Iron Man 2 Review

No matter the theater conditions, I really enjoyed Iron Man 2.  I think I liked the first one better, but it is really a challenge to make a sequel live up to the reputation of its predecessor.  


Can I say how happy I am that Robert Downey Junior got his stuff together?  He is such a good actor and so perfect for this role; cock-sure and full of beans.  


Overall, I think the movie is really operating as a set up for the continued franchise of the Avengers.  You know when you get the feeling that what you're watching is just a way station, and you aren't getting the whole story?  Well, I sort of got that sense when I was watching Iron Man 2.  Like who the hell are Sam Jackson and ScarJo's characters?  They are just randomly plopped into the plot.  Since significant other, John, gets nerd updates he knew what was up and explained it to me after the fact.  


Speaking of ScarJo: that chick has been disappointing me ever since Lost in Translation, which I liked quite a bit.  They say the best actor/actresses are empty vessels.  Well, this girl is about as dull as it gets and is so empty as to be a vacuum.  I don't think that makes her so great for this role... or maybe the role isn't a good one at all.  John says that all her fighting moves involved her crotch somehow.  I'm pretty sure she doesn't do her own martial arts stunts, but at any rate, I found myself thinking: "Why are we watching her do these elaborately choreographed moves when she could just shoot the bad people and it would be a lot simpler?" 

Mother's Day at the Movies (Worst Idea Ever)

John proposed that we go see a movie this past weekend... his options= Iron Man 2 or something at the Dollar Theater (Tropicana Cinemas).  When I texted him back to see what was at the Dolla Dolla Bill Y'All Cinema he replied Shutter Island.  Blech.  I'll see it when it comes via Netflix, but my rationale is that is seems like it'll be way less costly than the admission for two to the dollar cinema (which is actually $1.50) plus the cost of two 20 oz. cokes and candy from the Terrible's gas station that is right next to the theaters.  (I would then sneak all the aforementioned in PS - that is "Pierce Senior"). 

A digression: All my purses are named "Pierce."  Like, Pierce Brosnan, but not after Pierce Brosnan, that would just be weird.  And yes, they are male.  My sister understands this perfectly, but to significant other, John, my purses should be female.  Pierce Senior is my huge Mamaw purse that can double as an extra carry-on piece of luggage.  (A sub-digression: Mamaw=grandmother.  It can also refer to something old-fashioned, like a type of purse or clothing, and has interchangeable good or bad connotations.)  PS goes with us to the movies because it can actually hold my regular sized purse inside along with the aforementioned 2 20 oz cokes and candy of our selection.  Regular sized purse has the moniker of PJ, or Pierce Junior.  


John and I have been excited about seeing Iron Man 2 ever since we heard that they were making it.  John suggested that we might want to go early in the day because it was opening weekend and Saturday is always packed because it's date night.  We were pretty pooped Saturday evening after the Parking Lot/Yard Sale, so we opted for Sunday.  Sunday also happened to be Mother's Day.  My idea, (which was proven horribly, disastrously wrong) was that most people would be spending time with their moms and not be going to see Iron Man 2.  We opted for the 5:30 because it was matinee prices and figured all the Mother's Day celebrators should be having dinner then.  Obviously, I didn't take into account a few factors: 

• The dads that would give mom some much needed rest and load the kids up to get them out of her hair.  (And go see Iron Man 2)
• The families that had moms that would enjoy going to see a movie together.  (That movie... Iron Man 2)
• The families with new mothers that had infants that would need to be toted along for the Mother's Day celebration.  (Which consisted of going to see Iron Man 2)

Needless to say, the theater was packed.  It was packed full of as many kids as if it had been a Disney movie.  I felt like I was at a day care.  John and I had screaming, crying infants in stereo.  It couldn't have been louder if they were miked and piped through the THX.  

We always try to arrive early to movies to scout out good seats.  We had made our preliminary selections and kept an eye on the rapidly filling theater for possible escape routes and secondary seating options should we feel the need to flee.  I felt pretty confident as we made it through the trailers and the opening credits started up.  Sure there were infants already antsy and whining, but none were right in our ears and none of the families directly surrounding us appeared to be talkers.  Then a dad with about 5 children under the age of 8 came noisily into the theater and despite all my telepathic efforts to disguise the empty seats directly behind us, he managed to spot them and direct (clearly, loudly, and very vocally) his brood in that direction.  Sure enough, John and I missed the dialogue that was happening during the opening credits.  The family had taken their seats but appeared to still have much to discuss.  

John and I had already identified the very front two rows as our only alternative for secondary seating.  We have sat and stewed in our own irritated juices through too many movies spent with loud or annoying theater mates.  So we devised a 3 strikes system.  If the annoyance continues after 3 infractions, we agree to soundlessly get up and move to our previously identified and acknowledged secondary seating selection. I don't think we even had to 3-count it for this family of chattertons.  We just fled.  

I used to see this as a sign of weakness.  I held my ground and dispensed dirty looks and "shush!" or "get off your phone" and proceeded to get madder and madder, all the while missing the movie and getting irritated at John for not doing anything.  (I have since learned that John's hearing not being that great means that usually what I hear and get pissed off at, he is blissfully unaware of.)  

We sat in the middle of the theater in the second row up front.  Nobody was in the front row (imagine that!) so we were able to put our feet up on the backs of the seat in front of us and recline as if we were waiting for a gynecological exam.   The speakers were loud enough up front that during the action parts of the movie, the baby noises faded into a dull roar, so it was just during quiet dialogue or suspenseful silences (you know, when you really want to concentrate on the movie?) that the crying took center stage.  Just to mix things up a bit, one child had apparently just learned to make a "Bah!" sound and thought it might be fun to chant it through the entire movie.  

John and I allowed that if we had brought the cats to the movie theater in celebration of my motherhood to them, that they would have been perfect angels and remained quietly seated through the film.  

Corporate Stupidity in Action

The following was sent to yours truly from an anonymous employee of a nationwide furniture store: 


"Your inventory reads correct make sure to explain to sales how to sale these pictures there is a A and B picture we are starting to get lots of errors also to give you the tags to attach to sales orders so if there is a problem we know what happen."

Worst run-on sentence ever!  Not to mention the numerous other grammatical errors.  You would need the corporate translator set to "stoopid" to be able to decipher this.  I won't pretend that I don't make grammar errors myself.  I prefer to write in a more informal, conversational style that probably lends itself to some intentional errors.  But really?  This is awful.  

I am reminded of this thing we had in 5th grade called "Grammar Corner."  It wasn't in a corner, so I don't know why it was called that.  In fact, it was on an overhead projector, so projecting into a corner would have been a little trippy.  But at the beginning of English class, the teacher would project a sentence with deliberate errors and you were supposed to correct them and label the corrections with their appropriate designations like, "subject verb agreement" or some other crap.  I could always correct them, but usually my reason was, "It doesn't sound right."  

This would be the Grammar Corner from Hell.  It would take the entire class to document all the ways this is retarded.  

Susan Elizabeth Phillips' Match Me If You Can and Parking Lot Sale with Bonus Sunburned Arm

Just finished up Susan Elizabeth Phillips' Match Me If You Can today in between an early morning start on our apartment yard (parking lot) sale, subsequent sunburn to only one arm, and sub-subsequent trip to Savers to donate the stuff we didn't sell. 

I had an unfortunate issue in that this seemingly great condition paperback that I had picked up at my favorite thrift store (Savers http://www.savers.com/) fell apart like no other book I have ever seen.  At first it was one loose page, then all of the sudden the book cracked into three major chunks with another section of about fifty individual loose pages.  These chunks then separated from the cover completely.  I would say that the fact that this book was good enough for me to stick with that unfortunate new binding (or lack thereof) configuration through a yard sale and back and forth from the apartment is a testament to how much I enjoyed this book and how much I wanted to see it through. 


It was an amazingly well crafted love story.  The sub-plot was actually a second romance tale, so it was really a twofer.  This book and another that I have read, Natural Born Charmer, also by Phillips, centers around the Chicago football and pro-sports scene.  Boring.  Well, one would think, boring.  If one thought like me and didn't give two hoots about football.  Because the male characters are, for the most part, the ones involved in the sports world the reader is only subject to peripheral sports information.  Thank god.  Susan Elizabeth really manages to make the male characters in these books multi layered and interesting as opposed to just one dimensional jocks.  The female characters are really nicely crafted too.  I love the everyday faults that make them seem more real and accessible.  It's hard to love a heroine that is too perfect.  Even harder to feel sorry for her. 

After reading Match Me If You Can I knew that I had read another book by Phillips and consulted my "Book of Books" and found out it was the above.  It reminded me how much I liked that book and strengthened my resolve to seek out some more of Susan Elizabeth Phillips' gems. 

For those of you that are interested: the Yard (Parking Lot) Sale went well.  We made almost $90 and, dare I say, had a pretty good time in the process.  John has only a diamond sized patch on the back of his left arm that somehow missed the sunscreen ministrations of both him and me while I have an upper left arm that is still pretty warm.  It was nice to mingle with the other residents and feel a bit of community in a city where you often feel so isolated despite so many people.  I managed to only buy one thing.  A lamp for $3.  But it's a pretty big lamp.    (This is the exact lamp, only in chrome.  Mine is matte black finish.)  John tried to dissuade me, but I bargained him into letting me get it if I got rid of one of ours.  We had a lamp that was one of those conical directional three bulb things that only had two functional bulbs, so that seemed like a good candidate for elimination. 

The other exciting thing that happened as a result of the Apartment Parking Lot Sale was that a neighbor I befriended saw me reading the aforementioned Match Me If You Can and asked me what I liked to read.  I gave her my standard "a little bit of everything" reply.  And then she proceeded to try to interest me in her shelf full of historical romances.  I was picturing the moldy, dusty, yellowed, old Georgette Heyer's that we used to get in by the box load at the used bookstore I worked at.  Right after Granny kicked the bucket and the surviving relatives just "know that someone wants to read them, and aren't they worth money?"  The neighbor then explained she didn't want any money for them, she just wanted to give them away.  I gamely replied that I would check them out, and if I didn't want to read them I could take them to donate at the thrift store.  Mentally I was picturing taking them straight to my car after double bagging them, because I don't want a silverfish infestation in my apartment, and then straight to the dumpster or thrift store if I thought they were in good enough condition.  Imagine my surprise when her kids come out with a trash bag full of pristine historicals.  Only one of them interested me (I admit, anything with Highlanders in the title will at least get me to read the back), but all of them were nice enough that I put them up on Paperback Swap without even the need to Windex them.  I have already had requests for 17 of them!  Woo! 

Happy Mother's Day!

This is a special Mother's Day post dedicated to all the mothers out there.  All types: cat moms, dog moms, fish moms, ferret moms, great aunts that are like grandmothers, and aunts that are like moms.  Let's go ahead and include aunts that aren't really even your aunt, but they get rolled into today's accolades as well.  And to be really inclusive, if you don't have a mom, or if yours is gone, be you cat, dog, or human, your man/dad gets to celebrate or be celebrated today too.  He also gets to celebrate on Father's Day and vice versa for the lady single parents. 

I'm also going to send a special shout out to my cat, Isis.  She has diligently mothered every foster, stray, and new addition that I have thrust upon her.  Sure, there is a little grumbling at first, as if to say, "Another one, come on, I'm spayed, how do they keep coming?  Oh well, your ear's dirty, come here and take this bathing!" 

Most importantly to me (and my sister) is our own personal mother.  I love you, Mom.  I miss you and I wish I could be there to celebrate with you... to make sure that you didn't have to do too much in the kitchen or order your dinner yourself.  I hope somebody scoops the kitty potties for you today.  (Maybe Robin, herself a proud cat mom, will take the reigns on that one.)  I don't know how to express how fortunate I feel to have had a Mom that I could always come to and knew I would have help in solving whatever problem I had, or if you couldn't solve it, I felt better for having shared it with you.  I still feel that way, only I have to be satisfied with a phone call instead of the great hugs that I would get in person.  What great hugs...I still remember how great it was to see you at the Knoxville airport when I came into town last winter holiday.  I would have been happy to see Dad and Robin as well, but as it was the moment was ours to share privately and I cherish it.  I love you, Mom. 

In a former life, I was a soap opera star....

Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment by James Patterson

I was recently in Target, and I happened to pass the book section and stopped to browse.  Again, my attention span.  If I don't go to Wal-mart with a "come on" buddy, then it takes me 3 hours to shop.  (As in, someone to tell you to "come on" when you stop to stare aimlessly at this mundane display of containers or that end cap of organizing implements.)  Three hours is probably a conservative estimate.  If my sister and I go shopping at Wal-mart together it's like the ADD factor is exponential and it's an all day excursion.  


So, at the book section in Target I saw Fang: A Maximum Ride Novel.  I read the dust jacket because I was curious what kind of YA books James Patterson was writing.  (I mean, he went from all action/mystery to sappy chick beach books for the adult set.)  

I was instantly intrigued because the premise seemed to branch off from one of my favorite James Patterson books of all time, When the Wind Blows.  

From working in a bookstore for close to three years, I can tell you that this was one of his more poorly received books.  I thought it was excellent.  I think I go against the grain when it comes to Patterson, at least his earlier books.  I actually liked the non-Alex Cross books better than those featuring the character portrayed by Morgan Freeman in Kiss the Girls.  

I think the Alex Cross books are fine action/mystery/thrillers, but I applaud Patterson's attempt to break out of that mold and into sci-fi with When the Wind Blows.  (Genetic engineered children with wings, enough said... awesome.)  

I was really excited to see that Patterson's new YA series was based loosely on that premise, but thought it better to pick up the beginning book before I shelled out the cash for the new hardback at Target.  (This was BPS= before Paperback Swap).  As soon as I did sign up for Paperback Swap and was creating my pages long wish list (great feature, by the way), I remembered that book, but not the title or the author.  I used to make fun of my mom for her "Book of Books," a journal that she has entered all the books she has read, or has at home to read, or wants to read, alphabetically by author.  What do I have now?  A "Book of Books."  Only difference is mine is Black Watch plaid (my personal favorite plaid)















whereas my mom won't have anything but Royal Stewart plaid on hers.  

After a couple of Google Searches for "flying children" or "kids with wings" I realized what it was I was looking for, and added the first in the series, Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment to my wish list.  

It was pretty good for a YA book.  (Meaning I do miss profanity, gore, and sex in it.)  I feel like there is a lot of unexplained back story in this first installment, which actually makes you want to keep reading the series to figure things out, but also seems to drop the reader in the middle of the action with no idea what is going on.  Because it is a YA book, it is easy to follow.  It isn't so simplistic as to not be engaging and it is a quick entertaining read.  Not only did it keep my attention to the end, I plan on reading the next one.  

Book Review: Really Unusual Bad Boys by MaryJanice Davidson

Sorry, MaryJanice, this one's a stinker.  It is a collection of three stories that tie together in that they are all set in a mystical far-off land (I read this as in, parallel dimension).  How do you access this dimension? Well, you can either be attempting suicide, or be beamed there from the past... or the future.  Or the hunky men that inhabit said dimension can be beamed to you in the future (Earth dimension, post zombie apocalypse) for no apparent reason.  It just gets curiouser and curiouser, MaryJanice.  

I have to admit that I only made it about half-way through the second of the three stories and then skipped randomly, reading passages to the end.  At this point, I was browsing just for humor's sake as opposed to any serious attempt at following the stories.  


The irreverence that works so well in the Betsy the Vampire Series books doesn't work in this collection.  I think Davidson is just juggling too many elements to handle.  All the strange stuff that happens in the Betsy books has the urban setting to ground it.  For example; vampires, zombies, and devil spawn, work in those books because Betsy still loves to get Jimmy Choos as presents.  It is something for the reader to identify with.  Not Jimmy Choo shoes explicitly, but a world in which it would be nice to receive those shoes as tokens of love.  Davidson doesn't have to take the time to build her alternate universe in the Betsy books, she only has to fill our regular universe in with paranormal details and characters.  In Really Unusual Bad Boys, I think she expects the reader to do all the work filling in and creating this alternate dimension.  If she really took the time to build it up, I think she could make it work.  But it just falls a little flat.  Okay, a lot flat.. with the whole future-Earth post zombie apocalypse that took the form of said "Five Minute Flu."  

I know what some of you may be thinking, "It's just a silly little three story collection.  Don't be so harsh."  Well, sorry, but I think short stories actually need to be better to hold up.  Like television commercials need to be that much more captivating to hold or grab your attention for the 90 or so seconds that it has.  I think I have mentioned my attention span, haven't I?  Well.... wait, was that a cat?  

Men of the Otherworld by Kelley Armstrong

For those of you familiar with the author Kelley Armstrong, you probably know of her "Women of the Otherworld" series that starts with the story of Elena in Bitten.  

I am a HUGE fan of this series.  I think I picked up Stolen first (it is actually the second book in the series) and then went back to read Bitten.  Once I am hooked on a series, I prefer to read it in chronological order.  

From what I understand the Men of the Otherworld book started out as a series of shorts that Kelley wrote for her website.  These were a kind of teaser/reward for loyal fans and followers.  Except for the last installment in the book, which switches narrator from Clayton to Jeremy, I wouldn't have guessed that these stories hadn't been written explicitly to coexist in a collection together.  I enjoyed the last story as well, but felt the rest of the stories were really strong.  Perhaps because they shed some light on the psyche and development of Clayton Danvers.  Clayton is a quintessential strong, silent type with a vein of crazy thrown in for good measure.  As a reader of this series, I felt like I understood his character better for reading these tales.  It also explains a bit of the complicated werewolf pack politic history that is so integrally tied to Clay and Jeremy. 


I highly recommend Men of the Otherworld.  I am eagerly awaiting, Tales of the Otherworld, which I have on my Paperback Swap waiting list.