Things I Saw on TV Yesterday

1. Some weird movie with Jon Favreau and Boromir. Boromir (Sean Bean) is this very sexy alien cowboy. Jon Favreau is an actor who must deliver a blue suitcase to the desert. Darryl Hannah makes a surprising appearance as a character so interesting and captivating she should immediately be transplanted into a better movie. I give it an “Eh, it could have been worse.”

2. Patriot Games. Again with the Boromir. Again with the brooding sexiness. Again with the Butcher watching it even though he watches it once a week, it seems. He still gets pissed off at the same parts and incredulous at others and he still loves the end. I, on the other hand, still giggle when Harrison Ford must tell his wife that their daughter has lost her spleen, because when I went with my cousins to see this in the theater, we thought that was like losing one’s appendix as apparently did everyone else in the theater, because when he was all serious, “They had to remove her spleen” and his doctor wife started sobbing, the whole theater erupted into laughter. He might as well have said, “They had to remove her earlobe” for all we knew about anatomy.

I give it a “You have to watch it if you come to our house, because the Butcher will search it out and sit entranced whenever it comes on.”

3. Empire Falls. Is there any way Paul Newman can be unsexy? Even as a whiskered old balding drunk, he’s still hot. But here’s the problem with this movie. There are so many characters to whom so little happens that when the central tragedy of the movie finally takes place, you are numbed to it. Who the hell cares? Maybe as a book it works better because you spend more time with everyone, but here? It was just long and kind of a let-down in the end. It did, however, give me terrible nightmares about serial killers, which is strange because there are no serial killers in this movie. Let’s call this “Apparently, my subconscious thought it would have been better as a Stephen King flick.”

4. The new Shakira video. Here’s the plot: Shakira is milling about her apartment while some hot guy watches her from the apartment across the way, despite the fact that he has a beautiful girl in his bed. At first, you’re like, why would hot guy be watching Shakira when he has his own beautiful girl? Not that Shakira isn’t nice, but you know, better the hot person in your bed than the one across the way.

But then, ladies and gentlemen, Shakira is standing there covered in oil, for some reason, and she starts to undulate, and I swear, it’s… it’s… words fail me. It is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. It transcends sexuality. It transcends commitment. Seriously, if my significant other or spouse was faced with that, I’d forgive anything he might do. Hell, I’d want to hear about it in excruciating detail. I wouldn’t be able to resist her if she were undulating like that in front of me. The hot guy doesn’t need to fear what the beautiful girl in the bed might think if she caught him looking at Shakira. He needs to be afraid of what will happen when the beautiful girl finds out he’s keeping the view from her. I give it an “I might need to be alone for a little bit.”

Needed: A Country Music Trope

This morning, the Butcher and I were sitting around watching TV and wishing that Comcast would devise some way for us to reorder our channels so that all of the music video channels would be right together on the dial, when on came Gary Allan, who is this country music singer who’s not quite a star.

This got me thinking that there are quite a few people like Allan (like Blake Shelton), who aren’t megastars, but who you can count on to deliver good song after good song after good song.

I told the Butcher that, if country music were like baseball and Allan were on my team, I’d have him batting third. He’s not got the explosive speed of, say, a Big & Rich, so you don’t want him batting first or second. And he’s not a heavy-hitter like Tim McGraw. But you can count on him to consistantly get on base.

If he were in professional wresting, he’d be a solid mid-carder, someone you can count on to give consistantly good matches, but just doesn’t yet have the size, charisma, or proper persona to be at the top of the card.

But there must already be a term for artists like this.

Thanks, Guys!

Here’s to my Uncle Bri, for Vietnam.

Here’s to my Grandpa Bob and his brothers, for World War II.

Here’s to my Great Grandpa Herb, for World War I.

Here’s to the family from Indiana, for the Civil War, and to the fiance of my great-aunt, who died just south of Chattanooga.

Here’s to the family who served quietly and didn’t end up with stories passed down to me.

Here’s to the ghosts of the Civil War, who I hope are making good use of my can opener, which strangely disappeared right after we moved here, who sat along the railroad tracks right out my back door for much of the war.

And here’s to all the other soldiers who don’t have anyone remembering them specifically today.