
7. Possession of a Sawed-Off Shotgun
8. Possession of Burglary Tools
9. Obtaining a Pell Grant by Fraud
10. Lewdness
11. Malicious Mischief
12. Smuggling Aliens
13. Altering a False Document
14. Homicide by Reckless Conduct
15. Purchase of Food Stamps for Cash
16. Mayhem
17. Failure to Support Wife and Child
18. Loitering in a Public Place to Solicit Men
19. Atrocious Assault and Battery
20. Vagrancy

Answers:
1. Aggravated Stalking - Turpitudinous! - This means stop checking your ex-boyfriend's emails, bitches.
2. Loan-sharking - Non-turpitudinous! - I think anything involving sharks out to be at least a little turpish, but I'll defer to the courts.
3. Bastardy - Non-turpitudinous! - Again, I question the wisdom on this. I think being a bastard is pretty damn turpitudinous. But all you bastards out there, keep it up - you're legally in the clear.
4. Possession of Stolen Bus Transports - Turpitudinous! - That's right - put those stolen bus transports down, you derelicts, lest we kick your ass back to Australia.
5. Intent to Ravish - Turpitudinous! - Yeah, this is unfortunate. I like to ravish just as much as the next red-blooded American, but courts frown upon this. Oh well.
6. Fornication - Non-turpitudinous! - Well, at least down and dirty doin' it is okay. Just don't do it with too much enthusiasm, because you're in ravishing territory, buster.
7. Possession of a Sawed-Off Shotgun - Non-turpitudinous! - Hell yeah! 2nd Amendment lives on, even for dirty, dirty immigrants.
8. Possession of Burglary Tools - Non-turpitudinous! -That's a relief. My breaking and entering days are still well ahead of me.
9. Obtaining a Pell Grant by Fraud - Turpitudinous! - The moral here - you take our money, we boot your ass. I can't agree more.
10. Lewdness - Turpitudinous! - Good. Fratney's getting booted. Hopefully she won't enjoy it.
11. Malicious Mischief - Non-turpitudinous! - Another relief here. I love to get my mischief on, and I rarely mess with people I don't hate.
12. Smuggling Aliens - Non-turpitudinous! - So if you see anything with a giant green head, ten or more appendages, and a laser gun, you have full authorization to stuff that sucker in the trunk and go joy riding.
13. Altering a False Document - Turpitudinous! - Even though the document is already incorrect, you better not mess with it.
14. Homicide by Reckless Conduct - Non-turpitudinous! - Well I'll be damned. Smash someone to the death with a vehicle, sure, but you better not steal anybody's bus transports, or you're gone.
15. Purchase of Food Stamps for Cash - Turpitudinous! - Food stamps are for queers.
16. Mayhem - Turpitudinous! - Unfortunate. I love mayhem.
17. Failure to Support Wife and Child - Non-turpitudinous! - That's a big "fuck you" to all my baby's mommas, and all my babies still waiting for those checks. Keep checking that mail box, suckers!!
18. Loitering in a Public Place to Solicit Men - Turpitudinous! - That's right, Andy. The INS is onto you.
19. Atrocious Assault and Battery - Turpitudinous! - Hmm...I'm wondering what the word "atrocious" applies to. The character of the act, or the quality of the act. Like if you're beating someone up, but you're barely making an impact, I'd consider that atrocious.
20. Vagrancy - Non-turpitudinous! - This is flat out outrageous. Bunch of damn hippie-ass justices on this one, apparently. Oh well.

So there you have it. And now, to interpret your results:

Personal Turpitude
0-4 laws violated - Ain't got no turp in you, dog
5-10 laws violated - Wannabe
11-15 laws violated - On your way to a nice career in turpitudity
16-18 laws violated - You've got serious turpitude skizzies
19-20 laws violated - Turp'd to the fullest

Knowledge of Turpitude
0-4 correct - You don't know nothin' but no turp'n
5-10 correct - Only vaguely familiar with the art of turp
11-15 correct - You've seen some turpitude in your day
16-18 correct - You know your turpitudiousityism
19-20 correct - You wrote the book on turpitude, yo

!!

Resolved: More Skipping Class

Sitting in my Ethical Issues in Prosecution class right now. Today we've got a speaker. Some guy talking about ethics and integrity, how the rule of law is our religion in America, and some shit. Next I've got my Criminal Litigation class, where (for some ungodly reason) we've got two people coming in to talk about immigration issues. Nothing in the class description mentioned we'd be dealing with this. We don't have any assignments; just some hypothetical to read and be able to discuss. If I ever face an immigration issue in practice, there's just one line I need to know - "They tuk er jaabs!" Is class attendance graded? Hell if I know. Think I might just immigrate my ass back to my apartment and watch television, make up stories involving decapitating zombies, do something productive.

Oh look, dude's got some diagrams on the board. It's a circle formed by two curved lines representing me and my profession. They go round and round. What's it mean, buddy? I affect my job, my job affects me. Right. Pardon me while I pack up my shit and leave the room.

Fact is, I've only skipped one class this fall. I missed another one, but that time I had a legitimate class-related excuse. Clearly, I've been lax in my skipping duties. I hate falling so far behind this early in the semester.

Fuck it. Ho Chunk.

A Bunch of Tree-Hugging Hippie Crap

After working in a prosecutor's office this summer and getting a hands-on experience in criminal law, I decided that this was the field I absolutely wanted to practice in. I found that I really enjoyed the work - - I liked working with people, whether prosecutors, defense attornies, defendants, or judges. I liked the issues I was dealing with - - basic legal issues on regulating behavior. And sure, I liked sitting in court looking fly all day.

But then I come back to school for another year before I can go out and practice. Before this year I was taking mostly general law classes, and now I'm pretty much in all criminal classes. Now that I know what I'm going to do and I'm taking classes relevant to my field, I tend to enjoy classes more now. At first, this all seemed a little surprising, becase after I had the basic criminal classes my 1L year, I had no interest in criminal practice.

After five weeks of classes, I remember exactly why that is - - Hippies. Hippies love criminals. Hippies hate police, and assume that all police actions are unjust and motivated by some sort of bias. (This is understandable, of course, because hippies don't want their pot stash confiscated.) Hippies don't think police should even be able to approach people and ask basic questions without a warrant. Hippies like to discuss their feelings. Hippies believe every contact with the law should be subjective, based upon what they feel the law should be. Hippies think the best punishment for criminals is to place them in 15 minute time-outs in well-lit corners where they can sit and weave hemp baskets, and when they've finished their sentence, they all get lollipops to atone for our cruel but necessary corrective measures.

So here we are, five weeks into the new semester, and the hippies are out in full force. Particularly in my 4th, 5th, and 6th Amendment class. The 4th amendment protections against unreasonable searches and seizures doesn't apply unless the officer has technically stopped the person. Right now we've got an objective standard for what constitutes a stop, but the hippies think it should be subjective. They think it should depend on each person's experiences with the police, and if they personally felt like they were stopped. So really, the law should vary based on how each person feels about it. Fuckin' gag me.

Today we talked about pretextual stops, and whether the officer's motivation should matter. Courts say it generally doesn't, and therefore it is very difficult to challenge a cop's motives. So for example, if a cop suspects someone's a drug dealer and sees them break some minor law, they can make a valid stop of this person based on that minor violation, and investigate them further to find out if the guy's a drug dealer.

Okay, so this is a question worth debating. Personally, I think there are plenty of times where pretextual stops are perfectly valid, but I acknowledge that they can also be subject to abuse where officers are just going after minorities. So there are arguments on the other side. But rather than reasonable arguments against an officer abusing discretion, we get a discussion about people being "inside the circle of oppression," and analogies to Nazi Germany. (My personal favorite -- some bullshit about "systematic systems.") We get people who think we should always be able to challenge an officer's motivation, regardless of the thousands of groundless suits that would be brought, because no one is actually guilty of anything - - the cop always stops us for some other unjust reason.

Oh yeah, and cops shouldn't be able to choose certain areas of a city and step up their enforcement in those areas if the area is populated predominantly by minorities. Even if those areas are statistically the high-crime areas. Why? Because the minority residents of the area don't like having to deal with cops, and they shouldn't be subject to police harassment. Forget about the people who live there who are too afraid to step outside for fear of getting shot. Forget the fact that the police could actually make these districts safer, or, at the very least, make the people feel safer simply from their presence.

Let's just cut to the bottom line then -- cops shouldn't be allowed to even look at a black person. Unless they get robbed by a white person and want to file a complaint.

At least there are a few reasonable people in there this time. My 1L Crim Pro class with Prosser was a full-on-flower-power-free-love-"give-crime-a-chance" fest. Even the fucking exam was a three hour opinion poll about our feelings. I could swear the exam was printed on hemp paper.

Two things that give me hope:
1) Most of these people will never practice criminal law.
2) In practice, the criminal justice system doesn't give a good goddamn about anyone's feelings.

Diminished Faculties

Mr. Utah's post about the suggested measures to combat the recent school shootings reminded me of a breathtakingly asinine idea I saw on the news last night, reportedly being contemplated by the Wisconsin legislators - giving teachers guns in the classroom. Now, while this approach worked wonders in the movie The Substitute and its 13 sequels, I can't think of a much stupider way to deal with the weapons influx in schools than arming our teachers. Isn't that like saying "Well, we can't stop the guns from getting in there, so we might as well allow the teachers to shoot back." Sure, let's just concede the fact that guns will be a standard school supply now. All students reporting to sixth grade or higher are required to bring a binder, wide-ruled looseleaf paper, number 2 pencils, and, at minimum, either a glock or a 9mm. Those reporting to 9th grade or higher will also be required to bring a T-89 graphic calculator and a scope; T-92's and silencers will not be allowed until one has attained junior status.

Maybe I'm wrong; maybe giving teachers guns would help them keep order in the classroom. Shit, I might think twice about shooting a spitball at a teacher who has a hair trigger on an AK-47. But then we might be heading a bit too far in the other direction. Pretty soon Mr. Spanish Teacher is engaging the class in discussion, and he stops at the desk of little Timmy. "Timmy, I want you to go up to the board and conjugate that verb." But Timmy doesn't want to. "Timmy, you have two options. Conjugate the verb, or deal with a sawed-off blast to the face. Your call." But Timmy's a rebel, and he shakes his head, and pulls out his beretta. But Mr. Spanish Teacher ain't playin'. He gets a nutty look in his eye, whips out his mack ten, and says "Who you tryin' to get crazy with, ese? Don't you know I'm loco??"

You just can't beat reactionary legislation.

My Bad

As I was driving back to my apartment today, I saw a guy on the corner of Broom and Gorham carrying a bicycle tire over his head. I also noticed that he had his collar flipped up - a white and black collar, sticking way up over the back of his neck.

As soon as the thought "What a friggin' douchebag" entered my mind, I drove past him and noticed that what I thought was a shirt collar was, in reality, a massive neck brace.

Huh. Sorry about that.

Screw You, Gravity

Those of you who spot me lurking around the law building over the next couple days might notice a large bandage on my right arm. In case you were wondering, yes, I was bitten by a mastodon. But you can save your sympathy; as retaliation, I punched a hole through the time-space continuum, went back in time, and exterminated his entire race. So if you've been noticing a distinct lack of mastodons in the wild lately (say, the past 10,000 years or so), now you know why.

That's the official story behind my new war wound, anyway. If you really want to know what happened, I was stomping up the stairs in a rather Godzilla-esque fashion when my sandal caught on the edge of the step. In a rare display of less than ninja-like grace, I pitched forward and slammed against the hand rail. As I tumbled forward onto the platform, the railing scraped against my arm and shredded part of the skin. After crashing to the ground, I immediately sprung up into attack position in case there were any bystanders who needed "silencing;" luckily for all involved, there were none. I then proceeded to Police class, where I cried softly for an hour and a half. Those tears fell to the table, where they coalesced to form a liquid cyborg, who promptly returned to the stairwell and savagely smashed the stairwell to pieces. (I would have done this myself, but attendance was required.)

Or so the legned goes. I may have just gone to the library, washed off the wound, and grabbed me a big-ass band-aid. I guess no one will ever know for sure.

Resolution

The list of new Mock Trial members is up, and I'm not on it. To be honest, I'm a lot more disappointed that I thought I'd be. Granted, I knew the chances weren't good, and just trying out was fun in itself, but....as much as I tried not to, I still had gotten my hopes up. After struggling for awhile to find my place at law school, I finally felt like I found something I wanted to be part of, and maybe I could be. Psych.

But that settles one thing -- I'm through looking to this school for validation. If I'm going to do well in the law, I'm going to have to do it the old fashioned way - - Guns.

Beefcake, beefcake!!!

Peep this classic exchange from the first season of South Park:

Stan: Dude, dolphins are intelligent and friendly.

Cartman: Intelligent and friendly on rye bread with some mayonnaise.

Stan: Dolphins are way smarter than you!

Cartman: If they're so smart, why do they live in igloos?

Stan: Dolphins don't live in igloos, that's eskimos!

Cartman: Dolphins, eskimos, who cares?! It's all a bunch of tree hugging hippie crap!

My views exactly.

There Goes the Neighborhood

Anyone see Pat Buchanon on the Daily Show last night? If you had, you would have seen a true American patriot. A true American patriot interviewing the reactionary, xenophobic, crazy-ass factist-extraordinaire Pat Buchanon, exposing his insanity for all to see. He was out pimping his new book detailing his plan to combat illegal immigration, which basically includes two 10-12 foot fences with a road running between them. Now, at first he seemed damn near lucid, admitting that the Mexican immigrants were only looking for work, and that for those already in the country, we should help make them real American citizens.

However, this is where the veil of crazyness inevitably falls off. Patty's plan of naturalizing these immigrants involves making them learn English, introducing them to American culture, and teaching them our "history," with specific emphasis on traditional American heroes (Custer? McCarthy?). Sound familiar? A bit like the 19th century "Americanization" we performed on the Native Americans. And look how well that turned out - there aren't any Native Americans left. So, perfect approach to the new problem...if you hate Mexicans, that is.

When Stewart questioned the validity (sanity?) of this plan, Buchanon explained its importance - - the Mexican gov't is conspiring to take over America through illegal immigration. They already consider the southwestern portion of the US to be part of Mexico. They'll be making their dirty way into the U.P. any day now. Just imagine, they'll have their stinkin' enchiladas and unclean water all up in our shiznit before you know it.

But by far the craziest thing I heard all night was when Stewart continued to prod Buchanon about why this approach is needed, and Buchanon had this pearl of wisdom: "The Indians had a liberal immigration policy, and look how it worked for them." SNAP! He totally just said that.

You know, we all used to think it was hilarious, but pretty soon we'll all be shouting that battle cry, all across the United States of Meximerica - - "Dey Tuk Ir Jabs!!"

Posse Up

As of 3:37 pm CST, I'm officially putting a posse together. The goals of this posse will be to march upon Best Buy on the east side of Madison and level the building and its inhabitants using any and all forms of weaponry and other destructive equipment. While we will leave the building in a heap of smoldering ash stained with the blood of its employees generally, we will particularly target the so-called "Geek Squad," for their repeated atrocities against mankind, meaning me.

For those of you already preparing your arsenals and applying the warpaint, and who do not require a deliniation of these crimes, you can stop reading now, and continue about your business. For the rest of you, let me break it down like this: I have already mentioned what happened with my old laptop, the cd drive, and the replacement computer they gave me. I was understandably perturbed at the fact that a fair portion of my data had been lost when they simply chose to replace my computer without informing me and destroying the old one, but I felt the benefits of a new computer outweighed anything I may have lost. So, on that day I foolishly decided to show mercy upon Best Buy, and signed an armistice with them, agreeing not to unleash the Mongol hordes. I had thought their treachery at an end.

However, I was mistaken. I received a call one week later informing me that my old hard drive had been recovered, and that I could have the data backed up. I authorized him to go ahead and back it up, charge me for it, and send it back. A few days later I went to the store to pick up what they had sent back. It was not, as I expected, the backup discs, but rather the hard drive itself. Okay, thanks, but what the hell was I supposed to do with it - plug it into my ass and burn my own backup discs? So I gave it back, asked them to back it up, and charged $160 to my credit card. I returned the next day to receive the discs. I took the discs home, put them into my computer, and discovered that all of the files were in some extension I couldn't open. Again, less than helpful. They used a compression program, which I understand, because that was a shitload of data. My problem was they failed to tell me this, and gave me the finished product in a format there was no way for me to use. I tried everything I could to open them, including downloading some program purporting to handle those files. Of course, the program was in German. My Nazi dialects not being what they used to, I was spurned again.

So I went back to Best Buy the next day, asking for them to back up my data in a way that would let me access it. No problem, says they. I leave for Oshkosh, and return the next day. This is four trips in four days, mind you. I pick up the discs they have for me. Guy wants to charge me another $160; had he not conferred with another geek whom I'd dealt with in one of my previous thousand trips, he would have felt the full weight of a skull-crushing cockslap across his bitch-ass mouth, and then nothing at all. Having avoided this inconvenience, I retrieved my discs without further incident and returned home. On the way out, the guy said "Have a nice day," or something similar. I turned to Kristin and quipped "See you tomorrow."

Which brings me to 3:30 pm CST today. I insert the discs into my computer. Same file extensions. Same inability to open the files. And guess what? SAME EXACT DISCS. Now, maybe it was my naivete in taking what they gave me and assuming any level of basic competence - - maybe I should have opened it up and checked everything out for myself before taking it home. But I chose to place the blame on their shoulders for being incompetent beyond all possible belief, rather than me for not simply taking their incompetence for granted and complaining before I knew there was a problem. But, sure enough, about the only thing these discs are capable of doing is informing me that they were created on Thursday night, the 21st, instead of any day this weekend.

Thus we arrive at tonight's bit of raping and pillaging. Anyone who's down, gather your war hammers, morningstars, shoulder-mounted missiles, and jagged sporks, and meet me in the parking lot of the east side Best Buy. Show up late, and all you'll find is the mushroom cloud.

Give That Man a Microphone

I gave Mock Trial another tryout last night, and I'd say it went pretty well. Very well, actually. Probably not well enough to make the team, though. Only 15 out of the 90 that tried out will make it, and I'm not that optimistic. After all, last year I thought I rocked it, and it turns out I missed some pretty crucial info in my argument, so I deserved to miss that one. Plus, that's the way it seems to work here for me. I've been so disjointed from the whole law scene while I've been here, not really participating in anything, not really enjoying the law, getting relatively substandard grades and not really caring, etc - but since the Prosecution Project experience this summer, I've kinda had a revival in interest. I know there's something I want to do with the law now at least, so I thought I'd give it another shot.

And whether or not I make it, I had a good-ass time. Basically I just stood up in front of two people in tiny room and gave an 8 minute closing argument, but I had a blast. That's the way it's always been for me with public speaking, and I don't know why. Everyone that knows me knows I don't say very much in real life. I'm not outgoing, never have been. I'm not the life of the party-type, and I never will be. But public speaking - be it speeches, trials, or acting - that I get into pretty hardcore.

That's why I loved prosecuting - - so much speaking, so little to do with the law. We got stacks and stacks of files which we hadn't read, walked into court, and started handling cases. We spoke to defendants, we spoke to defense attorneys, and we spoke on the record, most of the time with only a limited idea of what was happening in each case. Of course, each case fits into one category or another, and if you know how to deal with that category, you can deal with pretty much anything, so we weren't just talking out of our collective ass. And whenever something came up with real legal research, it was actually a refreshing change of pace. Then there's the stuff you actually prepare for, the trials, the motions, the hearings, etc. Those are even more fun.

Once again, it all comes down to getting up and running off at the mouth. Maybe I'm better cut out for acting or standup comedy. I'd probably enjoy it more. But then, with this, I'd get a respectable job title, all the jaw-flapping I could want, plus the occasional trip into serious law. Plus, you can still be funny in court, and then it's even more fun because it's so unexpected in such a formal setting.

So...whatever, give me law. I'll roll with this, at least until I get disbarred. Then it's on to acting. Or politics. Or homelessness. Anywhere I can ramble to my fellow bums, I'm down.

Pardon Me While I Overthrow the Government

Hot off the presses, it appears the government of Thailand has been overthrown in a military coup. The armed forces and the police combined to declare martial law in Bangkok, then proceeded to overthrow the democratically elected Prime Minister. The commander of the armed forces put out a statement, in which he succinctly told the populace what happened. Then, like any hard-bitten military commander, he apologized for any inconvenience this development may have caused the people.

Let me be the first to ask this question - - What the fuck?? Who takes over a country by force and then apologizes for any potential nuisances this little military junta may have caused?

Come on dude, you just stormed the castle and seized power. You gotta own that shit.

No, Your Face Does Not Exist

Alright Martinez, so I tried to comment on your tv post this morning, and every time I tried, an error message came back. So I thought fine, maybe it was just the network at school. I tried again at home, and this time I got a new message:

"Somehow, the entry you tried to comment on does not exist"

So you tell me, what in the good goddamn is going on with your site? When I read a post, then decide to comment, I generally assume that the post I'm commenting on, at the very least, is in existence. Imagine how distressing it was for me to find out that the post I was commenting on was, in fact, just a hallucination from my addled mind, and that I was merely responding to my own hallucination.

Fix your site, for the love of christ.

We Shall Overcome

Diversity is always a controversial subject in the law school. The implementation of our diversity policy into the application process for journals and other competitive organizations has created a visceral debate between those who believe a culturally and ethnically diverse student body is essential to the learning process, while others believe diversity is an irrelevent consideration, and that only the student's merit and academic qualifications should matter. Personally, I don't think the fact that someone is a Tibetan transexual albino mormon aboriginie should make them any more qualified to participate in these organizations than a good old-fashioned American transexual albino mormon aboriginie, or any other permutation of the labels. I'm very proud of my Afrocasian roots, but I wouldn't like to think I find a position in a student organization, or win a scholarship, or find a job over another qualified candidate because of my blackitude. But that's just me.

I know I'm a little late to this debate, and I'm really not trying to rekindle it. I'm not particularly angry about the present state of affairs, but certain things bother me. For instance, the amount of "Minority ____" that are offered right now. Minority scholarships. Minority fellowships. Minority job fairs. Minority Subway Sandwhich offers. After awhile, you can't help but feel left out. There aren't many minority groups I belong to. There is no Men's Law Student Association, no Cracker Law for me, no Hetero-Law, no National Association for the Advancement of Ninjas. And why should there be? Men and Whitey and Heterosexuals have little problem advancing their cause. The same goes without saying for Ninjas. But still - I want to join something, but where can I join?

There is one minority group I am a card-carrying member of; one group alone to whom I can pledge my proud support of. We are perhaps the smallest minority group in the law school; our ranks are dismally thin. We enter the building, and we are surrounded by our oppressors. With their mind-blowing arrogance, long-winded and often fallacious legal analysis, and irrational hatred of all things good and decent in this world, they look down at us like we don't deserve to pick the lint off their pretty pink shirts. We've held secret meetings informally, we complain about our plight and our tormentors. Our cause is just, and our conviction is firm. But every day we face this sense of crushing defeat, as it seems with every new recruiting class, our numbers will dwindle to extinction.

Fuck it. Consider this a call to arms. Let's make this official, and take our organization public. Call it what you want: the Non-Douchebag Law Students Association. The League of the Anti-Douche. The name's not important. The message is all that matters. We will not be silenced. Hell, we've already got an army - the Community Justice Commandoes, and they never sleep.

Non-douchebags: the silent minority no longer.

Armistice

My battle with Best Buy has all but resolved itself, and for the most part, resolved itself satisfactorily for both parties. The terms of our ceasefire are as follows: I agreed not to raze their building to the ground in a burning conflagration of defective products and incompetent employees, and they gave me a new laptop. Somehow, fixing the old one would have cost $1200, so they cashed it and allowed me to get a new one for free. I don't know how it would it have cost that much to repair, unless every single piece of the thing was malfunctioning (a distinct possibility), but that's the deal. I did have to buy a new services agreement, so I had to drop another $250. Technically I didn't "have" to buy this, but the fact that I had to take my last computer in for repairs roughly 9.4 billion times over a 26 month period convinced me this would be cheaper, and plus I can just trade up again when this one inevitably goes to shit, this Thursday.

Of course, I didn't escape completely unscathed. I had opted not to back up my harddrive when I took it in before, because they said all that was wrong was the CD drive. I had saved my most important files on discs shortly before the drive malfunctioned, so I didn't lose much in the way of documents. But all of my music files are lost, as well as some pictures, and the documents I made over the summer at my job. The Best Buy worker informed me it was always a possibility that when you take a computer in for repairs, they might have to wipe your hard drive. Thus I felt it fair to inform him that in the future, it was always a possibility that when I take my computer in for repairs, I might have to wipe that patronizing smirk off his face with a rusty scythe.

Other positives from this agreement - I will no longer be using the 1852 model Gateway with no internet/windows/electrical capabilities. On the downside, I won't get to annoy the shit out of people in class with the buzzsaw noises it made upon turning on, shutting off, and other random moments during class. I honestly liked that noise; it gave the impression that my inappropriately loud computer was more important that anything the professors or students might have to say, which is a message I'm more than comfortable sending.

This also means I will have regular internet access again, which should allow me to post more often, as well as use instant messaging again, and swiftly replenish my lost stock of illegally downloaded music and/or eel porn.

Say What?

"The police don’t get to just randomly help themselves to your bodily fluids."

- Quoted from Professor Lavigne in today's 4th, 5th, and 6th amendment class.

Rollin'

Here's a rundown of my classes: Police in a Free Society - a new topic for me, and it appears somewhat challenging. Beyond that, I've got the wacky jungle safari (African Law), which pretty much appears to involve reading Cliff's book, and quite possibly nothing to do with the law. How the hell he's going to grade that class, I have no idea. After that, I've got one class (Criminal Litigation) that looks entirely like review of things I already know, which is surprising because I generally try not to learn much here. But when we're discussing the basic attributes of preliminary hearings and I already argued several in court, the material seems less than challenging. Then there's the Prosecution Project's version of Personal Responsibility, which I'm told is pretty much a blow-off class where we talk about our summer experience. And my final class, 4th 5th and 6th amendments, should be pretty demanding, but it is also going to help tremendously with my job, because that's a lot of what I'm dealing with there. For example, today I really struggled trying to write a memo because I couldn't quite sort out the issues well enough to put them on paper. Then I got home, pulled out my textbooks, and read a chapter which gave me all of the law I needed to sort things out. Now I can go back, blast out the memo, and get paid good money for it.

As for next semester, I'll finally deal with T&E. However, I'm told by several reliable sources that if you read the books, do the problems, and know the statutes, you don't have to go to class, and the exam is cake. Plus, I've already heard another class I wanted to take is obscenely easy. That leaves two more schedule fillers, and room for something I'd actually enjoy taking (Literature, Creative Writing, Golf?) just for fun.

Reminds me of the old addage -

Do you know what sucks about being a 3L?

Fiending

Playing Dr. Mario head-to-head has roughly the same addictive effect of smoking crack laced with chocolate and injected with nicotine.

Employed!

Despite my best efforts, it turns out I'm not entirely unhirable. I just got a job working as a clerk for a local criminal defense attorney. Of course, this means I will be turning to the dark side of the force, but that was inevitable. So here's to not going broke.

Light Reading

I received the list of books and materials for classes this fall, eager to see what materials would be the bane of my existence for the next few months and what type of ridiculous price tags they carry. Turns out, this semester should be pretty light. I'm currently signed up for 6 classes, though I know one I won't be taking, just haven't dropped it yet. Still, for those six classes, only two list any books. Maybe they will at some point, maybe they've just got Xeroxes they haven't listed, whatever. But I'm told that Cliff's Wacky African Jungle Safari class won't have an assigned book, he'll just pass out a chapter of his own book each week. I havent' checked out his book yet, but I'm sure it's got some great tips on proper dagger use and storage, as well as the etiquette of gutting and barbequeing one's opponent in court. God I love that man.

Nobody Said We Were Remotely Competent

Time once again to bust out the Utterly Incompetent Worthless Piece of Shit Excuse For a Human Being machete. I took my laptop in to Best Buy to get the disc drive fixed on August 11, so roughly twenty days ago. The computer didn't even acknowledge the drive existed, so I had to get a new one put in. Thankfully I have a three year service agreement at Best Buy, so every time I take my computer in (about once a month, during the occasional months where it doesn't spend the entire period already being "fixed") it's paid for. So no worries, right? They send it to the manufacturer ("assweasel"), it should be back in 2-4 weeks, and they'll call me when it's finished. I hadn't heard anything, so I called yesterday. Indeed, it's finished. Thanks for the update, guys. But whatever, I'm rolling to the east side to pick it up. It's there, with a shiny new disc drive in place. I get it, I take it home.

Lo and behold, said shiny new disc drive isn't exactly "attached" to anything, and doesn't so much "function" as "fucking piss me off." I call Best Buy, ask the guy if he can do something (right), and whether it can be taken care of in the store. He says sure, probably. (Read: Hell no, you naive little bastard) I take it in, the guy says assweasel installed it, then apparently forgot to check to see if it was working. The solution? Send it back to assweasel, and this time explicitly request that he quote "Does his fucking job." Actually, the service order didn't say that. But the guy who wrote it up did point out that he didn't include any four-letter words, though in my position he would have liked to. And there is a rush order on it, so maybe (right) I can get it back within a week, before school starts and I have to get out my paleozoic stone tablets for taking notes.

And it better, because there's only so long I can keep the machetes at bay.

Get Down Wit' Yo Bad Self

The last of the Harry Potter series has officially been completed. My favorite character by far: Voldemort. I think he gets a bad rap, overall. I mean sure, he kills people. Who doesn't? I mean, I'm sure Hagrid's killed a few hookers in a drunken rage before. Sure he likes amassing dark power. But that just shows he has ambition, unlike certain other worthless layabouts (I'm looking at you, Mrs. Sprout). Sure he makes cheating death and achieving immortality his life's goal. It's like I always said - death is for old people, AIDS patients, and those with insufficient quantities of bullets. Sure he's so paranoid about dying he splits his soul into several pieces. But who among us hasn't considered giving up a little piece of our immortal soul for our personal desires, like phat gold chains and iced-out grills? I mean, okay, he's got a bit of a Michael Jackson nose. But to my knowledge, he just kills kids, he doesn't fondle them.

Let's put it all on the table, and let the haters take notes. The guy's got a massive pet snake who kills on command. Snakes, dude. Hsssss. He's got a group of minions who walk around in pimptastic black cloaks and pointy hats to do all of his bidding. He's got a giant image of a skull and snake in the sky cast up in the sky for whenever he's ridin' dirty. It's like the bat signal, only...not. And just the mention of his name sends people running back to the underwear drawer for a clean pair. Don't knock it, that's hot.

So go on, Lord Voldemort, brush ya shoulders off. And to the rest of y'all, don't hate, and don't judge. To paraphrase another piece of classic literature, "Let he who is without sin and doesn't kill innocent people by the thousands cast the first stone."

Ssssspectacular

It's been awhile, and I apologize for the delay. But I waited until I found one truly worthy, and here it is. Movie review the fifth:

Snakes on a Plane

There comes a decisive moment in every movie, one where either you feel like the show has failed to meet your expectations, or you realize you’re going to leave the theater satisfied. Thankfully, the latter was true of Snakes on a Plane, and the moment of satisfaction came when, after the plane was deluged by hundreds of squirmy, slithery, vicious snakes, one absolutely giant motherfucker (read: Boss Snake) gets on the scene, slowly coils the full length of its body around some hapless dude in his seat, then proceeds to wrap its mouth around the guy’s head, and swallow it whole. (And I apologize for those of you who haven’t seen it and didn’t want to be spoiled, but it’s your own damn fault for missing the opening.) As if I hadn’t already gotten the memo, this moment officially declared Snakes on a Plane to be one badass movie.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t just a “so bad it’s good” type of show. Sure, there were plenty of elements of that. One can never fully escape the straight-up re-fucking-diculous premise of the movie entirely. Plus, some of the snake attacks are more aimed at being funny than frightening, which lends to the cheese effect. But overall, the movie lacked the requisite god-awful dialogue to be a “so bad it’s good” picture. It mostly came across as being unabashedly impossible, but endlessly entertaining.

For example, there were a lot of genuinely funny moments. They even took one joke straight from the MZRM firm (“You people?”), and you’ve got to give props for that. It also had some nicely quirky yet believable characters. Plus, some of the snake attacks were frickin’ wicked. There’s always that feeling one could jump out at any moment, and sometimes they did. One of those moments had me practically on an ejector seat, I jumped so damn high. And then there were the side-effects of the snake attacks. I hadn’t even considered that issue beforehand. Some were pretty gruesome, others just cool. Especially when intentionally awful characters suffer hilariously horrific deaths at the hands of dozens of snakes.

There were only a couple things that disappointed me. I love Sam Jackson, and there were plenty of good Sam Jackson moments here. But I would have liked a few more. Particularly that he should have gotten to fight the Boss Snake. I mean, come on - - who wouldn’t want to see Samuel L vs. a 20 foot python in a climactic battle? That’s worth the price of admission alone.

There’s always the nagging question of “What the fuck?” that plagues any attempts at logic, of course. But you’ve gotta let that slide now and then. Bottom line – I hyped this movie all summer, and it pretty much delivered the goods, which is a tremendous feat. So don’t hate.

Seriously, dude. Snakes. Hsssss.

My score: A-
Recommendation: Fuck yeah.

Best of Both Worlds

So this week I've come to the unmistakable conclusion that greatness is upon us. First, as an avid cookie connoisseur, I was absolutely blown away by something I'd never tried before Monday night - - Cool Mint Creme Double Stuf Oreos.

Essentially, you take the perfect chocolate cookie flavor and the cream contrast, then splash it with a cool mint, and dunk it in milk. Then try not to die/blow your load from sheer awesomeness overload.

Witness as the indomitable mint creme oreos surround and overwhelm an inferior regular double stuf Oreo.

(One cavaet -- these are not to be used in constructing the mythical Ochos. The subspecies Ochi are an entity unto themselves, and shall not be subject to any dangerous genetic engineering.)

Then after discovering this veritable cornucopia of mint-chocolate fantasticality, Kristin and I bore witness to more impending greatness: the greatest (read: badassest) actor of our generation, Mr. Samuel L. "Yes they deserved to die, and I hope they burn in hell!" Jackson, who gave an interview to Jon Stewart on the Daily Show last night. The subject, of course, was:

Snakes on a Plane!!

They showed a short clip, which, while eating the aforementioned heavenly mint oreo concoction, just about caused us to lose our collective shit. It was basically Sam Jackson standing in the aisle of a plane, surrounded by a few frightenend passengers. With his usual cool-yet-pissed-off-and-dangerous grimace, Sam declares himself to be sick of the snakes on this plane. However, in true Sam fashion, he incorporates the word "motherfucking" roughly twelve additional times in what is normally an eight word sentence.

Opening night of the best terrible movie ever made is this Friday, August 18. If you are anywhere else that night, you do not deserve to live.

All of which only confirms my suspicions: best summer EVER.

Bad Muthafucka

how jedi are you? :: by lawrie malen

There's Nothing Wrong With Me

That's what my nurse just told me - there is nothing medically wrong with me. I had a CT scan last week, it came back negative. I also had some blood work, all negative. I had a scope of my stomach about three weeks ago, nothing there. Test after test for seven years, nothing to report. This is all well and good, but I received this news at 3:30 pm, at which time I was (and still am) suffering from an intense burning feeling in my abdomen, roughly 2 1/2 hours after I finished my lunch. So imagine the comfort I take from being told there is nothing wrong with me, medically speaking.

Fuck you, tapeworm.

Just a Question

Why in the hell don't we have commercially viable cars powered entirely by electricity yet? I'm serious; this isn't a rant about gas prices or reliance on fossil fuels - - I just want to know the logistics behind this. We power damn near everything in the world by electricity; we've spent the past century and beyond advancing and perfecting this technology. We've also spent the past century designing and advancing our automobiles. Is there honestly no way to make this happen?

Lawyers Aren't People

Learning about the law tends to endow one with a massive superiority complex. Of course, most of us are riding an arrogant streak going into law school, which it generally reinforces. We don't necessarily feel superior when we look to our law peers, but when dealing with those untrained in the law, its really hard not to feel like Zeus with a thunderbolt. Your uncle asks "When your pants fall down in public, can you sue the pants company for causing you emotional distress?" You look at him and say "No, you schmuck." Then glare at him like an insolent child until he whimpers away.

Now, most of us probably don't actually say those things (I'm looking at everyone but you, Mad Dog), but even feeling the urge to say them kinda makes us bad people. Same thing with dealing with a client (or defendants, in my case) who feel the need to give you their entire frickin' life story when asked to spell their last name. We deal with legal matters; we listen for a few certain things of legal significance, and every extraneous word out of their mouth is doused with gasoline and dropped in the burn pile. So it takes a great deal of patience to learn how to deal with people. I hesitate to say "common" people or "lay" people; I'd call them "real" people, because what the hell have we done? We haven't been anywhere, we haven't done anything. We've read some books, we've listened to some crackpots, and now we are the collective shit. I try to remember these things if at all possible.

Then I get handed a pro se appellate brief, and I'm asked to begin crafting a response. Every bit of humility I try grasping to goes right out the window, and the thunderbolts start flying. Seriously, it took me an hour to read this thing - probably 40 pages long - because I had to pause for outbursts of laughter, as well as jotting down the particularly ingenious (read: bafflingly nonsensical) arguments. Quite a few of the words used are so advanced, they don't even exist yet. You tell me, what is "vertitude?" Also, what does it mean to "perservorate?" Apparently it's pretty compelling, because after using it once, the guy comes back to it, and describes one of the judge's actions with the adverb "perservoratively." I thought maybe this was a fictional outgrowth of "perservere" for a moment, but no, contextually that really wouldn't work.

Then there's the legalese. Holy mother of god, this had me rolling on the floor. Think of the worst attempts by a lay person of using inflated legalese you've ever heard, and then picture a 40 page brief containing nothing but this type of crap. He refers to phone calls as "telephonic verbalizations;" he always uses "necessitates" and "utilizes" rather than "needs" or "uses;" he always goes the extra mile and throws in extra syllables, even if the word no longer makes sense in context, and even if it is, in fact, no longer a word. Some other choice phrases -- "...that he had indeed per his own admission intentionally earlier varied his speed..." "Such unprovable misinformation he had initially formfit into his written rendition..." and "Translating such a visual cartographic diagram into a written paradigm will require extrapolation." (I like this one - much more loftier than saying "the picture will require explanation.")

I'd imagine the Court of Appeals has to enjoy wading through all the nonsense while trying to find actual legal argument, because I know I sure did. In fact, this was the guy's second submission. As in, the court rejected his first one, asked him to write a new brief that conforms to the rules of appellate briefs, and this is his revised version. I'm told his first one was even worse. Basically, his argument is an extremely slanted retelling of the facts, where he depicts the police officer as a liar, and the other witness as a liar, and asks the court to dismiss the case. Well, there are any number of things wrong with that, including a) appellate courts don't make factual findings, b) appellate courts don't judge credibility of witnesses, c) the second witness didn't even testify, because the case was so strong they didn't need him, d) the court wouldn't simply dismiss the case. There are any number of technical problems with the brief, not to mention the fact that there are simply zero legal arguments, with zero citations to actual legal authority.

So rather than drafting a response, I drafted a motion to dismiss, or alternatively forcing him to submit a new one that complies with...oh, let's say, ANY of the guidelines. My motion points out all of the problems with his brief, and why we can't legitimately be asked to form a response. I tried to temper the thunderbolts; the motion could really have been much harsher than it turned out. I was really tempted to use Easterbrook's line "Ten weasels are no more persuasive than one," but I left it out. (Well...I left it in a paragraph I didn't use; Eric is the lead attorney on the case, and knowing him, this line might end up in the final version anyway.)

I don't mean to knock pro se appellants. They have the right to have their cases heard just as much as anybody. And sometimes they have legitimate reasons for being unrepresented. But there are reasons we have guidelines that everyone is supposed to follow, including pro se appellants. Attempting to snow the Court of Appeals is a waste of everyone's time. The bottom line is, if you're an idiot, you're still going to sound like an idiot, no matter what length of words you use.

In this type of situation, I'd almost feel okay using the phrase, "Now, I'm not trying to sound superior - - I just am..."

You Should Be Shot in the Face

Certain people in this world deserve our hatred. I'm not talking about the standard "You're a giant tool, I hate you" type of enmity. I'm talking about vulgar, filthy, disgraceful excuses for human life. I'm not saying I'm in a position to judge others, or that any particular person should judge others. But collectively, I think we have a right to point to the genuine scum and call them out for what they are.

For example, I've been working on a child abuse/neglect case lately, with a couple of parents who fit this description. For starters, they name their children like absolute morons - their four names are Ahieden, Taneekja, Jazzmine, and something else equally ridiculous. This may be horribly stereotypical, but I'll still assert its truth -- parents willing to butcher the language to create names which they consider clever or distinctive are generally poor and uneducated, and their children are pretty much condemned to the same life.

But that's horribly unfair, right? Nah, dog. Here's how much they care about their children. They leave rotting food, dishes, alcohol bottles, drugs, a loaded BB gun, cigarette butts, and tattooing needles all over their floor. Police once found maggots in the baby's crib. The children are always dirty; when the cops arrived once, they found the kids covered head to toe in various food substances, and one had tattoo ink all around her mouth, because she had been trying to drink it. And oh yeah -- they NEVER do laundry. NEVER. Once a concerned neighbor decided to do laundry for them, and it took twenty loads to clean all of their clothes, which had not been cleaned a single time after use.

Then we've got all the documented instances of abuse and neglect. 1) The father tieing a string around the little boy's pants, then telling him to run. When the boy runs, the father yanks on the string, causing him to fall over. He does this repeatedly. 2) The father pours alcohol into a sippy cup, then tells the boy to drink it, because its juice. The boy doesn't want it; the father makes him drink it. The boy spits it out and starts crying. 3) The father repeatedly opens up this cookie jar shaped like a lion, which roars. Each time it frightens the boy. The father follows him around the room, continually opening this cookie jar, until the boy bursts into tears, and runs away. The father laughs about this to his friends in the room, then tracks him down and continues to do this. These three I witnessed on a home video tape. There are plenty of other incidents witnessed by others.

Then there's the incident which was before the court presently. The little boy had a seizure and almost died. His sister said that the father stepped on his head to quiet him, then later kicked him in the groin because he was reaching for his diaper. The little boy vomited, then had a seizure. The doctors confirmed it happend from a blunt trauma to the groin.

But here's the kicker - we can't convict this fucker. The only witness is the little girl, who is too young and nervous to be reliable for court, so her testimony won't be admitted. The DA has me going over the "other acts" evidence to show intent, plan, absence of mistake, etc, to use as supplemental evidence. The motion's not going to pass, and it probably shouldn't, because its completely prejudicial. So essentially, there's no hard evidence against this guy, and he's going to walk. He and his wife are going to continue tormenting these children, because that's their prerogative as parents. They can have the children live in filth. They can treat them like animals. And, if need be, they can physically abuse them, as long as no one is watching. Right up until one of the children gets killed, when it will be too late.

So here's to you, scum of the earth. I suggest you get down on your filthy knees and thank whatever god you pray to that vigilante justice is illegal. Because if it wasn't, I'd greet you both at your next court date with a sawed-off shotgun and a smile.

Role Model

So this summer I've been assigned to assist a guy with criminal traffic cases. The guy's name is Eric Sparr; he graduated from UW law school a couple years back, and was an intern like me a couple years earlier. Absolutely great guy. He's good at his job, and he knows how to have fun with it. That's a major reason why my experience here has been so good - the job is just plain fun, especially working with him.

Here's a prime example. Today he showed me a letter he received from a defense attorney regarding a tape recording for events that took place in an intoxilyzer room. The defense attorney, who Eric knew to be a pretty good guy, sent a letter indicating that the sound on the tape had been dubbed at an extremely high speed, so that all the people involved sounded like chipmunks. The attorney stated that he did not speak chipmunk, so he was requesting the DA's office to send another tape with the audio at a correct speed.

Eric showed me this letter, then the letter he sent in response. It stated that his tape had the same problem, and that he had also noticed that the people involved sounded like chipmunks. This confirmed a suspicion of his that the defendants were, in fact, chipmunks. In addition, he (Eric) happens to speak a little chipmunk, and that what the defendant was saying on the tape was "I am guilty. I am guilty. I am guilty."

EDIT: Eric sent the letters to the police department, along with the request for new tapes. Clearly, they got a laugh out of it. The lady that returned the new tapes affixed stickers of Alvin, Simon, and Theodore to the plastic case, and labelled it "Eric and the Chipmunks."

Sometimes You've Just Got To....

Win a motherf*ckin jury trial!

So that's how I spent my yesterday, and it was pretty sweet. It was an OWI first offense, so it was non-criminal. The guy had already lost on the refusal hearing, which actually has a higher penalty than anything he'd face from losing the OWI, but he was wealthy and he hired a top-shelf OWI defense attorney to fight it. Apparently the guy does a lot of business in Illinios, where they don't count our refusals as prior convictions. So this trial didn't mean much in WI, but it was important for the FIBs. So, we decided to win this for the dirty FIBs.

The case itself looked solid, but was kinda sketchy once we really got into it. We didn't have a BAC because of the refusal, and the cop didn't force a blood draw since it was only a civil charge. But the refusal itself was weak, because the guy was blowing into the intoximeter, then had to stop and inhale, then blow some more, which never gave a sufficient sample. So it was hard to tell whether he was really trying or not. The defense attorney had fun arguing that, and the fact that we didn't have a test result, and the fact that the officer didn't force a blood test when he could have.

I got to do the entire thing, from Voir Dire to closings. I also filed a last minute Motion in Limine, which we handled at the beginning. I wanted to argue it, but the judge specifically asked my supervisor a question on it, so he just handled the argument. I had thought the case was strong enough with the evidence we wanted to admit (the act of refusing a PBT), so I wasn't going to file it. But then I had some free time on Friday and thought what the hell. It was a damn good thing too, because that helped establish a pattern which made the other evidence look stronger.

Overall, my performance was pretty solid. My opening was a little stiff compared to the other attorney, who was animated and personable. The direct exam of the officer was good, I had easily 100 questions or so, but the defense attorney called a lot of it into question. The cross of the defendant wasn't that strong, because they explained away a lot of things I wanted to ask. But the closing arguments were great. By this time I was more comfortable, and I gave a pretty kickass closing. The defense guy also gave a good one, and included some story about how field sobriety tests are like carnival games, designed to make people fail. I got to give a rebuttal, and this was all off the cuff by now. So I said that the tests aren't designed to make people fail, they're designed to make drunk people fail - - people who can't follow simple directions or stand up without falling over, people who shouldn't be driving a car. All in all, pretty strong.

The jury went out for 40 minutes (it was a 6 person jury), then came back with the verdict. No one was all that concerned with the verdict, because they already had the refusal, and we don't care much about the FIBs, to be honest. This was more of just a no pressure case, which would be cool to win. But I cared about the verdict, you can bet your sweet ass.

The jury came back, and it was a unanimous guilty verdict. It was all I could do to keep from standing up Josh Lyman style and saying "Victory is mine! I have drunk from the keg of glory! Bring me all the finest muffins and bagels in all the land." But I just smiled politely instead.

Awesome experience, let me tell you. It was in a very relaxed court with a pretty informal judge, the defense attorney was actually a pretty cool guy, and my parents and one of my grandmothers showed up for the first half. I had a hella good time.

One word: Undefeated.

Unpublish This

I hate these goddamned unpublished cases. Seriously, every time I have to research something, I find a case that's perfectly on point and decided exactly the way we want it to be, and its unpublished and worthless for precedential value. Unpublished cases are like having a hot chick suddenly appear before you, naked, holding a massive chocolate cake. Then the proclamation comes down from above: "Both the hottie and the cake are 'look but don't touch,' sucker."

Fucking unpublished cases.

(Points to genitals)

Ridin' Dirty

As duly appointed emissary of the ghetto, from time to time I'm asked to share my knowledge of African American culture (read: hip hop) so that others may partake in the joys of blackitude. Now is one of those times. You may have heard the song "Ridin" by Chamillionaire on the radio recently, and if so you've probably asked yourself "What exactly is ridin' dirty?" Let me enlighten you:

As with any sort of textual interpretation, you need to start with the context. The chorus repeats the phrase "They tryin' to catch me ridin' dirty." This begs the question, who are "they?" My initial suspicions on this were correct - - "they" in this context refers to police officers. I've included an appendix with a link to the lyrics; note the word "patrolling" in the chorus, which almost certainly refers to Five-0. For further evidence, Chamillionaire discusses in his first verse how police are trying to see him "lean" - - I believe "lean" as used presently means leaning to the side and scoping out the scene, contemplating any criminal activity that may arise, and potentially for bitches and/or hos.

Essentially, "ridin dirty" refers to getting one's ride on - - hustling, if you will. The word "dirty" evinces a criminal aspect to said hustling. Indeed, Chamillionaire implies that such conduct by the police officers constitutes racial profiling. Peep these lyrics from verse three:

"So they get behind me tryin to check my tags, look at my rearview and they smilin
Thinkin they'll catch me on the wrong well keep tryin
Cause they denyin is racial profiling"

Chamillionaire is essentially bemoaning the attempts by police to arrest him and his fellow ballers for living in luxury, driving expensive cars, bumping their music at excessively high volumes, rocking fly gold chains/rings/teeth, and getting freaky with aforementioned bitches and/or hos. And while some of Chamillionaire's activities may be intrinsically against the law, he feels needlessly hated on. Ultimately, "Ridin" serves as a scathing social commentary, where the artist rails against the law enforcement of a society that neither understands nor appreciates the work Cha puts in while on the grind.

So there you have it. Now you and your friends can accurately characterize the type of ridin' you're engaging in at any given time. If there are any other questions I can answer, feel free to send them my way. And in the mean time, try not to get caught ridin' dirty.

Appendix A:
"I was looking for context clues, like I learned from Reading Rainbow..."
- The quote, or very nearly the quote, used by Kristin to describe her attempts at discerning the meaning behind "Ridin' dirty."

Appendix B:
"Ridin"(Chamillionaire feat. Krayzie Bone)

Word.

Chicago's Finest

I shared this one with Kristin already, but I thought this was worthy of publication for all to see. We celebrated Penis Day at the DA's office the other day. This involved a discussion between two of the attornies, myself and the other intern, where the attornies shared their best penis-related legal stories. My favorite came from a guy who used to work in Chicago, where they had a couple of cops who were notoriously crazy and fun-loving. On this particular story, there was a sexual assault case where there wasn't any physical evidence to back up the victim, and the DA told the cops he wasn't going to be able to prosecute the case without a confession. The cops told him not to worry, they would handle it. So the cops found the suspect and asked if they could have his "pecker print." When he asked what this was, they said that every phallus has its own unique pattern, just like fingerprints. The guy went along with it, so the cops took him into the station and had him lay his penis on a copy machine. They scanned the penis, and sent him back to another room to wait. Then they took the scanned copy, made a photocopy of the penile image, and then returned to the room. They told the guy that the scanned copy was his pecker print, and the photocopy was the one they got from the victim's vagina, and the two were identical. The man confessed.

The other penis stories weren't as funny, but there were two other stories about these renegade cops. The next story I'd dedicate to Andy. The cops knew that one particular subway was rife with pickpockets. So they set up a guy pretending to sleep, with his watch and other items sticking out. A pickpocket passed by, grabbed the items, and took off running. The sleeper stood up and shouted, then radioed the suspect in. What the suspect didn't know was that the cops had another officer waiting - he was absolutely huge, like a bodybuilder, and very tall. He was waiting behind another wall, where the cops had loosened the hinges on a door. And --- he was dressed as Superman. So the suspect runs toward this wall, and all the sudden the officer kicks down this door, steps out in his superman gear, grabs and lifts the suspect into the air, and lets him dangle there for awhile. The cops arrive quickly, and Supercop then hands the suspect over to the officers. Then, at trial, the suspect says he wasn't caught by the cops, he was caught by Superman. He was later referred for a psych evaluation.

And finally, the cops had been investigating this warehouse where robbers had been storing stolen merchandise for a long time. So one night the cops disable all the lights in the warehouse, and wait for the guys to return. That night the robbers came back with more stuff, and found all the lights out in the warehouse. So they got out their flashlights and crept through the building, until they came upon something unusual - one of the cops had dressed up as Wolfman, in full wolf costume with a mask and hair and fangs. He was crouched on some shelf like 8 feet off the ground, and as soon as they saw him he started snarling, then leaped down at them. Other cops, who were positioned elsewhere to watch, described it as the funniest thing they ever saw - all the sudden the flashlights clatter to the ground and the robbers took off screaming. One ran directly into a large metal pole and knocked himself unconscious.

Of course, they're not allowed to do stuff like that anymore. But still, the fact that someone can take law enforcement and have fun with it - - that's just fantastic, and something to aspire to.

Trivial

I can't pass this one up. I tried to pick my favorite movies and some less obvious quotes. That being said, number 12 and 13 are pretty easy, but classic. And I couldn't include any Lord of the Rings or Revenge of the Sith quotes, because they were far too easy.

The Rules:
A. Pick 11 of your favorite movies.
B. Then pick one of your favorite quotes from each movie.
C. Post the quotes on your blog.
D. Have commenters guess what the movie is.
E. Place the guesser's user ndirectly after the quote.
F. Extra points for knowing the actor and/or character's name.

The Quotes:
1. "I wasn’t aware Nazi Camp got out til 8. What did you do, skip arts and crafts?"
"Yes, I did."
Dodgeball - Peter LaFleur (Vince Vaughn) - identified by Kristin. Although, you should mention the retort was by White Goodman (Ben Stiller). That's what really makes the quote.

2. "Enhance. Enhance. Enhance."
Supertroopers - Ramathorn (Jay Chandrasomething) - identified by Andy

3. "I'm a monster. What I do is evil. I have no illusions about it, but it must be done."
Serenity - the Operative (Chiwetel Ejiofor) - identified by Andy

4. "It's like wiping your arse with silk. I love it."
Matrix: Reloaded - the Merovingian (Lambert Wilson) - identified by Tortceaser

5. "A vigilante is just a man lost in the scramble for his own gratification. He can be destroyed, or locked up; but if you make yourself more than just a man, if you devote yourself to an ideal, and if they can't stop you, you become something else entirely."
Batman Begins - Ducard (Liam Neeson) - identified by Tortceaser

6. "They're your clothes, motherfucker."
Pulp Fiction - Jules (Samuel L Jackson) - identified by Tortceaser

7. "So here I am - standing in your doorway. I have always been standing in your doorway. Isn't it about time somebody saved your life?"
Spiderman 2 - Mary Jane Watson (Kirsten Dunst) - identified by Kristin

8. "I’m going to my room, where it’s not so…(looking at stepdad)…I don’t know…stupid."
Big Trouble - Jenny Herk (Zooey Deschanel) - identified by X-Tina

9. "Yeah, well I'm taller."
Speed - Jack Traven (Keanu Reeves) identified by Johnny Utah
- FYI - this is also my preferred line of choice after decapitating my enemies

10. "You are a god among insects. Never let anyone tell you different."
X-Men 2 - Magneto (Ian McKellen) - identified by Andy, though much later than I would have figured

11. "Technically, it's a ferret."
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - Alastor Moody [actually Barty Crouch Jr] (Brendan Gleeson) - identified by Kristin

Bonus, just for fun:

12. "No way. Why should I change? He's the one who sucks."
Office Space - Michael Bolton (David Herman) - identified by Andy

13. "Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker!"
Die Hard - John McClane (Bruce Willis) - identified by Tortceaser

Your Move, Funkmaster

Big news from the business and technology department. My two year contract for my phone expired recently, and as my first paycheck for the summer was about to arrive, I decided to procure a new phone. I didn't know what to get; all I'm really interested among the newfangledness of phones today is the ringtones. I gotsta be rockin' me some fly-ass ringtones, mmm hmm. And I know the RAZR is good for ringtones. But at my store, it was by far the most expensive, despite a $100 mail-in rebate. Since I didn't have the requisite coin in hand yet, I figured I'd just go for something basic and affordable. So I got the updated model of what I already had, and it was decent. (Especially because the thing actually charged when I plugged it in, unlike some other piece of $&%# phones that shall remain nameless, specifically my last phone) The ringtones were still an issue - I knew with a RAZR you could use a data cable or bluetooth to download real songs from your computer/Ipod; with this phone I would have to buy them, and I would be limited to the selection they had, which I discovered was piss poor. So, blah blah blah, I had a new phone.

But then hope arrived in the form of a $350 check which I hadn't been expecting for a month yet. Long story short, I said fuck everything, and exchanged my phone for the RAZR. This makes me the third member of MZRM to rock the RAZR, which I'd say makes it the official phone of the firm that takes badassery to a whole new level, and then thrashes its ass with an electric spike whip. This leaves you, Utah. Not that I bought it because thats what all the cool people are doing. I bought it because it was the only one that really stood out from the other new phones, except for one that had a weird sliding feature. The problem was the keys were still exposed; not a big deal, but I don't want to mess around with keyguard. Having to lock and unlock the keys every time I need to make a call takes away precious seconds, and every second counts when you absolutely need to call everyone to tell them about Utah's latest showdown/robbing by/robbing of/fistfight with a homeless person and/or racoon, or you covertly dial Madd0g's phone just to hear your own ringtone going off.

I've gotta say, this purchase feels pretty good. I don't usually go all out with accessories and top of the line personal items, but I put some thought into it -- I only get a phone every two years. It should be a major step up each time, right? Why get something that's just marginally better than the last one? And then there's the simple fact that I was too good for the first new phone. Hence, RAZR, which is very possibly too good for me.

Now, to hook up some tones. The question becomes this: which of you wants their personal ringer to be "Pimp Juice" by Nelly?

For What it Is

"Were we even watching the same movie?"

This is a line often heard when people's opinions about movies differ drastically. Same movie, two completely different reactions.

For those of you who've read Andy's post about Superman, I too attended the advanced screening of Superman Returns last week. As his post indicates, Andy felt it was possibly one of the greatest movies ever made. While I really enjoyed the movie overall, I walked away feeling a little disappointed. I couldn't put my finger on any one thing; the action scenes were phenomenal, especially the flying; the actors were pretty good, especially Kevin Spacey as Lex Luthor; the themes of regret and resposibility came across beautifully; and the story...well, other than the actual dastardly plot itself (he was growing a flippin' continent!), the story was also passable. (Ok, side rant, the continent thing? Lex had these super crystals; story-wise, the writers could have come up with any number of awesome possibilities for what he could do with those crystals. But growing a continent?? Um....rrrright.) Alright, rant over. I'm generally willing to overlook a silly plot for an entertaining story, so that didn't detract too much.

But somehow I just didn't see it as a spectacular cinematic achievement like Andy. I even had to stifle a little laughter when he said it was a near-religious experience for him. Apparently I was missing something.

And I was, most definitely. Not something about the movie itself. I was missing his perspective. As all who know and love Mr. Martinez can attest to, he is a diehard Man of Steel fanatic. So when a long-delayed, long-awaited, nine-figure blockbuster movie production comes out to bring the beloved characters back to life, one might imagine he could have some difficulty viewing it objectively. Anything that does even a passable job would be amazing to him, right?

That was pretty much the way I saw it, until I re-watched the movie Serenity the other night. Most of you have seen it, but I'll summarize the details briefly. Serenity is the movie follow up to the aborted television show Firefly, created by Joss Whedon. I have been a major fan of Joss for many years now, having absolutely loved his previous shows, Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He has a unique brand of action, adventure, compelling characters, and laugh-out-loud humor that always captures my imagination. Despite this, I didn't watch Firefly when it was on the air. I caught the series on dvd when I heard they were making a movie - I wanted to see what the fuss was about. So I watched all 14 episodes. Then I watched them again. And again. By the time the movie came out, I had seen them all probably 5 times. This isn't unusual - I own or rent many series on dvd and watch them repeatedly - but this show was particularly good, especially for the incredible potential it had. I loved the characters. I loved the setting. I loved the conflicts and the themes. I simply loved it.

So the movie came out, and I went with all my friends (re: you). I was positively blown away. They were able to perfectly recreate a story I loved on the big screen, and advanced it in exciting, meaningful, and at times heart-wrenching ways. I think everyone that went enjoyed it, but having seen the series and connected with the story and characters beforehand, I enjoyed it on a much higher level than anyone who went in cold. And now, if I tell people that Serenity was one of the top three movies of all time, I'm sure to get funny looks, even from people who enjoyed it. It was relatively low-budget ($40 mil), had no big-named stars, and it borrowed a lot from Star Wars and other of its predecessors. (The Mal/Han Solo comparison is obvious.) But for me, that was a nearly flawless cinematic experience.

So now I have a greater appreciation of Superman Returns, at least for what it means to Andy. There are certain stories that speak to each of us on an entirely different level than to everyone else; others can see something for what it is, but no one can see something for what it is to me.

Were we even watching the same movie?

No. No, we really were not.