Wednesday, August 23, 2006


Just because I don't let go of an obsession so easily:

Cobra Starship, "Snakes on a Plane (Bring It)"

It's a damn catchy song! So sue me. Also, the babe who keeps trying (but failing!) to show you her boobs is the lead singer from The Sounds, whom I like.

Question: can anyone identify the graphic novel Samuel L. Motherfucking Jackson is reading in that video? I at least can identify his T-shirt: Snakes Flying a Plane, as created by Overcompensating's Jeffrey Rowland (whose actual involvement with the movie, including his contribution to the DVD commentary, is documented -- with slight exaggerations -- in strips found here and here; also, the original strip which got Rowland swept up into the whole Snakes phenomenon can be found here).

I find it amusing that my blogging about Snakes on a Plane seems to have taken the same course as real world interest in the real movie: my preview post received 10 comments; my actual review got 2 comments. Remarkable correlation to the sharp drop-off in interest in the Snakes juggernaut once the product switched from potential to reality.

I'm seriously considering doing another insanely obsessive swath of reviews of all the new 2006 Fall Season TV shows, the way I did last year. I know I swore I would never, ever, ever, ever do that again, but it turns out I may have lied. I've already got the first Fall debut, Fox's Vanished, recorded on TiVo. And I can tell you, without even watching it: this is a turd of a show. It is going to suck, and it will be cancelled within eight episodes. I have absolutely zero interest in it. And yet: I recorded it. The call of TV completism beckons. Television, you are a bitch goddess. And I love you.

Did I mention I watched Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby? No? Well, I did. And it is frickin' high-larious. See it. NOW! Will Ferrell is the funniest man in America, and I will poke you in the eye if you disagree. And Sacha Baron Cohen is most likely the funniest man in whatever country he might come from. Also, Amy Adams is so adorable (despite her limited screentime), I may have to kidnap her. Or at least add her to the Object of My Affection area of my sidebar. Tremendously funny good time. My favorite bit: Ricky Bobby's contractual obligation to mention Powerade during grace.

And two hard-boiled eggs.

My plans to destroy the comic book industry (and save money) by skipping individual issues and waiting for the trade paperbacks continue apace. This week, I bought only two comics: The Walking Dead, which is still in the middle of the storyline it was on when I made my ultimatum, and Fell, which is an odd, excellent comic that may never be collected. Last week, I bought: nothing. Nada! For the first week in far too long, I spent exactly zero dollars on comics. This may make Mike and his comic-pushing overlords unhappy, but it suits me just fine. Comics are really, really bad, anyway. Seriously, they're just awful these days. Don't read comics. Except for Little Lulu. Little Lulu is awesome.

You're still here? It's over! Go home!

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