The Curmudgeon

I have been a curmudgeon lately on my blog. And I sort of like it. But today I am going to push that attitude aside because it's time for a list!

Juno

I was feeling good the other day because Juno arrived in the mail. Every critic known to man has praised this "perfectly clever and perfectly paced" film. Here's a brief example:
"Sweet, perceptive, sharp and near-perfect, Juno is a memorable film that will still be great viewing decades after its release." - Brian Webster, Apollo Guide

So I load the DVD tray with this "near-perfect, memorable film that will still be great viewing decades after its release" and promptly vomit my tostada all over the duvet. I skipped the temptation to blast the opening illustrated sequence because hand-rendered type and illustrations are so ubiquitous now. (Poster idea: "Hand Rendered Type is Faded.") But we get about 5 minutes in and we are graced with Rainn Wilson as a convenience store clerk. As soon as he said, “That's one doodle that can't be un-did, home skillet,” I blew chow all over. Jesus. The next 90 minutes or so chronicles all things Diablo Cody deems cool. "OOh, see, I am going to reference obscure indy-punk artists. Look how clever I am, I am going to have my character talk on a hamburger phone and all girls can call each other 'dude'. Oh, I know - Anti-folk is big in New York, let's have an anti-folk indy soundtrack. I rule!!!"

Hey Cody, here's an idea, instead of blowing your budget on actors, you can just replace them with cardboard cutouts of said actors, BECAUSE THAT'S HOW THIN AND ONE-DIMENSIONAL THEY ARE. "Look, here's Rainn Wilson talking like me, now here's Ellen Page talking like me, now Jason Bateman is talking like me." This is a perfect example of what a former film buddy of mine calls "masturbatory theatre."

The low point came when Page and Bateman are hanging out in the basement naming classic punk bands and then comparing Dario Argento and Herschell Gordon Lewis. Horror is cool! Somehow I forgot. Oh wait, I turned 28 at some point and then had better things to do.

It might not be a good idea to play Too Cool for School for 3/4 of the film and then expect me to give a shit during the final act. See? This is one of the things that got on my nerves when I lived in Minneapolis (guess where Cody lived?): If you throw a rock there, you'll hit a hipster. And that's fine with me. It's the hipsters who try really, really hard to be the hippest hipster that get me. I don't care about Dario Argento or the fact that you talk on a hamburger phone, or that you order the Tokyo Rose at Spyhouse, or that you think graphic designers are cool, or that Rainn Wilson is your poster boy, or that you wear leg warmers. Just admit that sometimes you eat at Arby's, sometimes you have to ride in an SUV, and sometimes you go to the Mall of America, and sometimes you just have to pick your nose. You are not above anyone. You just think you are, which makes you a

presumptuous ass.

And I love the Twin Cities. I love it there. There are so many good things going on. But kids, you are not in New York. No matter how many times you visit New York and how many friends you have in New York, you are not in New York. You are in a city in the middle of a wheat field. You live in the Midwest. Come join the rest of the sweatshirt-wearing, cheese curd-eating, Midwest Airlines-flying, Cubs and White-Sox cheering region of dairy farmers and plumbers.

Maybe I'll rename myself to Demonio Laramie, or Diavolo Cheyenne. Or maybe Djevel Casper, Davo Gillette, or possibly Debiru Rock Springs. How about Satan Madison? Diabolus Memphis? Whatever. I can't stand people naming themselves after state capitals or semi-big cities. Judy Chicago and Robert Indiana were cool when they did it. You are not. And neither is your putrid, self-masturbatory puppet show.

Cock N' Bull

"Hey Frederick, where have you been lately?"

That's right, I was on a week-long photo shoot, visiting some of Indiana's gems. First Terre Haute, then Brownsburg, and finally to Lafayette.

Terre Haute: I will say that I had completely forgotten how people act when they are in a boring environment too long. Just being there with professional camera equipment meant that I was more or less Spielberg. Every person that walked or drove by had to either stop to examine what I was doing, or holler something. Seriously. Every person. Is it that boring there? Nothing else going on? At some point, I was waiting for the mayor and chamber of commerce to present us with a key to the city and a complimentary loose meat sandwich. Instead, I got the douchebag brigade, with squadron after squadron of hecklers and car horns, interspersed with the genuinely courteous and curious citizen. I enjoyed the citizens, and ignored the douchebaggery.

The people of Brownsburg pretty much left us alone. I guessed that since they live close to Indy, they probably have seen a photographer before, and thought my presence was commonplace.

The most interesting place was Lafayette, which had more activity than the other two towns, and had one of the great motels in America: the Best Western. It had a conference center, and was constructed in the 70's. Back then the Westerns had themes, and this one was English Manor, mixed with Cannonball Run. They had a Polynesian resort thing going on with the pool, the elevator was straight out of New York 1977, they had actual coffee mugs in the rooms (!), and the toilets were killer. I haven't seen such a fine example of 70's preservation. And I haven't seen a toilet like that since I went on the Kohler tour. Even the lounge was cool, which was appropriately named "The Cock N' Bull."

I was going to post a few examples, but the blogger interface is giving me trouble, so I will post them here on my phpgraphy site.

Huh?

Oh, how long was I sleeping?