A Word About Cheap Speakers, Bad Costumes, And The Millennial Generation

            It is apparent now that I have turned right into Clint Eastwood’s character from Gran Torino.  I can’t get through the day without having to point my rifle at some kids running through my yard whilst growling “Get off my lawn!” at them.  How did this happen?  When did this happen?  Where did I get the rifle?  Did I turn into my parents overnight and no one told me?  (I hope not as they have both passed on and it would be awkward having to explain how I can type this despite my cremained status.)  But with every passing moment, I can now feel every passing moment pass by every moment and that is a new sensation for me.

 

It seems I have this expression every day.  Good thing those punks never look up from their phones to see it.

            Did I ever think that the music I listened to would be part of a “classic rock” rotation or even worse: part of the “Light FM” stations?  Alice In Chains, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and the rest are all considered “safe” today.  After all, those bands are all pushing to be 30 years old soon and that should frighten the torn stone-washed jeans off of any self-respecting, former flannel-wearing, head-banging, mosh pit-surviving Gen-Xer.  Pretty soon White Zombie is going to be used for Hallmark ads that encourage us to send a card to our grandmas because we are indeed “More Human Than Human”.  If Tool is ever used for Gerber baby food, the game is over.

 

            Perhaps I just cannot stand the whiny, self-righteous, social justice preening of those so-called Millennials.  It is just like the world passed over from the Boomers right to these tight-pantsed, workout loving, easily outraged blowhards without taking into account those that came in-between, namely me.  If I could figure out how Twitter worked, I’d certainly show them a thing or two!  Hash mark this or whatever, you social media wonks!  (By the way, the tight-pantsed thing was discovered to be horrid by my generation back in the day; hence the baggy jeans with plenty of room to maneuver revolution back in 1992.  Those that never study the history of pants are doomed to repeat the mistakes.  I can’t wait for airtight polyester slacks to come back with these buffoons.)
 

Fight the Millennials, otherwise this is our future.  Never again.

 

            That the times are passing me by was quite evident this past weekend.  My task: find some amazingly cheap speakers for our PC.  Our eldest enjoys playing games on the PBS website and the last blisteringly cheap speaker we owned died.  As I walked in Target, I went through the electronics section and actually took a look at the shelves as I sought out the speakers.  I saw a cornucopia of accessories for things that I have no idea what they are in the first place.  Apparently people want to be more wired than the back of my first stereo system.  There were various multi-colored protective shells for handheld devices that I can only assume were for tricorders so Mr. Spock will be delighted. Well, as delighted as a Vulcan gets.

 

            Other than shiny things and TVs so large they inspire their own ZIP codes, I didn’t know what I was looking at.  I started to forget who I was, sweating and panting as I made my way across the aisle to recuperate amongst some overpriced Star Wars toys.  Ah, some things from my day never do change!  I regrouped, placed some Chewbaccas in front of the New Characters That I’m Supposed To Care About’s action figures and went back to electronics. 

 

            Also, I adore DVD and have a passing flirtation with Blu-ray, but what is the actual deal with these 4K Ultra HD-whatever discs?  Are we looking for definition that is so clear, I can actually see the pounds of foundation powder on Meryl Streep’s face?  Do I want to witness the Jack Nicholson of today that clearly?  I certainly hope that this tech can be used for parlor dramas as well.  “You haven’t seen Pride and Prejudice until you can actually see the blood throbbing in the veins in the close-ups.  I can actually guess Keira Knightley’s pulse just from the high def!”

 

Oh yes, you're quite welcome.  Bet you can't wait for the return of VHS now.

 

            But I digress.  I couldn’t make head or tail out of most of the bells, whistles, and other gadgets that populated the electronics section.  I could make out the price however.  The cheapest speaker they had involved leaving a blood sample and a promise to deliver your great-great grandnephew to them if the payments couldn’t be fulfilled after 2106.  I thought I could do better so I left.  I assumed I could use the bathroom before leaving but since Target now has so many signs and gender subcategories to determine which toilet one can use, I just peed in the Starbucks display.  Chances are the customers won’t taste the difference when they grind the beans anyway.

 

            What is with this generation anyway?  Do they really want to be that connected?  Did they ever see The Matrix?  Oh wait, that’s almost 20 years old now too, so probably not.  My stars and garters, I am aging quicker than Macaulay Culkin when he was passed over for Home Alone 3.  (Yet another reference the Millennials won’t know, damn them.)  I used to have a smart phone but discovered that my data costs were comparable to what the Clinton Foundation made off of disasters in Haiti.  (There, now that’s topical!)  My phone now isn’t smart, but it does try awfully hard and is more than adequate for how much I would like to be linked up to the worldwide interwebnets, thank you very much.

Yes, that is Malcolm McDowell in the bottom center.  Yes, I hope he was overpaid to be in this.

 

            Walking into Best Buy, I resumed my quest for a crummy cheap speaker for my PC.  After explaining to the store guy that I wanted a speaker for my PC and then after explaining what a PC actually was, he asked what my price range was for this.  I said “$15.”  He stifled a laugh and then stifled a bigger laugh while taking me over to the speakers that come free with a bag of Sour Patch Kids near the checkout.  However, even these were in the $25 range, which was out of my scope to be sure.  So I left there as well, leaving the heavily tattooed clerk not even attempting to stifle his laughter anymore in my wake.

 

            Maybe I just think this group of people that came screaming out from my generation is shiftless, thinking they are entitled to a life that even the Gen-Xers never got.  That laziness is quite evident to my scowling eyes.  As a for instance, just this past weekend, my wife and I were taking our kids out trick-or-treating.  Sure I saw some homemade costumes, but most of them were store-bought.  Now, this isn’t something unique to this generation, after all store costumes have been a staple for decades.  But just some of the evident apathy that came with compiling a costume was irksome. 

 

For example, I’m all for seeing kids dress up like Jason Voorhees.  He is a legendary horror choice to be sure, so I must ask that you go all out in your costume efforts.  Don’t just go about wearing a cheapjack hockey mask and a flannel shirt, thinking that I for one will be terrifically elated at your efforts.  And c’mon, flannel?  With the hockey mask?  For shame.  Now, I would definitely be impressed if you were the potato sack on the head-wearing Jason from Friday the 13^th Part 2.  Get that flannel together with some bib overalls and your look would be complete, but I am going to guess this would have taken too much effort.  I’ll wager you didn’t even see the movie in the first place.  I’ll wager even more that you didn’t even know there were movies with this character.  You just ignorantly saw the mask on the shelves at Halloween Express and thought “Hey this is cheap and easy!  I’m ready for candy!”  Sickening.

See?  You see?!  Words fail me, you hack!  Ye gods man, really?!

 

And unlike an infant or toddler that just has to go with whatever nonsense their parents adorned them with, you were presumably old enough to know better.  In fact, I’ll bet you are probably too old to go out there in the first place amidst the age-appropriate trick-or-treaters like my children.  At the outset you prey on my nostalgia for the classic horror icons of my youth and then it is just a cheap ploy to get candy.  Candy you are in effect stealing from my children?!  You scheming bastards!  Pray Mrs. Voorhees doesn’t find out what you’ve done because I can promise that she’ll be lenient in comparison to my vengeance.  (No, look it up, I’m tired of explaining these things to clueless Millennials.) 

 

Okay, now this guy is getting candy.  See the difference that comes with just a smidge of effort?

 Boy, that digression thing, huh?  Anyway, I left Best Buy, not knowing where I could find this speaker for my daughter.  Cursing every single person I passed on the highway because they just cannot keep their little light up rectangles from being crammed in front of their noggins, feverishly looking for entertainment, I pulled into Wal-Mart.  Not expecting to find anything, I went back into their electronics section and not only found the speakers right away, but they also had them for just 10 bucks.  Even after getting some batteries for it, the price was still cheaper than at either Target or Best Buy.  Looks like a deal was found by the old man!  I am now one step away from preparing to demand future senior discounts on my coffee at Perkins.

 

As I left the Wal-Mart, I saw some little kids and their parents going to a Halloween event in town.  Dressed as various Disney princesses and Marvel superheroes, their faces were full of joy.  I couldn’t help but smile at the same time, remembering some of my favorite Halloween costumes when I was their age.  I thought of the cute costumes my own kids were wearing and had worn in the past.  How could I ever get to be so curmudgeonly?  Did any of these apple-cheeked innocent youngsters deserve my ranting wrath?  No, not at all. 

 

Well, unless they end up like the Millennials that came before them.  Then all bets are off once they cross my property line. 

Gene Wilder: The Suspense Is Terrible, I Hope It Will Last

               I am going to take a quick break from the series about my mother’s favorite movies because a few days ago, a member of my family passed away.  I never met this man face to face and he never personally knew me.  However he was a part of the family, whether he would have liked it or not.  Oh and to be more confusing, he was not just one man.  He was The Waco Kid, Dr. Frederick Frankenstein, and Sigurson Holmes all wrapped up in single man, the now late but forever great, Gene Wilder.

            Now I rarely get worked up about celebrity deaths.  Yes, I’m sad with some and apathetic with most passings, like the majority of us is but would never really admit.  For instance, yes when I heard about David Bowie’s death I was sad (no, not really, but play along with me), but it didn’t make me wear sackcloth and ashes, mourning his passing as if Beethoven himself were being planted.  But never mind, people can mourn whomever they would like, however they would like, that’s not the point of this post.

            So I think the last celebrity that truly made me feel bad when they passed away was John Candy.  His films were an entertainment staple in my household for years.  I cannot recall the amount of time I watched Armed and Dangerous or Who’s Harry Crumb? as a child.  His work on SCTV, especially as Johnny LaRue or mayor Tommy Shanks, was always a welcome sight in our home.  I think of all the wonderful work he could have done over the past 20 years and it just depresses me even more.  His talent was huge and the loss was great.

            Wilder’s death is along similar lines.  When I think of Wilder, I think of my parents.  I remember my mother laughing at Young Frankenstein or my father trying to catch his breath while watching Blazing Saddles.  (Yes, it was the farting scene.  It nailed him every single time.  I’d like to say that I’m more mature, but no, I just watched it today and I was laughing my arse off.)  Some of my fondest memories are of my folks thoroughly enjoying Gene Wilder on the screen.

No, this is not edited.  That is a yarmulked Han Solo in a movie with the top-billed Gene Wilder.

 I remember being perched on my uncle’s knee witnessing the wonder of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory and wondered what I would do with flavored wallpaper.  I cannot count the amount of hours my brother and I spent watching an edited version of The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes’ Smarter Brother that was taped off of TV.  We knew the commercials by heart.  Wilder became a member of the family, the same as Groucho Marx, the Zucker Brothers, and Mel Brooks.  (We also adopted some Gentiles too, but they weren’t as funny.)

Feldman, Kahn, DeLuise, and now Wilder are all gone, but are all great in this.

Gene Wilder had a terrific sense of timing.  His ability to get to a towering rage was substantial; nobody could ever scream like Gene Wilder.  His writing was smart, his directing was sure, and his acting was terrific.  Look at Blazing Saddles.  I bet you never knew he was a last minute replacement for a different actor that was cast but couldn’t physically do the job.  Yeah, The Waco Kid was a eleventh hour substitute and Wilder not only knocked it out of the park but also had some amazing chemistry with Cleavon Little to boot. 

Pay attention to Wilder in The Producers and see how he manages to hold his own amidst the larger than life lunatics that populate that picture.  Focus on Wilder’s segment in Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex and notice that he is truly convincing in portraying a man that falls in love with a sheep.  (Seriously I am not giving him the due that he deserves for that movie.  If Woody Allen bothers you for some reason, just watch Wilder’s part, you won’t regret it.)  Watch him in Silver Streak or any of the movies that he did with Richard Pryor and see the love that those two had for each other.  Even if the movies themselves started to get progressively worse, Wilder and Pryor were always a delight.

See?  I wasn't kidding!  But please, please see it!

 

Gene Wilder of course was married to the wonderful comedienne Gilda Radner up to her own untimely death from ovarian cancer.  This took on greater import in my own life when my mother was diagnosed with this very same disease.  Although it eventually took her life as well, I was inspired by Wilder when I saw how supportive he was of Gilda throughout the entire ordeal.  His partnership in founding Gilda’s Club in giving those battling cancer a place to interact with others who are or were suffering from the disease is an incredible legacy.

Way back when in the dim dark past of 2003 or so, I wrote a screenplay.  Now, it is a turd, but a turd that at the time was a labor of love to evacuate.  In fact, I was so proud of this, I once contemplated showing it to my wife, but decided against it.  Yes, it is that good!  However, there was a scene in the script that if it was ever produced, I would have wanted Gene Wilder cast in it.  Unlike any other role in the damn thing, I wrote it with him in mind.  Not that he ever would have accepted doing it, even at that point in his life, but it was there and hasn’t been reedited since 2004, so you know it is good!

Only Wilder and Pryor could pull this scene off and make it the absolute gem that it is.

 

Another way that Wilder has left an imprint in my life was that I gave one of his character’s names to a child of mine.  My firstborn son’s middle name is Frederick, after Wilder’s character in Young Frankenstein.  And yes, I didn’t tell my wife until well after the birth certificate was printed where the idea for the name came from.  She just thought it sounded nice and then I had to go ahead and ruin it.

There are few of my entertainment inspirations that are still upright among the land of the living.  Most of my favorite film and television stars passed away long before I was even born, let alone a fan of their work.  But Wilder was different.  He became a member of our family.  He is sorely missed, but with his catalog of work available at my fingertips, he is not far away.  

Fare thee well, Dr. Frahnkensteen.  

A Time To Pause...So Let's Watch A Movie!

            Thank you for joining me once again, dear reader, as I once again traverse and travel and travail and into the wonderful land of bloggerisms.  I would like to thank those that decided to join me on this post and if you’ve already clicked to something else because you found out that a Pokémon is located inside of the local nuclear reactor and you’ve just got to get it, then Godspeed on your journey!
 

            ESPN every year holds a fake gala that they call the ESPY awards.  ESPY of course stands for “Ewww, Sports Performers? Yuck!” which is an immature acronym and I admittedly didn’t think it through whilst fabricating it from the ether whatsoever.  Aside from self-aggrandizing sports figures, who don’t get enough attention already through their lucrative contracts, their lucrative endorsement deals, their lucrative side investments, and their lucrative percentages from their lucrative commercials, the ESPYs are crucial because they fill the one day of the year where there’s no real sports going on and they need to put something on the air in Bristol.  (Hey, anything’s better than putting on a repeat of a WNBA game, right?  Right?!  Ahem.)

 

            However there is a bright spot to the ESPYs and that is the day long auction and awareness given for the V Foundation for Cancer Research.  The V Foundation has to date given over $150 million towards cancer research and is a very worthwhile organization.  It was set up by Jim Valvano and ESPN while Valvano was fighting his own battle with cancer.  Sorry for taking a serious note all of a sudden, but ESPN’s support of the V Foundation is one of the nobler things about the network and I applaud them in their efforts.

 

            So as I was listening to the ESPN radio auctions and stories about those who had survived cancer, those who had succumbed to cancer, and those who were afflicted by cancer in their families, I realized that the anniversary of my own mother’s death from cancer is coming up.  Perhaps with that mindset, the stories I was hearing on the air affected me more than normal.  I was immediately transported back to 2000 and watching my mother fight, struggle, and ultimately yield to the cancer that had taken over her body.

 

            She fought that disease with ultimately great faith and with great humor given the circumstances.  I will always be influenced by her ability to handle something that physically, emotionally, and spiritually draining.  How she and my father were able to even cope was amazing in and of itself to me.  If and when I ever have to face similar situations, I only pray that I will be able to have just a tenth of the courage and resolve that they displayed.

 

            But rather than dwell on those final days, I want to use this as a moment to remember one of my mother’s great legacies in my life: her love of movies.  My mother thoroughly enjoyed film and introduced me to the classics that she enjoyed.  My parents would set up the VCR (look it up, kids) and would tape movies from whatever the local network affiliate would air during their Late Late Show (look it up again, kids).  We got most of the films of the Marx Brothers this way and this is how I became the only 2^nd grader at Gethsemane Evangelical Lutheran to quote Groucho lines and appear to be far wittier than I ever would be.  Hey, if you have to steal, then steal from the best! 

 

             Now with such a large introduction being said, I hope that you would indulge me further as I start a series of posts that will look at some of my mother’s favorite films.  I never tire of watching these particular movies and constantly find something new and interesting within them.  I will dive mostly in the pool of classic movies because frankly they are classic for a reason.  By the way, yes I know that a couple of them are in icky black and white, but suck it up buttercup, you’ll be just fine.  Besides, these films should be given a looksee if you’ve never had the chance to watch them.  And if you have watched them, take a moment to think about a mother and her son bonding over movies and watch them again. 

Ghostbusted!

            Once again we must traverse into the land of fake outrage and make believe problems that magically come along every 12.7 minutes in today’s society.  Some are angered so much by these pseudo-issues that they dare to show their solidarity by retweeting a blog post based off an Instagram meme that was originally part of a Facebook share that originated from a DOS file found on a 3.5 floppy disk back when dinosaurs ruled the earth and the Lakers ruled the court.  As you might divine from my subtle cues, I find social media to be nothing but a whiny mob that can’t wait to light their torches chasing down the fabricated Frankenstein monster of the week.  This whole time they could be reposting and sharing these blog posts of mine instead.  Priorities, people!

            One such cause celebre amongst the clinically indignant revolves around the Ghostbusters reboot that is coming out this summer.  I haven’t seen a frame of film beyond two lackluster trailers, but heaven forbid I dare to criticize or have a bad feeling about it or just have overwhelming apathy that might just lead to vehement indifference at best.  Yep, at the end of the day, I just don’t really care.

Here is Dan Aykroyd with his storage cabinet for the Ghostbusters 3 scripts.

            (Well, I care enough to bother you all with this drivel, so that must ultimately mean something, and if not to you personally, then perhaps to science in general.  The research team from the University of St. Copious of Western East Prussia has yet to reveal their findings to me, despite the voluminous grants.  When I queried their team leader as to the results, I was given the following phrase which I shall translate from the original German, “Back off man, I’m a scientist.”  So my hopes are high.)

Anyway, somehow by not endorsing this film that I have not seen, this makes me out to be a sexist misogynist dinosaur, a relic of the Cold War.  Oh, wait.  No, that is M’s description of James Bond in GoldenEye.  Hm.  Nevertheless, I’ll take it.  Pierce Brosnan is above all one damn charming human being, which is more than I can say about the critics that demand one needs to take a hyperbolic stand on this reboot.

            This dynamic surrounding this Ghostbusters noise is interesting because it ultimately shows a contrived war between fanboys and social justicers.  The fanboys are just plain irked because this is not the movie they signed up for and have waited since 1989 to see.  The social justicers are taking any kind of criticism as being an affront towards women as the reboot has recast the original roles with female characters.  The nerds and the slacktivists are going at it and frankly it is rather astounding to watch.  Both groups have so much in common: an aversion to sunshine, an immeasurable amount of time spent in front of a screen of some variety, and an unwillingness to enjoy actual life outside of their mom’s basements.

            Do I have a dog in the fight?  Not really, as any hope for a Ghostbusters movie that I might have conceivably wanted to see ended with the death of Harold Ramis.  The studio hemmed and hawed way too long in-between movies and could have restarted this franchise with the original cast back in the mid-1990s through mid-2000s…but didn’t.  Bill Murray’s acting star continued to rise despite movies like Larger than Life, Dan Aykroyd kept carrying on the fight with multiple drafts in development hell, Harold Ramis kept directing other movies, Rick Moranis became far more selective, Sigourney Weaver kept doing progressively worse Alien movies, and Ernie Hudson just wanted a phone call.     

Sometimes, one just wants to be the Keymaster.  And yes, I know Sigourney is the Gatekeeper.

            However, everything became moot when Ramis died.  Without his participation, I just didn’t care about any kind of new Ghostbusters movie.  I might have been possibly slightly interested at best had the surviving cast gotten together, but at the end of the day, far too many remakes, reboots, reimaginings, sequels, and prequels elsewhere have sucked my interest well completely dry.  Besides, Ghostbusters in 1984 worked because it had an original idea and an original script and great casting.  Ghostbusters in 2016 is anything but original beyond the novelty of casting the roles with women.  The bottom line: preying on my nostalgia is not an original thought whatsoever.

He once had part of a Slinky, but he straightened it.  Yeah, I miss him too.

            That first trailer was such a downer as well.  The footage was meh, the jokes were mostly hackneyed with just a hint of racism, and the theme song was a lone melody line slowly played by an obviously sad pianist.  And I’m not a complete elitist snob when it comes to the nostalgia factor a trailer can bring if done properly.  Was I happy to see Indiana Jones in a trailer when Kingdom of the Crystal Skull came out?  Oh, yes.  Was I overjoyed and kind of misty-eyed when I saw Chewbacca and Han in The Force Awakens trailer?  You bet!  Were there any non-Harrison Ford related trailers that made me take notice in the past decade?  Not really.  Perhaps if they cast Ford as Indiana Solo in the new Ghostbusters movie, I would’ve taken notice.  (Can’t you just imagine Harrison Ford with a proton pack?  The mind boggles!) 

            Do I even care about the gender aspect of this movie?  You could have recast this with the Seth Rogan/James Franco/Judd Apatow cast of male faces that seem to permeate every single new comedy of the past decade and I would have just as much ennui.  Even if they had a good script, a new cast was placed in a no-win situation regardless of gender because of the love of the original film that has existed for over 30 years. 

              Is character of Walter Peck in the reboot?  As he doesn't have a dick either, he'd fit right in.

Are there some that use the female cast as a reason for a preconceived dismissive attitude towards this movie?  Yep, but that is such a mindlessly easy low denominator.  Why grasp at such imbecilic low hanging fruit as a reason in hating this project when there are so many other good reasons to not like this.  What reasons, you say?  Well, I’m glad I had me ask this question for you!

  

For instance:

·         Again, the trailers haven’t dazzled me for the aforementioned reasons.  Beyond that, swirly CG ain’t enough to impress/frighten/humor me.  Why are the effects from 1984 or even from the 1989 sequel looking way better to my ever-increasingly elderly eyes than this new stuff?

·         I’ve heard nothing but turmoil was involved behind the scenes including fights among the main cast.  (No, thank you, North Korean email hackers!) This never results in an awesome final product.

·         According to reports, the script never really came together for the director and stars.  Certain cast members realized this wasn’t the movie they signed up for in the first place.

·         The cast really haven’t come out endorsing this movie even as the release date looms ever closer, aside from feebly attacking individual tweet trolls.

·         The promotional items have been met with irrelevance if you can even find them.  Compare that attitude with the new Star Wars movies or Batman Vs Superman.  Mark Hamill’s face was on posters back in 2013 and the new Batman was seemingly being pushed on the public back when Jimmy Carter was in office.  Yes, Affleck is that old.

·         The original cast from 1984 was apparently threatened with legal action if they didn’t film cameos for this movie.  Yeah, that brings a lot of good will when you have to subpoena Annie Potts to show up.

·         Ramis is still dead.  This is still the saddest aspect of this whole thing.  It feels as if the dirt was still fresh on the coffin and studio greenlights suddenly appeared out of the woodwork.

·         Ivan Reitman has been completely screwed out of the process, despite being a producer and director of the original movies.   

·         And the franchise opportunities appear to have been whizzed down the respective legs of the now-removed studio brass that created this nonsense in the first place.  Damage control is in full effect.  Batten down the hatches.  Seal the bunker.  Find that pill we gave to you should you be captured.

On the flipside, I refuse to say that I’m all for this movie just because it has an all-female group of Ghostbusters.  Sorry, but just because you switch a cosmetic aspect of the original for your remake, doesn’t automatically engender my wholehearted support.  Let’s say just as a hypothetical example, there was a remake of The Honeymooners but they just changed the race of the protagonists.  Oh, wait.  That did happen?  Was it any good?  Oh, really?  Yikes.  Let me rethink and change the scenario, but what movie?  I got it! 

What if there was a reboot of Caddyshack II but they changed the race of the protagonists?  There, that would be a foolish endeavor to say the least!  Hm?  What’s that you are saying in this fictional one-on-one conversation?  Who’s Your Caddy?  Nah…really?  Not again!  Not that I’m against the idea of remaking a bad movie in trying to make it good, but human beings actually went ahead and remade this thereby making Happy Gilmore a more original golf movie idea at the end of the day?  Should we really give Adam Sandler these kinds of accolades for originality?  Is this where we’ve finally ended up?  Argh.

       It hasn't been cheap, but in order to ensure that no one will ever have to watch Caddyshack II again, I've transferred all existing copies over to Betamax.

          (And yes, don’t tell me that Who’s Your Caddy? was a pastiche on the original Caddyshack, because it wasn’t!  Al Czervik never bought Bushwood, he only threatened to buy it.  The final tournament in that movie was for cash, not the country club.  However, Jack Hartounian in the sequel did actually buy Bushwood via Ty Webb’s stock in the club.  So the parallels are closer to the second movie rather than the first.  And yes, I thought about this more than I should have and yes, this is my logical way to remove the original Caddyshack away from having anything to do with this.  Ahem, moving on…)

Now could this Ghostbusters surprise everyone and be actually funny and actually make money?  Stranger things have happened.  No one really knew if the original movie was even going to be a hit, let alone break even.  From that film alone, aside from making a boatload of cash, we got a best-selling soundtrack, tons of merchandising, a couple of cartoon series, a unfairly bashed sequel, toy figures, model cars, and a lot of fond memories. 

Ah, to be back in the day when the only person ticked off about Ghostbusters was Huey Lewis.

So far the best thing I can say about this rebootmakemagining is that it should push the fans back to appreciating Ghostbusters 2 as being a quite funny movie and a worthy sequel.  That was the best thing about the Star Wars prequels: it gave fans a newfound gratitude for Return of the Jedi.  The best thing about Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull: going back to show some much-belated love to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. 

            At the end of the day, I am not the biggest Ghostbusters aficionado on the planet.  Bill Murray did some of his best work in Groundhog Day and Caddyshack.  Dan Aykroyd was great for bringing us The Blues Brothers and starring in 1987’s underappreciated Dragnet and The Great Outdoors.  Harold Ramis gave us Caddyshack and National Lampoon’s Vacation, co-wrote National Lampoon’s Animal House, and was hilarious in Stripes, which National Lampoon had nothing to do with.  Rick Moranis on SCTV was incredible and he was the soul of the Spaceballs.  Sigourney Weaver will always be Ripley to me. 

Ghostbusters is not holy ground for me.  I am a fan, but not a diehard one.  However, I think an opportunity was lost and a maligned reboot now exists.  Think I’ll watch Ghostbusters 2 again to cheer myself up, which you all should do anyway.  Right?  Promise me.  Go give it another whirl.  Seriously, Bill is firing on all cynical cylinders in that one.

P.S.

The saddest part of all this nonsense aside from the passing away of Harold Ramis: the fact that they are bringing back Hi-C Ecto-Cooler as some sort of cross-promotional item, thereby leaving more shattered memories in their wake.  Damn you Sony, because you are now affecting the children.  And by children, I mean me.  Haven’t you any sense of decency? 

Hey, I wanted it back too...but not at such a pop-cultural price.

Gosh, I Hope They Come With A "Time O' The Month Barbie"!

            Greetings to all of you carbon based life forms that have somehow reached the absolute dregs below the dregs of the interwebnet and ended up here!  All I can say is that you’ve come upon me during a most fortuitous moment in time!  Yes, that’s right!  I just finished reading Martin Short’s autobiography, I Must Say, and I myself must say that it was very charming and well done!  “What does that have to do with this post?” you might ask.   Allow me to reply with confidence, “Absolutely nothing!”  And now you’re angry and feel a possible need to do me bodily harm.  Golly, I wouldn’t blame you whatsoever but hey…as long as I’ve brought up bodily harm…

 

            Recently, toy manufacturer Mattel decided to do something that definitely shook the world.  So on a slow news day, where we just didn’t want to hear one more bloody thing about Donald Trump, the universe was informed that Mattel is now offering new body types of their long running Barbie® doll.  This even made the cover of the new Time magazine, which no one really reads anymore.  The new body types are going to be: petite, tall, and curvy.  Future body types will be offered depending on sales.  Doll body molds being considered are: spinster, dumpy, frumpy, “98 Cigarettes and a Bottle of Wine a Day”, and “Angry Taco Bell Night Manager”. 

 

MAD apparently forgot the Fatal Attraction Barbie.

            The world obviously responded with a hearty cheer!  This truly is a remarkable time to be a woman and how empowering this definitely is!  Definitely!  Yay?  Ahem.  Before we all get caught up in the swell of commentators who will most assuredly comment on this with their commenting comments, allow me to waste your time with a few thoughts on this non-news waste of your time.

 

            When I was a child, I loved action figures.  Still do, much to the chagrin of my wife, but that’s that.  My kids are now reaching an age where they want to play with action figures and toys of all types.  (This means I have an excuse to get more action figures for me, uh I mean, the children to play with.  Yes, the children.  Yep.  Not me.  Nope.  No way.) 

 

But back when the dinosaurs still roamed the earth, when I was a child seeking out a G.I. Joe or a M.A.S.K toy or a Batman action figure, did I seek out a Batman that looked just like my 9 year-old self and represented my then body type?  Nope.  Did I feel slighted because Kenner or Toy Biz didn’t offer such a toy that represented Batman as a 9 year-old?  Not at all.  Did I as a 9 year-old boy want to play with a 9 year-old boy Bruce Wayne toy?  Not a chance.  I wanted the full-blown idealized Batman in all his caped glory, with muscles and a utility belt and a Batmobile, beating the living hell out of the Joker.  This is far from reality, this is a fantasy, which is where toys should reside.

 



Can this car be any cooler to play with?  Why weren't real life versions ever sold?
 

            Do little kids really actually want reality in their toys?  Does market research prove this?  Is there a profit to be made with having say, a pudgy Wolverine action figure or a Wonder Woman that is petite?  Why own a Superman toy that resembles your dad’s 47 year-old second cousin after his 5^th beer?  Why drag that much reality into the toy world?  After all, my boys think that Thomas the Tank Engine can talk to them.  My daughter thinks that lightsabers are cool and dragons can fly.  This is not reality.  It is fantastical fun, plain and simple.  Why are we overthinking this?  Is this yet another area where oversensitive adults are spoiling something for kids?

 

             Are there actual women out there that think Barbie is just a morale killer and a self-image destroyer?  Of course as we live in an increasingly whiny society, I’m sure there must be, but c’mon. The girls that I knew that played with Barbie dolls just liked combing her hair and sticking different dresses on her.  I never heard one lass in 5^th grade say, “Barbie is the ideal image of woman.  I cannot reach the bar that was set by Mattel.  Now I will begin hating myself and I won’t stop.  Thanks for nothing.  Barbie, you are a plastic wench!”  Gosh, what a dour melodramatic child!

 

            Perhaps this is another case where boys and girls are wired differently.  Yet, in my heart of hearts at one point, I knew that Han Solo wasn’t a real person, Transformers weren’t comingling with real cars in the streets of my hometown, and the odds of Cobra getting a weather machine were astronomical, especially as long as Snake Eyes was there to stop them.  But I still played with the toys despite having these thoughts infiltrating my imagination.  Did little girls think that Strawberry Shortcake lived in a nearby garden patch, She-Ra was just an ocean away, and Jem and the Holograms would someday deserve a modern day retelling in film form because their story was so compelling?

 

            And who pray tell is supposed to be the ideal audience for these toys?  Does little Sally Jo really want to be reminded that the kids pick on her height when you give her a petite Barbie?  What kind of cruel grandmother does that?  Isn’t it bad enough that despite having no basketball skills, the suddenly 6ft tall in 6^th grade girl is not only forced to get on the team but is also handed a tall Barbie from her unthinking aunt as a totem of an unpleasant reminder of the sudden pre-teen growth spurt? 

 

Ye gods why is something so simple being overthought and ruined?  Are there little boys on the chubby side that refuse Batman toys, but just want Penguin figures because they identify with him instead?  Nope.  And they probably hate umbrellas to boot.  These parents need to stop being so thin skinned.  If your child didn’t turn out right, the chances are that Spider-Man Lego set had nothing to do with it.  If your daughter is at an emotional crossroads and her fragile ego takes everything personally, this is known as puberty and the Barbie playset had nothing to do with it.  Just take a step back.  Enjoy the fresh air and leave Superman and Barbie and the rest be their stylized fantastical personalities.

 

"Hey Pengy!  Kool-Aid Man sends his best!"

 

            What’s next?  I already have a patent on an Easy-Bake oven that shows not only the evils of Monsanto but also the wonders of a gluten-free diet.  Perhaps we could have Colorforms that depict real life burn victims.  Why not have spayed Thundercats or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles infecting kids with salmonella left and right?  Maybe we should have a Simon that consists of the same four colors and same four sounds so kids won’t be taxed or forced to think.  A Rubik’s Cube with six sides of the same color would fit this mold too.  G.I. Joe could be all about enforcing sanctions sporadically at the whims of an indecisive state department.
 

            At the end of the day, don’t take away the fantasy from toys.  Little girls don’t need to be reminded of the realities of the human body because they see their realistic Barbie.  Little boys don’t need to know that holding a sword aloft whilst screaming “By the power of Grayskull!” produces nothing but an echo and that’s all.  Let the kids be princesses and jedis and let them play.  Little kids don’t need their imaginations stunted and their lives evaluated by the time they are 10.  After all, isn’t that what high school is for?  So let nature take its course and let Barbie retire to her Malibu Dream House without having to worry if the taller version of herself fits in the pink and purple Corvette.