Girl Power Turned Up To Eleven

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Lashana Lynch as Maria Rambeau and Brie Larson as Carol “Captain Marvel” Danvers

[[note– I promise this is cheerful. Fluff. Absolute fluffy kittens and unicorn dreams. ]]

I went to the movies yesterday afternoon. Guess what I saw? Not the cute dragon movie. Not the anti-romance romance comedy that I will probably really enjoy when it finally gets to TBS or TNT. The one with Rebel Wilson. That one.

CAPTAIN MARVEL.

Yes, that’s the obscure art house pic I suffered through. As those art house pics generally demand that you SUFFER to get to the end without throwing up, falling asleep or generally giving up ten minutes in during the first of many twenty minute monologs on how swift life is by a teen girl working retail as her mother does crack in the alley out back.

There were other people there. Sigh. I go to matinees because they’re [A] cheaper and [B] not attended by other people. Okay, whatever! Popcorn rustles, comments flying about me, soda pop being sucked loudly through hollow plastic tubes. The sounds of cinema! I arrive just before the previews start, so I don’t have to sit there pretending not to be making snide mind comments about everyone else there. As you do.

Previews. Avengers!! Tony Stark in outer space giving some sort of Hamlet-like speech. Captain America filling up with HOPE that some Hail Mary plan will work against a [guy, thing, god, dancer, evil bad farmer, etc?] who just took out half the known universe. What’s this…a new avenger might join in to CHANGE THE GAME? What???? Yeah, I’m so going to this it’s not even funny. I’m a weak-souled consumer drone mind-raped by Hollywood’s Satanic influences. You heard it here first.

LION KING. Now!! I’ve seen the cartoon version X number of times. Yet! I’ve got oddly wet eyes, so there must have been a drive-by onioning. Shouldn’t a live-action movie about animals use, um, actual animals who are not…Stop that, brain! The heart is sobbing right now! Shut up, brain! Disney, how dare you pile on the pathos!! How dare you!

There’s also a preview for a movie I’ve already seen soundly panned and ‘not wanted by anyone’– Dark Phoenix. Which is Sansa Stark getting all evil on Mr. Tumnus. There’s lots of screaming, explosions, people in extensive makeup with superhero hair looking truly magnificent. I wanted to see it. How evil does Sansa get?? Like, super-evil or just mildly evil where she kicks a puppy then goes to work for the ASPCA? I’m hooked! I also can’t wait until it’s on TNT in two or three years. Yay! Also, maybe the X-Men can call on Dani and her dragons to KICK DP’S bottom. Oh my, the crossover potential there. Game of Thrones meets X-Men. Somebody get on this one, stat!

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Holy cow bells, that isn’t a still for Capt. Marvel! Sophie Tucker will play Jean Grey again.

I could just do a blog post about listening to people snack in the near-dark and my reaction to the various trailers.

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Here we go:

Captain motherfucking Marvel.

That’s a Sam Jackson shout out.

Pretty much what you expect to happen, well, happens. Plot? There was an actual twist here that was pretty solid. I thought it went well. It was set up through memory loss flashes. Plus, any time you have a British guy in an American superhero movie…yeah.

Ooh, that was a sort of spoiler. Yikes!

But I had my suspicions. I don’t trust people who seem ‘nice’. They’re just not. In real life or superhero movies.

Carol, played by Brie Larson, was everything Girl Power needs. She’s fierce. She’s a fighter. She’s got hot hands…hands that light up and shoot lasers. Or fire. No, lasers.

She’s also a hothead who’s…wait for it…emotional. [I let out an actual WTF gasp at this.] Of course the Nice British Guy [Jude Law] hammers this one over and over and yet over again.

Our heroine also keeps having this memory of a female scientist [Annette Benning], being an Air Force pilot, having a life on earth. Vers, as she’s called now, lives on the Kree planet…here I just clocked out. More comic worlds I should know like the back of my hand??

God damn it, no thanks. I have enough crap crammed in my cranium at any given moment.

So we get Vers crashlanding through a Blockbuster after chasing the Bad Aliens, who are shapeshifters. Who can be ANYBODY, right down to their memories. Some of their memories…again, I checked out here, just rolling my eyes.

The movie took place in the Nineties. Ah.

Nostalgia, you tricksy blighter. Everybody laughed and sighed over the Blockbuster bit. The Blockbuster here in Ontario, Oregon went under overnight seemingly. In a day. It’s now a gym or get your taxes done here office front. 

CM goes on a Journey of Discovery with Sam Motherfuckin’ Jackson, which is Great Fun. We get to see her Kick Ass. A Lot. She was a one-woman Rambo aboard the Bad Aliens ship, after all. Well, she beat the crap out of large groups of extras. Those scenes where Our Hero or Heroine [Yay, girls can be heroes, too! Yay!] takes on legions and just GOES TO TOWN on their bottoms. Yep!

So, we get the Plot Twist. We get the Betrayals. We get the Moments of Doubt. We get the If You Need the Suit You’re Not a Hero moment that all Marvel movies seem to employ unblushingly. [I just watched one of the new Spiderman movies, where Tony Stark says this to Spiderboy.]

Now. All of that? I still enjoyed the ever-livin’ crap out of this movie. I was glad I left my house to go see it. I enjoyed the heck out of the trailers. I could totally get away from how my country seems hellbent on installing an actual dictatorship…Her Emails! Lock her up!! Build the wall! Fake news!

I felt an odd Captain America type hope that a Hero Will Rise. And save us. From ourselves. So we don’t have to do it. Yeah. The Home of the Brave and the Land of the Free fully expect to be saved from themselves by some superhero unicorn sort that everybody can get behind…ha ha ha ha. Sob. Okay!

Oh my goodness, there’s the thing with the cat in Captain Marvel. Ha ha ha. There’s also the rather sweet shout out to Stan Lee in this movie. Ah!

To sum up this Not Really a Movie Review so much as a Sprawling Mess, I really liked Captain Marvel. It fired on most of its cylinders. She wasn’t the grim awfulness of a Gamora. She was more a combo of Starlord and Wonder Woman. While your head explodes for various reasons from that…ha ha ha. Done exploding yet? Okay!

She kicked ass. Lots of ass. In satisfying ways. Things Blow Up. In satisfying ways. There’s a pretty good dogfight battle with Best Friend of Cap Marv. I liked it, anyway.

And the quickie scene after some of the credits played…yeah. You sit there, along with a few others, waiting for it. Waiting for it. Ah! What??!! Holy crap, so going to Avengers! Satan, see you in a few weeks! 

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The cat named Goose from Captain Marvel

FROTHY KITTENS

 

. Bilbo the Hobbit riding a Unicorn - iPad Sketch by mystery monotreme
Bilbo the Hobbit riding a Unicorn – iPad Sketch | by mystery monotremeon

I wish to post something a bit lighter this time. It’s March, the ground squirrels in the yard dart about and the moon seems extra bright all night with its ghostly light. I saw a cat trotting down the side of the road. A black and white beastie with a clear agenda. As cats seemed to have disappeared from my area, it was rather like watching a unicorn trot by, with a hobbit seated on its back, both munching toast. It was just like that. That sense of actual wonder and delighted eyeballs and spring about to act like spring, no matter what the snowflakes and feminists claim about global heating.

I’ve yet to re-see that cat. Maybe I dreamed it. Maybe all of life, this life, this life I think real, is a dream. Wah. I’m actually hooked up to a machine harvesting my fluids for lizardlord martinis.

Outer space lizardlord martinis!! 

Oh the horror, the horror…!

I am, yes, bowels deep, in a rewrite of Honest Women. No, am not sharing anything from that other than…INVISIBLE WINGED TAPE WORM. I bet you now wish to sit through two hours of that! Yes, you do!

I note that the kiddies are yet agitating.

Oh those kiddies! Can’t they go back to eating Tide Pods and let the grown ups wring their hands and offer thoughts and prayers in peace?? After all, Jesus will come back soon to clean up America’s border problems and bitchsmack the liberal elite with some common sense non-college knowledge. LOL, kiddies!

Where was I?

Something frothy and light in between the doomy gloomy posts. Um. Oooh.

Today is both Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s birthday and the twentieth anniversary of the Big Lebowksi. That…that cannot be a coincidence. The Dude abides can apply to both of those facts.

Now, it took me many years to accept that the BL was, indeed, a movie I wished to watch more than once. I ‘didn’t get it’ for quite some time. I found that movie annoying as a basket of not-fluffy kittens. I, being a Jeff Bridges fan, just shrugged it off as ‘eh, he’s done better work’. And then I watched it again, on VHS, which I bought for about fifty cents at my local thrift store. True story! I had fifty cents! 

I ‘got it’, gradually. It ‘rang some bells’ in me. That drifting, rather harmless, Everyman, rubbing shoulders with the absurd, the bungled and the botched, the gorgeous and the damned alike and escaping all this intact, with no visible change or journey experienced. This is truly extremist storytelling. It’s rather…radical. It’s a sly slap at writing teachers who tell ya you have to have some kinda character arc, damn it, Janet.

The Dude at the center of this sprawling, very long slow mud-wrasslin’ sorta world…never changes. He doesn’t grow, he doesn’t learn a fuckin’ thing. He isn’t going to clean up his act and fly right. He’s…I tell ya, watch movies on VHS, it’s a transformative experience.

And my VHS/DVD combo player, yes, I still have one…only plays the VHS side these days. I have to keep it cleaned, as the door that drops down over the VHS part broke off eons ago. Frothy kittens, indeed! I have boxes yet of VHS movies. They’re very cheap now. I do mean cheap and…they don’t get scratched.

I am truly a dinosaur in the modern tech world. I don’t do ‘streaming’. I’m not even sure what that is. Sad! I do know what it is, I do. I was making a feeble, shallow jest.

I should just do a post on the Big Lebowski. I, apparently, have ‘thoughts’ about it.

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Jeff Bridges, in a scene from the Big Lebowski. Coen Brothers. 

I have no such Bank of America depths toward Marquez, however. Isn’t that odd? Or truly American. Mm. He is Colombian. A foreigner. We should be reading American authors! Do we have any?? Bring em on! Have some wall, Marquez!! LOL, just LOL all over your bottom!

So!

I am in Act Two of my rewrite. I am just writing. I don’t care if anyone ever produces it. I’m having fun.

And then I start sobbing because no one will probably ever produce it, unless I mount a production somewhere close by and I’d have to find seven women and try and explain that the tape worm is invisible and that the plant is dead, it’s supposed to be dead. Yes, I meant to type those words, no you can’t change them…oooh, yes, change them to that, I like that so much better! Wah!!

Oh look, there’s Bilbo Baggins riding by on Hornio, the neighborhood unicorn who voted, ironically, for Jill Stein in the last presidential election because votes don’t count. Or maybe that’s just a black and white, very busy and important, cat trotting by. It’s all fake news anyway.

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the odd stuff you find while Googling ‘tape worm’. 

The budding, grinning, drooling poet wannabe

 

 

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I know I’m posting too much this week. I know this. Whatever, lol, #MyBlogGetYourOwn

So!! As one or two of you might remember, there’s this monthly poetry contest where ‘they’ post an art-esque photo and you, the budding, grinning, drooling poet wannabe, write something in response to said photo.

This month’s proved a head-scratchin’ puzzler of an enigma wrapped in an elitist riddle. Trust me on this. It’s some random graffiti seen through a busted car window. Beige graffiti, at that. Such as an alt-right [I can be coy, too] troublemaker might do to make those fighting fascism look icky. There were no pretty roads under a summer sky to spark creativity and joy juices, nope! Or oddly drawn people looking vaguely sad, nope! Or soul-crushing stick figures performing happy dances over the bones of their ancestors, nope!

I’m supposed to make ‘art’ from that photo op.

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Not the artsy pic of the month. I repeat, not the artsy pic of the month.

 

Yeah, so, I did.

I wrote a poem about unicorns.

I sent off the first draft. I didn’t correct a word. I let it be. I let it plop from my inner art anus and flushed it into the toilet of submissions.

At times, I must burn like a rebellious little Dollar Store candle against the dying of my own light.

I also, in the cover letter/bio portion of my submission…wrote that the poem came by way of a mating between Charles Bukowski and Rod McKuen. Which was funny to me. Which is code for: even if you don’t laugh at how acutely funny I am, I’ve covered my tracks and covered my ass here. I also ended Mr. Blue’s Blues with a meme of a muscled, bearded guy in rainbow pants, who wears a unicorn hood. Because that picture CHEERS ME UP. I feel actual cheer. Someone went out in public in a getup normally reserved for furry meets clown meets private Republican golden showers play. [Which is funny to me. CYA, fellow babies]

 

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Bukowski! McKuen! It’s brilliant! I’m getting ‘poet’ tattooed on my dog now. So I can blame the dog when my brilliant, subversive, woke poem does not set the world on fire so much as get rejected in a polite, stiff form letter next month. It just doesn’t matter, it just doesn’t matter…to quote from Meatballs.

 

 

Now. Hurricanes, wildfires, Pumpkincunt and its collection of servile minions…are the subtext of that poem below. CYA, babies, CYA. Because writing directly about such things coalesces into something rather like a giant block of FUCKING FUCKETY FUCK stuck on repeat into the four thousand word arena and ends with a picture of a daisy. So. 

With that build-up…HERE’S THE POEM!

MY UNICORN FANTASY

September brings us to rainbows and storms
and rain in the faces of impatient lovers
screaming as they smash worms
with their toes.

Dead worms and the juice of lovers,
no differences found.

A unicorn smashes a car window
with that phallic twisty horn
after writing coded graffiti
on the skins of hookers
called wives and girlfriends.

Julia called, she wants her boots back,
said Pam, before retweeting
a picture of a pretty horse
standing in a field.
Oh we’re broken up lol,
continues Pam.
I love horses, says Pam.
I love horses more than your
unicorn ass.

September brings
graffiti and rainbows.
Life is only for the positive
and happy-minded
could be the other take.
Julia wants her boots back
could have been
a wrong message.
Sadness floats by
like a drowning puppy
in a hurricane
they all said was faked
by the liberal Hollywood agenda.

Another broken window
and the happy unicorn
writes pornographic insults
because laughter
is better than modern medicine.

 

 

JUST TO HAVE A BIT OF CLOSURE– MY UNICORN POEM DID NOT SET THE POETICAL CHOOSERS ON FIRE, I’M AFRAID. It fizzled out like a wet fart in the winds of somewhere. I must live to drool another day.