You think your sister has issues…
For those who missed out, my attempt to streamline the basic events follows after this courtesy spoiler alert for the sake of time-shifted viewers.
Welcome to the newest addition to our family.
Another one of those shifts was implemented this past weekend. I’m never excited when they come to pass, but circumstances warranted it, the money was available, the price was unbeatable, and so far the performance is competent.
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For those just catching up on the week in headline news: Republican politician Chris Christie, currently governor of New Jersey but intermittently mentioned in hushed tones among optimistic rank-‘n’-file as a possible party savior in the 2016 Presidential race, has been accused of directing his subordinates to pull transportation strings and create a four-day traffic snarl where the George Washington Bridge connects Manhattan to the New Jersey town of Fort Lee, allegedly because its mayor hadn’t fallen in lockstep with his party colleagues and publicly endorsed Christie’s future endeavors.
Or something like that. I’ve missed some finer details. Political stories don’t stick with me for long. (When I first began noticing heated debates in my circles about Benghazi, my only reaction was, “Is that Ian MacKaye’s new band?”) Bridgegate was unusual enough and filled with enough bipartisan hot-button issues — political extortion, abuse of power, petty vengeance — that I finally relented and read an article or two about it. At this point it’s now all about denials, apologies, firings, and now I’m seeing the word “subpoena” creeping onto the battlefield. I imagine this brouhaha is only in its infancy and in no danger of falling off the main page anytime soon.
I am grateful for one noticeable change that’s a direct result of Bridgegate: over the past two days, whenever internet users were overwhelmed with the urge to take potshots at Christie, the jokes were no longer about his weight.
Day Seven of our road trip was divided between two different towns in upstate New York, each boasting a hometown hero who left home to become a classic TV trailblazer. We spent the morning in Binghamton, where Twilight Zone creator Rod Serling spent his formative years learning how to write, narrate, and remain invisible to everyone around him.
We spent the late afternoon some 220 miles westward in Jamestown, birthplace of a certain funny redhead that brightened your grandparents’ lives. She used to be in all the papers.
The Bourne Upgrade. District 18. Green Zone 3000. Good Will Exploding. And so on, and so on.
Once again January is National List Month, that magical time of year when everyone’s last twelve months of existence must be dehydrated, crammed into enumerated little packets, and lined up on the shelf in subjective order for re-inspection. The final tabulations reveal I saw twenty-five films in theaters in 2013 and one via On Demand while it was still in limited art-house release…
And now, the countdown concludes:
13. Elysium. Some say the 99%-vs.-1% feud will end in negotiations; some say in explosions. Neill Blomkamp’s sophomore extrapolation of the effect of humanity’s self-hatred on its own future stops asking questions halfway through and solves nearly everything with chases and showdowns between Matt Damon’s everyman underdog imperfect sinner Average Joe antihero and Sharlto Copley’s cyborg Snidely Whiplash. In some respects this deserved to be ranked a lot lower, but something about Blomkamp’s vivid underclass aesthetic and leftover District 9 effects cachet boosted it a tad unfairly over the other popcorn-film competition.
Sebastian Monroe, voted Father of the Year by no one ever.
John McClane and the Scorpion King: sequel survivors perpetuating the vicious circle of lame.
The final tabulations reveal I saw twenty-five films in theaters in 2013 and one via On Demand while it was still in limited art-house release. This count doesn’t include five 2012 films I attended in 2013 for Oscar-chasing purposes, or any old films I watched on home video. Because lists such as this one must have rules.
Links to past reviews and musings are provided for historical reference. On with the reverse countdown, then:
26. GI Joe: Retaliation. Once again Hollywood forgets the lessons learned from Halloween 3 and Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift — i.e., if you dump too much of the original cast, why even bother with a theatrical release? While Ray Park is good for a few minutes of aerial man’s-man ballet, Bruce Willis and the Rock are called in as scabs from other macho action series to shoulder the rest of this silly, overlong commercial for military weaponry and boys’ toys, in that order.
Yep, snow’s here. The above photo was taken just four hours into it, so you can still glimpse asphalt peeking through the tire tracks. Two hours later and safely at home, I’m guessing the coverage is thicker by now.
I expected worse, to be honest, but the great and powerful snowstorm of January 2014, which should be trending shortly on Twitter as #snowpocalypse2014 unless anyone has a clever idea, launched six hours behind schedule in our vicinity. “Better late than never!” said no one I’m ever speaking to again.
Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: our first stop on Day Seven was Binghamton, New York, childhood home of Twilight Zone creator Rod Serling. The celebrated sci-fi writer isn’t the only well-known personality with roots there, but he certainly has more markers than any of the rest.
What you saw in the previous entry wasn’t the whole story. Also marked for historical significance: Binghamton High School, Serling’s old alma mater and home of the Binghamton Patriots. Their athletics program totally missed a merchandising opportunity in not naming themselves the Binghamton Venusians, the Binghamton Invaders, the Binghamton Beholders, or the Binghamton Characters in Search of an Exit.
Our local weather forecasts are calling for massive snowfall this Sunday. Depending on who you believe and how much you exaggerate when you pass the word along, by Monday evening we should expect anywhere from six inches to fifteen feet. Midwest meteorology is an inexact science in that respect.
One result you can count on with demonstrable exactitude: if a TV weatherman so much as whispers the word “snow” as if it’s Today’s Secret Word, viewers will drop everything they’re doing, shove aside their loved ones, drive to the nearest grocery, and buy all the bread they can carry. Without knowing whether the coming storm will produce a mild drizzle or The Day After Tomorrow, the better-safe-than-sorry motto of the doomsday-prepping majority dictates that everyone err on the side of caution and hoarding.
All the typing in this entry is new, but my MS Paint gag is a rerun from last year, not unlike the average person’s New Year’s resolutions.
I’ve never been great with New Year’s resolutions. I can’t think of the last one I ever even chose, let alone the last time I actually attained one. Though we see renewal symbolized in the rough annual transition from Father Time and his 365-day reign of terror to Baby New Year and his inevitable future letdown, beginning my personal transitions on a meaningful date has never worked for me. My most successful diet began on a July 5th. I proposed to my wife on December 26th. I was baptized on the Sunday after a Thanksgiving. My first comic book was given to me sometime in a December. I had to start wearing glasses one nameless summer month. The forces of change laugh at our puny human concept of calendars.
Happy New Year, readers and skimmers alike! Here’s hoping 2014 proves to be the Greatest Year of All Time. At the very least, maybe it’ll help us forget the parts where 2013 let us down and still has a lot to answer for.
For MCC’s second New Year, the happy-go-lucky stats wranglers at WordPress.com have compiled an automated 2013 Annual Report for each and every blogger on their roster, complete with fireworks and eye-popping design work and a world map in case you prefer practical gifts. In addition to the facts and figures I already reported yesterday with my own manually culled year-end review, this report also helpfully confirms which WordPress bloggers left me the most comments last year and therefore deserve innumerable treasures in Heaven and possibly also baked goods. You should subscribe to all of them so they can rise to fame and I can write entries about how I’m one of the Little People who knew them way back when.
For the intensely curious, WordPress’ report also reveals which of my 2012 entries absolutely refuses to die. It didn’t exactly go viral or receive attention from any major online sources I’m aware of, but passersby just keep clicking it and clicking it and clicking it and now the report thinks I ought to consider churning out more daily posts exactly like it, despite how impractical this would be on multiple levels.
Have some sample artwork as an additional incentive. Ya like colors? It has colors.
The weirdest statistic it reveals:
The Louvre Museum has 8.5 million visitors per year. This blog was viewed about 80,000 times in 2013. If it were an exhibit at the Louvre Museum, it would take about 3 days for that many people to see it.
Click here to see the report in all its scintillating wonder!
That most important part, once more with emphasis:
Happy New Year!
Hi-dee-hoo, fans and visitors! Welcome to the second annual Midlife Crisis Crossover year-in-review for this humble site, launched on April 28, 2012, as an excuse for one guy to do things, try stuff, and think whatever aloud. Next week will mark MCC’s 600th post, but that’ll be in an entirely different year and is therefore ineligible for celebration at the moment, so forget I mentioned it till next week.
This occasionally purposeful experiment has lasted a full twenty months without crashing and burning yet, though we’ve seen some excitement, some tears, some discomfort, some joy, some serious stress, and some much-needed days off. And that was all just over Christmas break. 2013 was a year of successes and failures, of triumphs and tragedies, of records and horrors. MCC’s own fortunes have ebbed and flowed depending on which subjects caught my attention at the right time, which times I was utterly out of step with the rest of the world, and what moments of synchronicity were the most unexpected of all.
Of all the nouns to frequent the site this year, none had a deeper effect than Boston.
Bilbo struggles with temptation. So. Many. CUPS.
Two advance caveats:
1. It’s been years since I read The Hobbit. I remember most of it, but to me it’s not a sacred idol to be treated as holy writ every time it’s adapted into another medium. My impressions of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey were previously documented to this effect.
2. Some of the following will assume you’re familiar with the book and/or already saw The Desolation of Smaug for yourself. As a latecomer to the party once again, I doubt I’ll be treading unfamiliar ground for too many readers.
That being said: I may be one of the few viewers who found The Desolation of Smaug a more satisfying experience than its predecessor, burdened as that one was with cumbersome exposition and morose musical numbers. Faced with a 161-minute running time, I entered the theater this time with despondent expectations, but realized partway through that the movements are so neatly segmented, it was like binge-viewing a TV miniseries at home. Granted, Desolation was the equivalent of a series’ middle and therefore guaranteed to disappoint no matter how it ended, but taken as Disc 2 of 3, its 3½ episodes zoomed along nicely and moved the story forward with only minimal irrelevant detours.
A rare instance of a book I bought and read in the same year it was published.
I spent the first part of the year trying to clear out my accumulation of new finds and autographed items from conventions. I wedged in some prose novels and even a little nonfiction wherever I could, but most of my reading was catching up on the graphic-storytelling variety. I’m really tired of having a large backlog, and some tentatively planned restructuring of my free time and priorities in 2014 should help facilitate that. Maybe. Hopefully.
Presented below is the complete list of books, graphic novels, and trade collections that I finished reading in 2013. A few were started in 2012 and one was an on-‘n’-off side project for years, but I reached their final page this year and that’s what matters. I’m also pessimistically assuming I won’t have any reading time over the three days remaining. If reading time does occur, I’ll just stop three pages from the end and save it for January 1st. Fair enough?
Portrait of a family of three on their innocuous annual road trip. Having journeyed beyond the bustling Commonwealth of Massachusetts and into the verdant hillsides of upstate New York, they sally forth into the seventh day of their ambitious cross-country trek — a Lewis, a Clark, and a Sacajawea advancing the expedition of a lifetime into uncharted territory without benefit of Presidential sponsorship.
Their destination: a quaint metropolis called Binghamton. Its contents: numerous reminders of a hometown hero. That hero: writer Rod Serling. His most famous offspring: a world-famous televised parade of allegories and cautionary tales, a five-year procession of cerebral science fiction and fantastical thinkpieces, an occasionally pretentious but frequently provocative anthology of morality, tragedy, whimsy, and triumph.
It’s a show and a place called…The Twilight Zone.
Behold our leftover cookies as of today. Most of these will be shared with others in the days ahead. This photo would look a lot more appetizing to me if I hadn’t just spent the last seven celebratory days enjoying sugar as an integral ingredient of every other meal.
With uncharacteristically minimal preamble, we present random relevant pics we took in 2013 during our varied experiences in downtown Indianapolis so far this season. Consider it a bold experiment to see if I have the willpower to publish an entry under 200 words. Also: because Christmas!
All the best companies downtown have large holiday displays. Pictured here: the lobby of the OneAmerica Tower.
[No, loyal MCC readers, you didn’t sleep through a few missing weeks like Rip Van Winkle, and I haven’t deleted any entries lately. I’ve chosen to warp space-time with a very special flash-forward for the sake of holiday synchronicity. We’ll backtrack for the intervening installments in due time.]
When we told friends and family we would be spending an entire day of our vacation in Cleveland, they thought us mad. In the old days Cleveland was a frequent punchline whenever a movie or TV show needed a throwaway reference to someplace vastly inferior to a given cast’s current setting. Nowadays they’re more likely to use Detroit or New Jersey, but Cleveland suffered that role on numerous occasions. Exhibit A: all of Howard the Duck.
In the course of our research, we were surprised at how many geek-based tourist attractions the city had to offer. We eventually concluded that it deserved much more than a lunchtime layover. Thus were we compelled to spend all of Day Eight driving around the city in a carefully mapped arc, beginning with our south-side hotel, looping around and northward toward Lake Erie, and back around again.
First stop: the house where several key scenes were filmed for that beloved American holiday juggernaut, A Christmas Story — an underdog flick that changed the course of millions of lives in my generation and monopolizes the TBS airwaves for twenty-four hours out of every year, much to the chagrin of the generations before and after us.
Fans will be thrilled to note one of the first items that greets you upon approach is a Major Award. It looks seriously weird in daylight.
Like too many others, our extended family on both sides has given up on the ancient tradition of buying gifts for everyone they love. Few of us can afford to buy that many gifts, and it’s likely that the affluent minority wouldn’t have a clue about our interests, hobbies, or character traits. Heck, I don’t even know what some of them do for a living.
Some years we’ve agreed to buy gifts only for the kids, who were easier to treat as interchangeable when they were younger. As they’ve aged, they’ve become just as finicky and inscrutable as their parents. The process might be simpler if we lived near each other and/or spent time together. I hear that works well for some families. It’s not that we hate each other — if that were the case, Christmas gatherings wouldn’t be scheduled in the first place. But we seem to be a bit more fractured and preoccupied with our own doings than those families you see in movies or TV shows that do everything together. We can glean minutiae about each other from Facebook, but in most cases it’s not enough to influence our major Christmas purchasing decisions.
For the last few years, some factions in our families have livened up Christmas gatherings with a white elephant gift exchange. You chip in for a gift; you receive a random gift in return. It’s a way to say “I acknowledge you as part of the family” without designating a specific person as the recipient of the sentiment. More succinctly put: “Dear whoever: you technically matter.”
