(Minor spoilers follow: consider yourself warned.)

One thing I’ve really enjoyed about Pixar’s movies are the shorts they show beforehand.  I think the one this time around, Presto, is probably their best to date — lots of physical comedy in the Loony Tunes vein.

WALL·E itself is also a step up from their previous work, though I think more in a technical sense than a storytelling one.  Not only have the animators given a (mostly) voiceless, boxy robot character and emotion, but they appear to have overcome a major issue with CGI: dirt.

Yes, dirt.

I’ve heard that every Pixar film has at least one major technical challenge: in Monsters, Inc. it was hair, in Finding Nemo it was water, in Ratatouille it was supposedly food.  If this film had a technical challenge, my money is on dirt — there was a lot of it and it looked as great as dirt can.

My only criticism of the movie involves the use of live-action footage: some of the 1969 movie version of Hello, Dolly! and some of actor Fred Willard as a company CEO.  Both seemed very out of place in a production by a company that has animated numerous human and dancing characters in the past.  My initial reaction after leaving the theater was that it smacked of simple laziness on the part of Pixar, but now I’m of the mind that it was just a very poor decision by director Andrew Stanton (who previously directed Finding Nemo).

I’ve heard that there has been squawking in various circles about a heavy-handed message in the movie, and to be honest when I saw the first trailer eons ago that was my first impression.  But WALL·E is nowhere near the club-you-over-the-head territory that Happy Feet was, thank God.  The movie may flirt with the boundary between story and propoganda, but it doesn’t cross it.  I’m sure some folks will be put off by the notion that the future is populated by fat, materialistic humans…but I wasn’t.  I think there’s some truth there, but the manner in which it is presented is unlikely to cause Junior to renounce worldly goods and embark on a lifetime of communal living.

I strongly recommend going to see the movie if you’ve enjoyed Pixar’s previous films.  Now if we could only get them to can the forthcoming Cars 2 in favor of an Incredibles sequel.

At this moment in time, life is good.  So good, in fact, that sometimes it’s hard to remember how bad it was a year ago. Although I am mindful that things could change tomorrow and that there are a lot of families out there who aren’t as lucky as we are today, I’m going to gloat a bit.

The thief has received a thorough ass-kicking.

He isn’t gone, of course.  He never will be.  But he has made himself mighty scarce in the last few months.  Oh, he pulled a stunt in May — showing up in my son’s preschool class — but fled the scene shortly thereafter.

I don’t know if a picture is worth a thousand words, but showing you my son’s journey over the last year is probably more effective than anything I can write:

March 2007	August 2007
October 2007	March 2008

When I wrote The Thief In My House, Gavin was that poor boy in the upper-right corner.  Yeah, that’s really the same kid.

What’s changed?

First off, we got him off the steroids.  By the first of the year he had dropped all the weight he had put on.  We’re not entirely sure they helped, but when you’re grasping for straws you’ll try anything that has worked for somebody else.

Secondly, we achieved control over his Epilepsy: since late September 2007 he has had only two major (tonic-clonic) seizures.  With the exception of the seizure in May (which was a result of us dropping a little too low in his medication adjustment), we haven’t seen a thing since.

I knocked on wood after typing that.  When a cause-and-effect relationship is tenuous at best, superstition tends to take over.  Call it bad mojo or Murphy’s Law, but his last seizure took place days after both my wife and I happily told friends that we hadn’t seen any activity in quite a while.

I’m actually wondering about the reprecussions of posting this blog entry.  Neurology sometimes seems just like glorified voodoo for all it does — and doesn’t do.

The third thing that changed was that we actually got help from our local school district — that’s District 49 here in Colorado Springs.  We were able to get Gavin into a preschool program, where he had individualized attention.  I have been told that Colorado is near the bottom of the list for social programs, so we consider ourselves lucky.

Fourth, we continued to attend the local Epilepsy support group for kids and families.  They have a website, and if you’re in Southern Colorado I encourage you to attend the next meeting.  I cannot stress enough the importance of having a support group, especially if (like us) the rest of your family lives thousands of miles away.

Fifth, we prioritized.  Our tolerance for drama and bullshit dropped through the floor.   Once our first priority — getting Gavin stabilized — was achieved, we focused on long-term issues, such as paying off medical debt.

Sixth, we were lucky.  Or blessed. Consider the following:

• Out of the blue, my wife is called by the company she left 7 years ago when she was pregnant with our oldest child.  Boom, she is suddenly employed.
• After a year as a contractor with crappy benefits, I land a job with a large, stable company with great benefits and an excellent work environment.
• Gavin ends up doing so well at in the District 49 preschool program, he gets bored.  At the same time my wife returns to work, we are able to get him into a Montessori preschool just blocks from our house.  Within a couple of weeks, we observe Gavin’s development take off again.
• We manage to hit upon the right combination of medicines, as our options were becoming fewer and fewer.

So like I said, life is good right now.  It’s possible that the other shoe could drop tomorrow: the effectiveness of medicine for kids with Doose Syndrome can change suddenly.  I suppose that’s not too surprising: you’re not dealing with a bad liver (hey, don’t drink alcohol) or set of lungs (don’t smoke) but rather an organ that changes based upon what you think.

An organ that is in the body of a 5-year-old who is absorbing everything he sees, smells, hears and tastes.

Voodoo, indeed: how the hell can you baseline something that changes at the speed of thought?

This is where we are today.  I’m hoping that tomorrow is much like today; there’s much to be said for boredom and normality.

<Happy Voice, “Pomp and Circumstance” plays in the background>
Graduation is right around the corner, and many seniors are looking forward to the excitement of having their name called and walking down the aisle to receive their diploma.

<Music ends, idiot switches to his Mr. Bad News Voice>
But an increasing number of students won’t get to graduate …

And that’s when my head exploded.  “Get to graduate?”

Get?

Maybe I’m just showing my age, but when I graduated high school (back in 1988, shortly after the Renaissance) students had to earn a diploma.  You know, by taking tests and reading and writing and stuff.  I didn’t even apply myself in school, yet still managed to graduate in the middle of my class.

When the hell did a high school diploma become a right?

Those of you who had to drop out to support your ailing mother and 85 younger siblings, pipe down.  You guys are a statistical blip, outnumbered by the legion of mouth-breathers who can’t apparently squeak through public education with a D-minus.  The same goes for everybody who had a serious medical condition in 12th grade and needed a quintuple organ transplant: you guys get a pass.  I’m baffled by the huge number of future service industry employees incapable of following along in class, let alone trying to make change.

Am I out of touch here?

Last night my wife and I watched Ultraviolet. I had heard that it was by the same guy who did Equilibrium (which we had both enjoyed) so it seemed like a reasonable choice for a fairly mindless action flick.

I was wrong, and not just white-pants-after-Labor-Day wrong. Oh no. We’re talking liposuction on an 8-year-old wrong. Wedding reception at Golden Corral wrong. Rabbi in Mecca wrong. Linday Lohan as driving instructor wrong. Wrong.

It is never a good sign if the movie starts off with three minutes of narrative. It doesn’t help if the narrator is the main character. It certainly doesn’t help if the main character is being played by Milla Jolololololovovich. Five minutes into the movie I had this growing fear that this cinematic experience was heading nowhere but downhill. Featuring more costume changes than a Cher concert and such disjointed dialog and scenes that I was compelled to turn to my wife half-way through and ask “did anyone actually EDIT this movie?”, Ultraviolet was a lock for Second-Worst Movie In The World^* before it was halfway over.

Lest you think that I am making a mountain out of a molehill, let me quote a few critics courtesy of Rotten Tomatoes, none of which I’m actually making up:

Ultraviolet wants desperately to be a provocative, high-concept action thriller. It is apparently trying to say something about fear and terrorism, paranoia and racism. But it looks more like a shampoo commercial. — Christy Lemire, Associated Press

Lordy mama, the thing’s just unspeakable. — The Daily Mirror (UK)

Ultraviolet will be studied with great interest in the future - not for its quality or its artistic merit, but rather to discover how a turd like this was made. — Kevin Carr, 7M Pictures

Now critics are often highbrow, stuffy types that would prefer some Elizabethan drama to anything you and I would watch. How about some input from typical moviegoers (by way of IMDB)?

This movie is absolutely horrible. The magnitude of its suck is unbelievable. — Niko Stokley

Like a German techno video with badly translated Japanese one-liners for dialogue… only less coherent. — Steph-3

I registered at this site just to tell you how GODAWFUL this movie truly is. About 10 minutes into the movie I started praying for a brain tumor to arrive and kill me. — Batese

I’m going to go set a camera on record, then throw it into a cement sidewalk. This would result in a film that is 10 times better than Ultraviolet. — smitty124

I have no proof, but I suspect that this is the movie that almost killed Roger Ebert in 2006. It is a movie so bad even its star badmouthed it.

Please, for the love of God, don’t watch this movie. Educate your children and your community. If you own a rental store, I strongly urge you to immediately entomb every copy you have in something lead-lined and bury it deep. And please, start writing your senators and representatives in Washington so that we may prevent Ultraviolet on Blu-Ray from ever being released. Think globally, act locally.

* Oh, and the Worst Movie In The World? Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas. We saw it in a movie theater; I foolishly argued against walking out, thinking that it would get better. Some people liked that movie, but I won’t say anything about them since it’s not nice to make fun of the mentally handicapped.

Bill Paxton? Nothing really going on since Twister. Anthony Edwards? Gigs have likely been few after E.R. ended. But Ben Kingsley? I can only assume the movie studio had compromising pictures of him stashed away somewhere.

If I may be of service, let me supply the answer: until it blows up in your face, you shiftless dregs of humanity.

Just a my way of showing my appreciation for having to show ID every time I want to buy cold medicine for my children.

If swallowed, the seemingly harmless pellets metabolize into a date-rape drug known as Liquid Ecstacy.

The toy itself is pretty clever: take a bunch of colored beads, place them into entertaining shapes on a special tray, spray them with water and voila! They stick together as sort of a 21st-century doily. My kids made a couple of stick figures and a darling yellow and black kitty, as seen to the right.

A yellow and black kitty ready to take the young’ns on a wild ride of self-discovery and trippitude, that is!

After hearing about the recall on the radio tonight on the drive home, I burst into my house and snatched the evil thing away from my helpless offspring. Well, not quite: they were busy playing with Play-Doh and didn’t notice. Still, crisis narrowly averted, I say!

Fear not, parental units…according to this New York Times article, the bead manufacturer has promised to “add a safe but foul-tasting ingredient to future beads to discourage children from eating them.” Yeah, that’ll work…since the kids who were affected by the drug ate them not because of their bright, candy-like colors but obviously from their sublime flavor.

And does anybody want to take bets as to how long it will be before we hear of some paint-huffing asshats buying two dozen of these kits from Wal-Mart? I mean, the meth-heads have already made the purchase of over-the-counter medicines a pain in the butt (in my area, at least), so is this scenario that outrageous:

Cashier: I’m sorry sir, you’ve got too many toy items.

Parent: Excuse me?

Cashier: You have three Chinese-manufactured toy items in your cart; by law I’m only allowed to sell you two at a time.

Parent: Uh…ok. I guess I won’t take the G.I. Joe action figure.

Cashier: All righty. Can I see some I.D., please? (In walkie-talkie): Can I get manager approval on lane 8?

At least the stuff China is producing right now is only toxic. Wait until they start shipping toys that somehow, inexplicably, explode when they get too hot. Or too cold. Or on Tuesday. Gosh, the American public might even demand somebody to be accountable for that sort of thing. Maybe even decide to stop buying products from a Communist country with an abysmal human-rights record, few environmental controls whatsoever, and more oversight as to what their citizens see on the Internet than the products they sell to the rest of the world.

Yeah, crazy talk. I must be getting a contact high from the yellow and black kitty.

After my wife and I finished laughing, I had to break the news to him that he wouldn’t get the chance.  My better half then asked me when she would be adopted, and I told her that it would happen shortly after I was adopted.

“I’ll get adopted by somebody rich, like Bill Gates,” I said, and then tried to reassure her with “oh don’t worry, I’ll take you with me.”

She wasn’t buying it.  Come on, Mr. Gates — dad – you’ve got room in your house for a few more, right?

(Note to self: if my wife gets adopted by Bill Gates, that makes her my sister.  Not good: I need to think these things through a bit more.)

I was a bit surprised to find that I enjoyed the movie — other than Pixar’s stuff I’ve found most Disney movies to be God-awful, saccharine ordeals.  Maybe because Pixar alum John Lasseter had a hand in things, they avoided churning out the same “coming of age” pablum which had become Disney’s staple for the last couple of decades.

Seriously, Bambi II?   Cinderella III?  You’d think that if some company had the resources and budget to crank out a quality production, it would be The Mouse.

Maybe a potential strike in Hollywood might not be so bad.  I bet the handful of talented writers could probably get picked up by sympathetic sponsors outside of California.  Maybe even Bill Gates would adopt a couple.