Man of Steel Review

The story about how Maximus from Gladiator and a lady who looks like she smokes give birth to Christopher Reeves, Jr. on a dying Star Wars/Avatar planet. A weird council is trying to save geological calamity through diplomacy when a rogue General Zod barges in and starts shooting up the place and espousing his pro-Hitler views. Fast forward to SuperBaby being shot in to space and landing on earth smack in the middle of Ray Kinsella's Field of Dreams farm. He and his wife, not-Sally-Field, raise the boy but tell him to hide who he really is thus telegraphing to savvy viewers the Superman-is-Gay undertones. Clark-Kal-Superman goes on a bunch of Bruce Banner adventures, holding down different jobs in different parts of Canada until he doesn't turn into the Hulk and gets discovered by Plot Device-I mean-Lois Lane. Lois and Supe battle Michael Shannon Zod, whose mustache never grew in after space travel, and they try to stay away from his mouth as he chews the scenery.

There is a part where Ray Kinsella/Johnny Kent dies in a tornado around the year 1997 which is probably when the tornadoes from Twister (1996) came back for their revenge on Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt but went to wrong the state. The third act is nothing but a video game sequence where Zod/Superman re-enact a Bizzaro World 9/11, by just flying around and knocking buildings down on untold millions of innocents yet, for some reason, we only see Morpheus from the Matrix try to save a scared Indian lady and the bald guy who hits on everyone at back at the office. Oh, and Lois still pops up occasionally to move the story along. In the very end, we get some cheap humor from terrible extra about Superman being "kinda hot."

If you like superhero movies, Christ allegories, and billions in collateral damage, this is the one for you. I just had one question: where is Neo when you need him?

Back during the 2008 Presidental elections, I flirted with the Ron Paul rEVOLution. In case you were living under a rock, Dr. Ron Paul is a fire-brand Congressman-Doctor out of south Texas, whose outlandish and counter-cultural ideas range from lowering taxes to staying out of other countries to de-federalizing the health care system. Despite his unpopular views, Dr. Paul’s enthusiasm and "FU" attitude to Washington appeals to me around every major election. Whenever the race is between two business-as-usual politicians, I seem to gravitate towards outsiders whose fringe ideas seem hypnotically disruptive. I think it's in the public’s best interest to tolerate, if not foster, these types of politicians who can balance constituent interests with “creative” policy considerations. Dr. Paul was such a figure in ‘08. I’m not sure that the country was ready for some of his ideas though (hello, return to the gold standard!). The Ron Paul Revolution would have to wait.

Enter son, Rand Paul, the ophthalmologist and the junior United States Senator for Kentucky, who is the perfect embodiment of his dad’s ideology on top of a natural sense for populist politics. A new profile of Rand is out in the New Republic by Julia Ioffe. In it are several nuggets that I may have known but forgotten. Most notably, Paul went to Baylor (my alma mater) and was a NoZe Brother, an organization of which I was not a member but, like the great Dr. Pearl once said in the movie Waiting for Guffman when asked if he was the class clown in school: "No, I wasn't. But I sat next to the class clown, and I studied him.”

As I consider this man, once label an “unviable” candidate by Democrats, I am repeatedly drawn to his outsider-ness; he who goes “wandering alone into the cafeteria, buying his own coffee, getting his own lunch.” I mean, what kind of public servant does that? A crazy one, certainly. But, this one takes the cake: he had a reputation for “reading every page of every bill.” Words cannot explain how awesome that would but if true. The feature draws examples of how Sen. Paul has used the system against itself, devising un-passable bills and engaging in senatorial “hostage-taking” by employing procedural delays as a way to market his public image. In many ways, it is simply genius. Exploiting systems in amusing and non-violent ways are sunlight in a darkened room—illuminating. 

Sure, it’s easy to write him off. He’s a nut without presidential sensibilities. But, I say, this country elected the likes of George W. Bush and Rand seems to be smarter, at least as convicted in his beliefs about the country as W., and a lot more humble regarding his transgressions. Rand’s biggest task will be to attract the attention of new voters (Hispanics?) and re-brand the GOP as a populist party. That seems to be the key ingredient in getting elected. Hell, he just might get my vote.

2 out of the last 4 times Kelley and I have been to the movie theater, we have walked out before the film even started. The first was over a year ago, a few days before our daughter was born. We were going to try to work in one last outing before our lives changed forever (for the better) so we went down to the Angelika Dallas to catch Moonrise Kingdom. We got there so late and the movie was still so popular that we couldn't find any seats beyond the first row, so we bailed and got a refund. To this day (June 19th, 2013), we still have not seen it! And, this is coming from about as big a Wes Anderson fan as there is.

The second time we walked out was yesterday. We were on vacation and the daughter was at day care. Like good parents, we handed her off while we took a mental holiday. After a late fat-free breakfast of eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy at Bubba's Chicken at Snider Plaza, we headed over to NorthPark for a showing of Iron Man 3. We selected the movie based on it being something that deserved to be seen on the big screen in full glory. I have a man date to see Man of Steel this weekend so IM3 was the natural choice.

First off, the tickets for the 1:00pm showing were $10 apiece! NorthPark only offers discounted rates on shows that start BEFORE noon. Sheesh. We get in the theater and, after a few minutes, a man sits down one row in front of us and a few seats over with a backpack-like bag and a large soda. He begins rocking himself in the seat. It seemed a little odd but I just thought he was getting comfortable or something. Kelley leans in and says that he seems shifty like he's nervous. At this point, the trailers begin (all goddamn seven of them!) and this guy is still rocking. A lady sitting down the row from him was annoyed enough to move down and away from him. At this point, Kelley says she's got a bad feeling about him and brings up the whole Aurora theater shooting. I guess that's where we are now. Nobody feels safe in public places and any "weird" behavior makes them a suspect. Sad but true. Thanks a lot, bin Laden.

While this person could've had a mental condition and completely harmless, we just couldn't write it off and we both had reservations about remaining. So, we left. We simply couldn't get over the fact that we were together and if anything happened to us both, our little baby would be orphaned.

I then proceeded to go 80mph, up the highway, to another theater where the chances of killing us both in a car accident were about 1000% more likely than dying at the hands of a crazed lunatic in a movie theater. If I had to do it all over again, I would've done the same thing. I mean, his rocking was really annoying.

Iron Man 3 was great. Oh, and we saved $8 at the other theater.

Aeon magazine, a publication about which I know nothing, published a long-form article by computer programmer-cum-writer, James Somers, called "Are coders worth it?" In it, he describes an internal struggle with vocation and personal worth. Somers says that the convergence of proliferating start-up web companies and the scarcity of web developers have created a phenomenon that is quickly inflating the egos of he and his fellow young coders. They're making silly money, working mostly-easy hours, offered outrageous benefits, and they have a god complex to top it all off. Or, maybe, all of that occupational luxury is helping to contribute to the god complex. Either way, his article is a confessional in which he says that when it comes down to it, he is nothing more than a plumber for a user’s website experience. 

Of course, I’m burying the lede here because what I’m really enthralled by is that this is another lamentation on the death of the professional writer. Somers' real passion is writing and he yearns for a big mag to buy his pièce de résistance profile of Douglas Hofstadter for 20 grand. And, I ask, but what then? Will he finally be a real writer? A validated one?

Another related thread that I’ve been following is this unintentional discouragement for anyone looking to enter the trade of putting words on paper for public consumption. ThinkProgress’ Allysa Rosenberg wrote a tip string on Twitter entitled: On the logistics of becoming a writer, explaining how she got a sweet paid gig. It only took an output mandate of “three posts a day” and emailing herself topics for future material while working a zombifying day job. On the more dour end, this blogger gloriously says that anyone who wants to make it as a professional writer should just give up now. There’s no money in it and you’re not any good, anyway. These are the words that keep me from posting here (and I’m not even getting paid to do this! Hell, I’m so gun-shy I don’t even want to go public with my thoughts!).

A taste:

Soul-crushing, really.

Let it be a lesson to all of us. Don't put so much time into that 7,000 word essay that you want Esquire to buy. Unless your name's Michael Lewis, it ain't happening.