Monthly Archives: February 2009

Yay, Probiotics!

movie theatreYes, I am now probiotics rather than antibiotics.  Taking the latter is making me quite nauseous.  A few friends suggested taking the former to counter the latter.  It was a good suggestion. 

However, it’s wearing off, and the nausea is returning.  I am out of sorts, out of energy, and almost running out of time to finish cleaning the house.  Therefore, three movie reviews for you today.  One is of an indie movie that I love (Charlotte Sometimes); one is of a Hollywood blockbuster (Batman Begins); one is of a musical (Godspell).  So, there is a little something for everybody.

I put them in the before you see it category, but there are editor’s notes on two of them as to whether you might want to not read them before seeing those movies. 

After I am done with the antibiotics and after I’m done cleaning, I may actually post something new.  Stay tuned to fine out.

Charlotte Sometimes–Before You See It

Ed. Note:  This is mostly fine to read before seeing the movie.  I will indicate where you might want to stop reading if you want to watch the last ten minutes of the movie without knowing what’s going to happen.

                                                                                                                                        4:44 a.m.    6/3/4/04

I have a new favorite movie, and it’s called Charlotte Sometimes. Now, you may be saying to yourself, huh? That was my reaction, too, when I saw it in the local video store, on video, mind you. I will come clean and say the only reason I rented it was because it had three and a half Asian people (one is mixed) starring in it. One of them was Jacqueline Kim whom I had seen and loved in Xena: Warrior Princess. It’s a sad commentary that I jumped on this movie without even knowing what it’s about simply because the faces on it looked like mine and because I had a crush on Jacqueline. Well, the faces were prettier than mine, but you know what I’m saying. Since I’m on this kick of not reading blurbs to movies or books, I had no idea what to expect when I popped it in the VCR.

It starts out with music and moody lighting and no dialogue. I’m intrigued from the start because of the absence of talking and of action. Most movies these days have a plethora of either or, God forbid, both, but few had a complete absence of both. I am hooked. Now, I have a disclaimer before I continue. If you are the type of person who whines, ‘There’s nothing happening in this movie’, then skip this review and this movie because it will drive you to distraction. There is no big action or even all that much dialogue, and from the low ratings it received on, it’s abundantly clear that most people didn’t understand this movie or more to the point, didn’t want to understand it. So again, if you need action in your movie, then pass by this gem.

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Batman Begins–Before You See It

Ed. Note:  I labeled this a before you see it review because there aren’t many spoilers in a Hollywood blockbuster.  However, if you really don’t want to know anything before watching this movie, then you may want to read this after.  Consider yourself forewarned. 

                                                                                                                                        3:48 a.m.    7/3/4/05

j0384730I am Batman. No, I’m not, but I did see Batman Begins last night, and in a movie theater, to boot. My favorite movie theater with its faux theatre look and organ player. I even bought a thing of popcorn, though I smuggled in my own water. I am not paying three dollars for twenty ounces of water-no way. Anyway, I went with a friend who’d already seen it but wanted to see it again. I settled in, not expecting much. Why? First of all, I knew Batman wasn’t going to die-nor anyone close to him save for his parents early on-which takes a lot of tension out of the movie. I mean, it’s hard to get too worked up when he’s in trouble knowing that he’ll make it out of there alive.

The other great thing about this theater-The Heights-is that they had two previews, no commercials, then the movie. How great is that? Unfortunately, some idiot took his daughter to the movie-eight or nine, I would say-and she wouldn’t stop talking during the movie. Most of it was asking what the hell was going on, and it got on my nerves. This isn’t a children’s movie, and it would have been better if he rented it when it came out on DVD if he wanted to show it to her. I’m one of those people who can’t block out external stimuli, so I had a hard time concentrating on the movie. I tried to block them out, but I couldn’t. What kind of example is that for a father to allow his daughter to talk during a movie? Sheesh.

Anyway, first we have THE BATS! When they fly at Bruce Wayne, the woman on the right of me nearly jumped into her man’s lap. Her jump is the best part of the movie experience, bar none. I love bats so I’m glad to see them make more than one or two appearances in the movie. Follow my thoughts during the movie.

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Godspell–BEFORE You See It

                                                                                                                                     10:50 p.m.    5/12/06

j0175606Ok. I like musicals. I am able to suspend my critical eye when it comes to plot, characters, etc. I don’t expect as much, narratively, as long as there is kick-ass music. Oh, some dancing is nice, too, but not required. I had read good things about Godspell, so I decided to give it a whirl.

First of all, I’m laughing at the 70s look. So ridiculous! I know, the current look will be mocked in thirty years, but really! The plaid bell-bottoms and white-afros. It’s enough to…wait, who’s that? Ah, reading the linear notes, I see that it’s John the Baptist (David Haskell) dressed as a clown and pulling a cart behind him, singing, as he heads for a fountain in what I presume to be downtown New York. He pops up in different vignettes, only appearing to certain people. Oh, one of them is Lynne Thigpen, whom I know-one of the few cast members who’s recognizable-and she’s pretty funny. The song is really, really lame, however, as eight or nine people end up at the fountain, being baptized by, uh, John the Baptist. At first I think he’s Jesus, but then I see him looking at this other clown in the distance. Ok, I have to say, I hate clowns. Hate them with a passion. I think they are creepy motherfuckers, and whomever thought they were a good thing should be shot. So Sydney Bristow’s father (Victor Garber) as clown Jesus is just beyond bizarre. I’m still willing to give it a shot, though, if the music gets better.

What is this? Jesus leads the people-suddenly all turned into clowns/hippies/same thing-around the city, dancing and singing. Parables. Really. They are supposed to be lovably goofy, I suppose, but they’re just pretentious and annoying in my mind. I grit my teeth, assuming it has to get better, but it doesn’t. At the half hour mark, I give up. I cannot watch this tripe-it’s not even bad enough to be good. The cheese factor is high, the campy factor is not enough, and the songs are crap. I rated this a one star on Netflix, and I wish they had a zero star-it was that bad. Don’t put this anywhere near your Netflix Queue, not even if you love musicals. I guarantee that this one causes indigestion and nightmares.

The UK On My Mind

westminister englandStill under the weather, and I have to do more cleaning.  So, for today, I am posting old essays that wax poetic on all things, er, people British.  I have a fascination with British people (including Scottish, Irish, and Welsh), and I have no rational explanation for it.

Just a note in general.  I recently visited England for a second time, and the custom agents welcomed me with open arms this time.  So, all is (mostly) forgiven. 

P.S.  Yes, Alan Rickman is mentioned several times.  Consider yourself forewarned.

Love, Britishly

                                                                                                                                        1:34 a.m.    12/30/31/04

Welsh castleI have come upon a dichotomy within that I truly cannot explain. It’s been a slow realization, but now I must acknowledge it. I love Brits. Why is this a dichotomy? Because I hate their country. Now, that’s probably not fair of me because it was twelve and a half years ago that they were reluctant to let me into the damn country, but I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. I’m not over it yet, and I don’t think I’ll ever be. Then again, I get searched almost every time I travel in the United States as well, but nothing like the grilling customs gave to me when I tried to break into the motherland.

So, with my great antipathy for this country, why is it that I’m totally gone on her products? Take a look at my list of celebrity crushes, and you’ll notice that a disproportionate number of them come from the Greater U.K. Alan Rickman, Kate Winslet, Jason Isaacs, Ewan McGregor, David Thewlis, Hugh Laurie, Anthony Stewart Head, and Jamie Oliver. Good lord. I really do have a hard-on for the Brits. Why, oh why? Well, for starters, I love accents. I have no idea why, but I just love them. Seems I like Greater U.K. accents the best, though I have no idea why. It sounds so elegant, and all the swear words don’t sound like real swear words.

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British Fetish

                                                                                                                                        3:43 a.m.    1/7/8/05

ScotlandI’m in dire need of an intervention before I fall deeper into my current obsession. It shames me to say it, but I, a staunch supporter of equality and diversity and all that shit, am actually fetishizing a whole race of people. I feel like Huey Freeman felt in The Boondocks when he forgot Kwanzaa. What kind of revolutionary am I that I’m stereotyping an entire nation of people? To make matters worse, they’re not even Asian or any other people of color. No, as Kiki said to me just tonight, I’m fetishizing white boys. Not just boys, but mostly boys. Not just white boys, but colonizing, oppressing boys from across the bay. I, Minna Hong, am fetishizing Brit boys, and I feel horrible about it. Obviously, however, not too horrible as I continue to do it. Oh, and to be more specific, I’m obsessing about boys from Ireland and Scotland, too, so it’s pretty much the whole UK. Throw in Aussies, and well, I’m just mortified.

I know, I know, I should look beyond race, right? But I can’t, especially not when I hate the country. Oh, that’s not fair. I don’t hate it, exactly, but I still hold a grudge because the British border patrol tried their damnedest to keep me out of their country eleven years ago. This was the days before 9/11, so it’s not like the nation was on high terrorist alert or anything. This was also before my tattoos, so it’s not that. It’s just that I’m an Asian woman who dresses slightly funky. Now, I dress in nice slacks and a nice shirt whenever I travel, but it matters not. I still get stopped, so I just build it into my traveling. The trip to England, however, was the worst experience in my life. I have no desire to go back there because of how shabbily they treated me, so it’s more than a bit disconcerting to have a pash for the boys and girls of that fair country.

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More Things Brit

                                                                                                                                        3:41 a.m.    1/14/15/05

Irish gardenIt never ends. That’s something Alan Rickman says in Dogma, and it’s true with my never-ending thirst for all things British. Correction: All things UK. I’m surprised I didn’t become hornier watching Liam Neeson in Kinsey as he’s an Irish lad as well, but he doesn’t do much for me. Neither does U2, except for the song Numb by the Edge. That gets me hot, but I’m not sure why. I find most of their other work pretentious and boring, and I can’t stand Bono. That is neither here nor there, however, and I dismiss U2 from my mind.

I have placed a few Taiwanese movies and martial arts movies on my Netflix Queue to see if I can break this obsession of mine. I must say, the boys and girls of my ancestors are hot as well, so why am I slavering over Brits, especially one twenty-five years my senior? I mean, looking at it objectively, the Asians have it all over the Brits in the look department. Granted, the UK accent is infinitely hotter than an Asian one, but is that all it takes? A posh accent and…great acting skills? Mind you, I’m not saying the Brits are dogs, hell no. It’s just that looks-wise, I am much more attracted to Asians than Europeans.

So why, oh why, am I drooling over Alan Rickman, Jason Isaacs, David Thewlis, Ewan McGregor, Jamie Oliver, Hugh Laurie and Kate Winslet when I could be going gaga over Maggie Cheung, Tony Leung-both of them!-Michelle Yeoh, Gong Li, Leslie Cheung, Jet Li, Donnie Yen, just to name a few? Why is it that just one sentence out of Alan’s mouth, and I turn to mush? I think that’s the crux of my question, why Alan Rickman? My friends don’t understand it; I don’t understand it; I just shrug my shoulders and continue watching his movies.

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Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Subtitled:  The Ghost of W.

spooooky!Ok.  You know the drill by now.  I am sick; I don’t feel like writing something new; I have tons of old writing to dump on you.  Besides, I didn’t feel comfortable publishing these during the W. era, so I waited until now.  I should be safe, right?  Another reason W. is on my mind is because Keith had a Still Bushed! segment last night (which I watched today) that highlighted a law W. passed in his dying days of office that has just now come to light. 

Whichever, whatever.  It is what it is.  I hate that phrase.  I have posted below three essays on the various lies of W.  May I never think of him again.

CIA Flap

Ed. Note: I’m not exactly sure when this was written, but it’s several years ago now. In rereading it, I see that it was written sometime in late 2003/early 2004. It still pisses me off.

spy vs. wallI watch the flap being made over the ‘news’ that the CIA fucked up the reports from Iraq, and it amuses me. No, wait, let me change that to it bemuses me. Everyone is running around like chickens with their heads chopped off, declaring that the sky is falling. Pundits in ill-fitting suits are solemnly dissecting every conceivable aspect of this horrifying discovery. The suits are acting as if this is the most shocking thing to occur in the millennium. Personally, the fact that the earth didn’t end at the stroke of minute, 2000, (which was not the beginning of the new millennium, but I digress) was more of a shock to me, and I say that tongue-in-cheek. I didn’t do a damn thing to prepare for the pseudo-new millennium and wasn’t surprised that very little changed. Since I am someone who has been decrying the war from the start as being pursued on trumped-up charges, I am not surprised by the latest news, either.

One of the suits said something about how we citizens of America expected there to be WMDs in Iraq and that the CIA did little more than we did-assumed they’d be there. First of all, who is we, white man? I didn’t see a single shred of evidence that there were WMDs in Iraq, and I was not ballyhooing the troops to attack on the flimsy premise that there might be some hidden in some foxhole that didn’t contain Saddam. If my memory serves correctly, the weapons inspectors did not find them, either, and pleaded for more time. Dubya declined, declaring himself satisfied that they were there and attacked. I read the reports, watched the news and still couldn’t find any evidence of WMDs, but that didn’t seem to discourage Dubya one whit. Now, we are supposed to be shocked and horrified that supposedly the CIA fudged its report for whatever reason-probably because of immense pressure by Dubya?

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