Yesterday, we met Byron at the Hollywood 24 googleplex for my birthday movie, which was, sadly, X-Men: The Last Stand (see "review" below). Afterwards, the three of us met Jim and Hannah back at the house. Dinner at the Vortex at L5P. I ate a very large salad and had a black and tan. We got Mexican hot chocolate ice cream from Xocolatl, which was astoundingly delicious stuff (I'm not usually very excited by chocolate), then headed back to the house, meaning to watch Dr. Who. Except, for some reason, the Skiffy Channel didn't show Dr. Who last night, so we just sat around talking for several hours, instead. And that was birthday -2. Good frelling riddance, and don't let the door hit you on the way out.
Today, I have to get all the last bits of work done on Sirenia Digest #6, so it can be sent out tomorrow. This will be a day spent tying up loose ends. Oh, and I also have to send "So Runs the World Away" to an editor who'll be reprinting it in a new anthology. I'd be more specific, but the particulars elude me at this moment. That's why I have Spooky and why I make so many lists.
And I guess that gets us to the part of the entry where I talk about X-Men: The Last Stand. It's behind the cut, for spoilers and those what really don't care:
You know, I'm not a movie reviewer. And I do not delight in savaging crappy films, no matter how much they might have it coming. I always go into a movie willing to be seduced. I want to be delighted and amazed and sucked in. So, I figure I always meet the filmmaker at least three-quarters of the way. But X-Men: The Last Stand is a sad, sad mess, and whoever gave Brett Ratner this gig should be driven out into the Nevada desert and left naked with only a bottle of Tobasco sauce to quench his or her thirst. Good points: Most of the time, it's a very pretty film. There's eye candy. And unlike, oh, say Underworld 2: Evolution, the film actually managed to hold my attention. But that's it. The script's simply laughable. The direction is the very definition of slipshod. The numerous storylines tossed together in a desperate attempt to forge some sort of plot are constantly at odds with one another. Oh, and whoever was responsible for continuity goes to the Nevada desert with whoever gave Ratner the job of directing the film. But of all its myriad offences, the worst of the lot is the film's failure to live up to its own message. Presumably, that message is tolerance of those who are different. And yet, for example, as Magneto is tearing the Golden Gate Bridge loose from its moorings, in one of the movie's more nonsensical scenes, we're treated to one of Hollywood's most wearisome racial stereotypes, the goggle-eyed Asian tourist with a camera. It's just that sort of film. And if you want my advice, avoid it. If you must see this thing, wait for the DVD or at least take in a matinee. I very much liked the first X-Men film, and I loved the second. But this one is ass, through and through.
Okay. Time to pimp the platypus. Sheheit's not gonna pimp herheit's self.