Barkerburgh

Well, I watched Steven Spielberg’s “War of the Worlds” with Tom Cruise last night.

When I was a kid, I was a big fan of the 1953 “War of the Worlds“, and later, Orson Welles’ radio play, dramatised in 1975’s “The Night That Panicked America“.

I wanted to see this one at the cinema but never did. I wish I’d never seen it last night.

It was worse than then entire second season of “Doctor Who“ and “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen” put together.

It had everything that was wrong and silly about Independence Day and Starship Troopers (and ripped off the designs for the aliens from both movies, for Christ’s sakes), and added the fact that Tom Cruise’s Ferrier character was an asshole, Tim Robbins was completely wasted, and the unholy mix-mash of references to both the original book (eg, red weed, badly used) and the 1953 movie (eg, the alien camera on the snake arm, unfulfilled).

One thing that really burnt my toast was that Ray and Rachel were always, everywhere, exactly where all the shit was coming down. Granted there was a lot of shit coming down all over the place but always?

Aliens from underground? TV news cameraman looting a crashed plane for TV dinners? A convenient path for the SUV to drive out of the plane-crash area? The son surviving the firestorm on the hill and getting to Boston all by himself? Fuck right off.

And why was it never established that the aliens were Martians? That’s half the cool about the book and old movie. Martians!

I’ve never really liked Senor Spielbergo movies (with a few exceptions). He’s too much like a film student in a candy store.

Penn and Teller’s, that is.

I finally saw an episode a couple of weeks ago. The one on cryptozoology; you know, Nessie, Sasquatch, Sassie, Nesquatch, all those guys.

Funny as an episode of ‘My Name is Earl’, swear to God.

And smart, too.

Bullshit clips from Youtube:

1> Animal Telepathy….seriously

b) Alien Abduction…really

iii] Polls…of course

Before, I knew intellectually that as a species, we’re doomed, but now I feel it viscerally.

Hell in a handbasket, people. Fasten your seatbelts, enjoy the ride and kiss your ass goodbye.

I have high wide windows, maybe 1.5 square meters of big air, with a large fan blowing out one side and fresh air flowing in the other.

A couple of months ago, an ordinary garden spider found her way in (I say ‘her’; I’m lonely). She established herself on my ceiling fan light fixture, anchored between the fixture itself and the long, dangling, on/off pull-string. She started small and kept getting bigger.

I let her stay for two main reasons. First of all, if she heard somebody was going to try and kill me, she’d warn me; “Some Pig”. That would be cool. Yes, I know that’s not what Charlotte meant by that message, but that’s how I’d take it, believe you me.

Secondly, I noticed that sometimes she withdrew up into the light fixture and the web would get all tattered. I thought she’d died. I actually don’t get a lot of bugs in my place, even with the wide open windows. But she came back bigger and better. That’s happened a couple of times. Now the web is bigger than my outstretched hand and she’s big and lovely.

Now yesterday, I noticed her looking a little thin and peaked and I got worried. After all, she’s probably late middle-aged for a spider and a little hungry.

Later I noticed there was a dying beetle on the hallway floor inside the back door. I grabbed some tweezers, snagged the beetle, took it inside and dropped it into the web. Well, she was on it so fast I barely saw her move, even though I was expecting it. Cool. It was almost as big as she is and she went wild wrapping it up and then dragging it up to the centre of the web to, I assume, dine.

Then I sat at my computer, watching her, thinking “Enjoy, my arachnid beauty!”

Then I glimpsed my copy of ‘The Fellowship of the Ring’ and thought, ‘Jesus Christ! Tolkien must have had a pet spider!’

Then I looked around at my little room and thought, ‘A Elbereth Gilthoniel, Barker! You’re Gollum!’

I am.

What a disappointing load of crap.

All the same cliches and plots and characters.

Even more emotionally manipulative than last year, especially that last episode.

And Satan? Are you fucking kidding me?

When K9 showed up, I warned Davies (as I warn all writers and/or directors when they introduce a dog character), “Don’t kill the doggy.” He killed the doggy. So he replaced him. Big whoop.

I’m really saddened that after that spectacular first season, Davies let this happen.

I hate to say it, but even Star Trek:Enterprise was better than the second season of Doctor Who.

Happy Easter.

From youtube, Samuel L. Jackson’s ‘Daily Show’ interview…

!@#@$^%^& hilarious!

(There’s a few commercials at the end….)

IMDB !@#@$^%^& reviews

I have to see this.

And now for something completely the same…

Auditions for ‘Snakes on a Plane’…

I must admit to be taken by the title of another new movie. It’s a Canadian cop flick with Colm Feore called ‘Bon Cop, Bad Cop.’ Much like ‘Snakes on a Plane’, I laughed out loud when I first heard the title. The commercials are pretty funny too. Caveat Viewor, it’s a hockey movie too.

“Manilow to undergo hip surgery”

‘Nuff said.

(It was lying open on the table next to me in the food court.)

(It was so.)

I can’t decide between “these guys put the first two syllables of ‘mentally unstable’ in Fundamental” or “these guys put the last word of the phrase ‘Jesus H. Christ!’ in Christian”.

From the Pueblo Chieftain, via the Cult News Network

The article about the Rapture Index…

And introducing, with ads by Google, The Rapture Index.

Perhaps it could be offset by this; the Bible Belt Blogger.

But then again, there’s this.

Fuck it. Yer all nuts.

Well, not quite.

So about 10:30pm on Friday, I’m taking a shower in the basement bathroom at the Nairn estate and almost finished when the lights flash off, then come on again, then go out and stay out.

It’s pitch dark with only a useless glow through the frosted window.

I finally manage to - slowly and carefully - get dry, get dressed, and find my way to the first floor where I discover the whole neighbourhood is dark. One thing that helps is the power flashes back on for about one second while I’m trying to remember where the stairs are. I happen to be looking right at them when the lights flash on and off, and make my way over by retina memory.

I go outside and hear sirens. I’m just about to check on the little old Italian lady next door when she comes outside too. She’s fine.

Then I decide to follow the sirens because they’re close and a lot. I look south and can see that St Clair West is just fine, but everything north, east and west seems out. I can tell from the usual crepuscular glow around the area that the blackout is local.

I walk up Nairn to Rogers Road, then west on Rogers. Near the western edge of Prospect Cemetery a car has crashed into and nearly knocked over a telephone pole and two people are being worked on, then transported away by ambulance. (Oh, so that’s why the cemetery is called that!)

There’s a huge crowd of gawpers, and me, standing around. Finally I’ve seen enough so I leave.

I’m in an internet cafe on St Clair writing this.

Now we’ll see how long it takes for the power to come back on.

It’s 5:01am Friday, August 11, 2006. I’m house-sitting. I’m in a mood and I don’t have my classic Pogues or The Clash (”London Calling”).

Other people’s homes. Jeezes.

Cats, customs, neighbours, neighbourhoods, the life.

At home, I’d still be asleep.

I woke up. I’m going to watch the rest of “The Aristocrats”. I’ve never seen the whole thing. I almost typed “The Aristocats.” If you’ve already seen “The Aristocrats”, that might be funny. If you’ve already seen “The Aristocats” and that’s not funny, you might already be a redneck. Joking.

Seriously.

(I’m on a Mac. I’m a PC guy. I’m not a dancing-magic-crazy-ass-jeezes-boy for Microsoft, but once y’all click on something, shouldn’t y’all get what y’all click on? Macheads: no, y’all don’t!)

Still and all, writing my novel.

(Whoa, how almost properly punctuated stream-0f-consciousness was all of that?)

Near Peter and Leslie’s is a great big graveyard. It is called ‘Prospect Cemetery’.

For the love of God, why!?