I Prefer Captain Jack Sparrow...

Modern-day pirates are a whole other animal in comparison to Disney's jovial, somewhat clumsy, lady chasing miscreants represented in the Pirates of the Caribbean Ride at Disneyland. A desire to pursue a life of adventure and treasure motivated these whimsical pirates of old. Not so in the case of the Somalian pirates that took Captain Richard Phillips hostage. In response to his character's insisting that there must be other options for his captors to make money other than piracy and kidnapping, one of them flashes him a piercing stare and says simply "maybe in America." This jarring reality highlights the atrocious human rights situations in countries all over the world leading so many to tread down the desperate path of crime with the hopes of appeasing murderous "bosses" back home. These pirates aren't singing songs of "really bad eggs" and "yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me." For them, a pirate's life is nothing to get lyrical about.

These guys mean business...

This guy's in it for the fun

After hearing varying stories quoting the real life crew of the attacked ship as saying Hank's portrayal of Captain Phillips as a hero was entirely inaccurate, I took his actions in the film with a grain of salt. According to the crew members who have come forth with their version of the true events that transpired, Phillips was a surly and over-confident captain. Whereas in the film he acted heroically in attempting to sacrifice his life so the pirates wouldn't shoot a crew member, this allegedly never occurred. Official reports stated that Phillips received and consequently ignored warning upon warning of pirate activity in his ship's area. Read more about the controversy here. Maybe this is heresy. Maybe Phillips really was a valiant survivor able to stay calm in dire scenarios. Whatever. I was not there. Flaws in accuracy aside, Captain Phillips presents a harrowing and captivating tale of survival at sea. 

Though the ending felt prolonged, there was no shortage of nail-biting tension coupled with scenes of non-stop action and thrill. It's funny how brutal we are to our own bodies while watching movies like this- we dig our nails into our palms, clench our jaws, pull on our hair... oh the joyous physical reactions to anxiety. This anxiety never seems to cease as we follow the true events of Captain Richard Phillips and his crew as their ship, the Maersk Alabama, is attacked by Somali pirates in 2009. Once again, how much of it is true I don't know, and I'm not too sure it matters. In the film, the pirates overtake their ship and eventually kidnap its captain, played of course by Tom Hanks, for ransom.

The authenticity of the use of Somali natives (some of whom, I heard, had no prior acting experience and came from Minnesota where there is a thriving Somali population) speaking their native tongue proved a winning choice by director Tom Greengrass (haha, what a fantastic last name! The grass is always greener...). The Somalian actors truly did a phenomenal job. They forced audiences to pity them for the sheer desperation leading them down such a horrendous path in life while simultaneously feeling  dread stemming from their cold-blooded, heartless actions. They could have easily lost all humanity while playing these roles, yet kept it, though often at bay, in their expressions. 

Honestly, I don't feel that Captain Phillips possessed the "wow" factor earning it the Best Picture Oscar. When I saw Argo, I knew it should win. When I saw Little Miss Sunshine and The King's Speech, the choices were blatantly obvious- there could be no other films crowned the winners of their prospective years. So far out of the 2013 nominees, I have seen Captain Phillips, Her, Gravity, American Hustle, The Wolf of Wall Street and Nebraska. I am still waiting for the obvious nominee to come out of the woodwork. 

Best Impulse Buy Yet

I spent 11 dollars on a book. With the technology available allowing today's reader to simply download the book for a fraction of a fraction of that cost or to buy the physical thing online for a fraction of the cost as well, that 11 dollars qualifies as an impulse buy. Therefore, I expected a lot from this reading experience- if I didn't start laughing embarrassingly loud on the first page, I would have stormed back into Target demanding a refund (and I certainly wouldn't want to burn any bridges with my beloved Target).

Honestly, I was just looking for a good time when purchasing this book, much like the sleazy, portly balding man at a bar desperately attempting to pick up chicks and eventually giving up and calling a cheap hooker. But then, at least in this analogy, he comes to realize that the hooker has a heart of gold and gives better advice than Dr. Phil (bad example- his advice is crap) and Dear Abby's love child (Dr. Abby?). Sorry this comparison is a bit abstract- in it, I am the creepy balding man perusing the book shelves looking for a serious read and caving in and picking up the Mindy Kaling book as a last resort just for fun. Yet, as I flipped through the pages, some turned out to be chalk full of fantastic, life-altering advice. Listed below, in no particular order, are the most prevalent pieces of advice that stuck with me like Gorilla glue (superglue's even more intense cousin).

1) Don't complain about stress- her words of shining wisdom: "I do not think stress is a legitimate topic of conversation, in public anyway. No one ever wants to hear how stressed out anyone else is, because most of the time everyone is stressed out. No one is going to say, "Wow, Mindy, you really have it especially bad. I have heard some stories of stress, but this just takes the cake." (Kaling, 75). Wow, I have not annotated anything like that since high school. See, your lessons stuck with me even if your name didn't, Mrs. High School English teacher! Let me begin by saying I love her use of italics to portray irony. Perfect. Immediately after reading this, I started thinking twice about when complaining.

2) Be comfortable in your body- Mindy shares anecdote after anecdote about her size. Though hardly notable when not under the scrutiny of society's magnifying glass, Kaling is a size 8 and was a chubby child, putting her at the mercy of bullies. Her complete comfort and confidence regarding her size are truly inspiring and make her a rare beacon of hope as a role model for girls today. She begins the book with explaining why she could never be thin, one of the reasons being she would lack the insulation to keep warm. That was one of my first laugh-out-loud moments in the book.

Mindy loves her size and is freaking gorgeous and confident

3) Date men, not boys- had I been drinking something while reading this section, it would have erupted out my nostrils (nice image, I know). Mostly because I know the difference first hand between dating the immature vs. the mature man, and Mindy captures the hilarity in it so perfectly. As Mindy accurately points out, "Men know what they want. Men make concrete plans. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn't on the floor. Men tip generously. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men go to the dentist..." (Kaling, 177). Okay, you get the point. All spot-on observations, Mindy!

Reading this book before bedtime tucked me in better than a Swiss au pere just shipped in from the old country. I greedily and eagerly gobbled up page after page before turning in and fell asleep content and dreaming of stories from Mindy's childhood and early days as a writer for The Office. The book I read prior more closely emulated a frightening, Russian butch woman. The thrilling contents of its page chronicling the events in a murder mystery were not exactly conducive of a good night's sleep. Thankfully, that all changed when my dear Mindy's words cradled me in their literary arms.

Exclusive Style News!

I can't think of who would be interested in such a publication, but were InStyle or some other fashion magazine that hasn't gone under yet to chronicle the progression of my personal style, it would be entertaining at least to me. Well, since I can't think of a single fashion journalist who would willingly risk their budding career to chronicle this, I will do it myself.

The Early Years

As is the case with most children (except for emancipated five-year-olds or exceptionally independent toddlers), my first fashion choices were dictated by my parents, relatives, and family friends. As a baby, this often means borderline cruel outfits selected to give others a chuckle at the wearer's expense. The onesies with "witty" messages are the absolute worst: one particularly disturbing example is listed below.

I'm ready to call social services on this family

Thankfully, our brains generally lack the development needed to store such potentially scarring memories, and therefore I do not remember being dressed in such garb despite a high chance that I was at least once. I wish I could say it gets better after the baby stage. A lot of this depends on if you are a younger sibling at the mercy of your older brother or sister's hand-me-downs. The worst, I imagine, would be being a girl with an older brother whose clothes you were forced to wear. As parents, that is just asking for your child to be a tomboy or a lesbian. Your fashion choices are still dictated until about the age of 10-15, depending on how overbearing your parents are. An easy way to learn about the parents of a kid is to look at what they are wearing. A passerby observing my childhood garb (wow, I just visualized a total creeper checking out a kid) would instantly have learned that my mother loved the color purple. From the moment I popped out until I realized there were more options to the visual light spectrum other than varying shades of violet, I was donned in purple leggings and purple shirts and dresses. My first pair of jeans in fifth grade were, you guessed it, a vibrant shade of indigo. I resembled a grape for many years of my life. At least I wasn't one of an identical twin with parents insisting on matching our every outfit.

Her face says it all about her sentiments regarding this getup...

Awkward Pre-Pre-Teen Phase

Eventually when kids go through the natural process of separating into cliques, they obtain the false impression that there are "cool" kids and "nerds" and try to change their wardrobes in order to be trendy and fit in. Although this could be considered as something that happens in teenage phase where kids finally have their own spending money, I contest that there is not so clear of a leap from the "parents choosing everything I wear" and being okay with that and the "I am going to choose my clothes now" phases. There is, in between, a phase where kids realize they look ridiculous and try to change that while still lacking the monetary power to do so. With me, that happened when I started hanging out with "Jessie," the cool girl in fifth grade who shopped at the overpriced kid's fashion boutique, Limited Too (is that place even around anymore?). Mom didn't cave, shockingly, when I asked for my Oshkosh wardrobe to be completely replaced by Limited Too wear, but she did humor me and let me get a couple of items.

Pre-Teen to Teen Phase

The misguided notion that we are judged by what we wear more deeply ingrains itself in the developing mind of the angsty adolescent. For me, makeup now came into the picture which meant hours of needless grooming and a shower before I would even consider going downstairs for breakfast. I have a sense that even if my house were ablaze, I would have stopped in the bathroom to line my eyes before making for the exit. During this phase, teens lose hours of each day primping, preening, and shopping in a desperate attempt to earn the approval of their current crush. I legitimately believed that this over-the-top morning ritual made me look better, whereas in reality it screamed "I am high maintenance!". This is also typically the time when girls experiment with different hair colors thanks to dyes being readily available in grocery stores. I wish someone had pointed out the horrifying, gothic affect that black hair had on my pasty face. Adolescents have slightly twisted perceptions of their appearances.

I thought I looked like this.....

In reality, this was more accurate.

The Revolutionary Young Adult Phase

This stage occurs at different times for everyone, I think. I finally decided that rolling out of bed and lazily bumbling downstairs in my robe with hair sticking every which way was far more enjoyable than meticulously applying makeup and showering prior to chowing down. This then led to the realization that I could, in fact, go out in public with wet hair, or, even more eye-opening for me, with UNWASHED hair wearing sweatpants. WHAAAT? This revelation turned my world upside down (in a good way), and all of a sudden I found myself with hours upon hours of free time previously spent applying eyeliner and foundation. Just a hint- no one under the age of 30 needs foundation, no matter what marketing may say. This newfound feeling of fashion freedom, though liberating, can be dangerous as it sometimes leads to the next phase...

The I-Just-Don't-Care-Anymore Phase

Sometimes, the aforementioned phase gets a little out of hand and people start wearing their polka-dot sweats with rainbow tie-die T-shirts they handmade in college to board meetings, earning them a slot on that TLC show "What Not to Wear". It is even worse when the offender is a celebrity- that is sure to get the attention of the fashion police! I like to think it is not too difficult to dress sensibly, but of course, I have had my bad days as well.

I'm sure the fashion police were all over this one...

See? Didn't that make a simply fascinating article? I thought so! I'm sure you were all just riveted...

Sorry, Siri...

...but I'd rather date a human being. However, running off with your laptop is presented as ever-so-plausible in the futuristic world (the not-too-distant future, terrifyingly enough) presented in Her. Informing friends and family that your significant other is an operating system doesn't even earn a second thought. Theodore, played by Joaquin Pheonix, wanders around in a depressed stupor (he even requests that his do-it-all phone/earpiece thing play a "melancholy song" while he rides in an elevator) completely entranced by his ear gadget (the future of smart phones, apparently- I thought it was the Google contact lens), telling it to check his e-mail, read messages, etc. None of the people passing him by glance up, completely absorbed in their technological devices. Doesn't sound too far off from where society is today, does it?

The portrayal of human-robot relations in film is no novel idea. There's Hal in 2001: A Space Odyssey, that weird robot from the Will Smith movie that came out awhile back, and now we have Samantha. I guess you could call her "sexy"- how could she not be when the sultry Scarlett Johansson is providing her voice (though I must admit, I preferred our darling Scarlett when looking like she did in Lost in Translation, aka her pre-smoldering temptress days)? Perhaps that casting choice was actually a flaw- every time Samantha spoke my mind instantly imagined Scarlett on the other end of the phone somewhere, making it seem more like Theodore was involved in a long-distance relationship.

I noticed that Joaquin Phoenix is the perfect Doppleganger of the guy in the Cohen Brothers' film A Serious Man (Michael Stuhlbarg). The first time I saw the trailer, I did not think that the main actor was Joaquin. Just another pair to add to the list of celebrity look-a-likes (think Katy Perry and Zooey Deschanel). Joaquin did a stellar acting job as did Amy Adams (how does she have time to be in so many movies these days?) and Chris Pratt (that guy is hilarious- probably the most underrated comedy actor of today. I attest he is the next Will Farrell).

Maybe it is the glasses?

Noticing that this film received over a 90% on Rotten Tomatoes and its Best Picture nomination instantly elevated the bar of my expectations to the point where the heaviest man on earth could do the limbo underneath it. This is dangerous to do prior to a screening as I am almost always disappointed. This was no exception- I wanted nothing short of to love Her with a fiery, unbridled passion causing me to burst out the theater doors and rave about its awesomeness non-stop to all I encountered for the next two weeks, much to the dismay of all I encountered. Is that too much to ask? I didn't think so.

Being a contender for the coveted Best Picture Oscar instantly sets my mind to "over-analyze every film element" mode. I assume that if the Academy sees it as a true masterpiece of the cinema, it must have subtleties that film students could spend hours discussing. It got to the point where I thought "boy, they sure use the colors red and pink a lot. That MUST stand for something...hmmm...". Yeah, it probably stands for absolutely nothing. I also begin to read far too much into the underlying message of the film. Is it a critique of our increasing dependence on technology? An insight into the future dating world (match.com for robots?)? A commentary on how operating systems need to be treated better? All of the above? The takeaway from this review is I perhaps expected a bit too much and was therefore let down. Just be aware that it is a bit slow- if you go to see it, try to enjoy and not dissect every scene presented before you like I did. Then, you will certainly enjoy it. 

Bull's Eye, Target!

A breed of creature closely related to the Oompa Loompa's of Willy Wonka's factory must be running the operations of Target stores. Maybe little orange people with bright red shirts. I'm convinced of it- how else would I feel magical shivers tingling up and down my spine as I pursue aisle after aisle of seemingly ordinary items? It's either Ooma Loompa cousins or twinkling fairy dust. There is no other explanation.

What enchantment makes me feel like a kid in a candy store (as the saying goes) when I walk between two walls lined with office products? I don't feel awash with waves of relaxation when surrounded by produce and other food while at grocery stores, so why does being beside a banana warm me up inside at Target? It's not as if Target is a one-of-a-kind, miraculous, novel idea of a store. Au contraire, consumers can opt out and head to Walmart, Kmart, whatever prefix followed by "mart" you can imagine. Yet Walmart seems like a trashy warehouse selling crap made against all labor laws by children in third-world countries and sold for dirt cheap. Target takes the Walmart concept and totally classes it up. I mean come ON, they even sell designer clothing now (though I never see anyone buy it...).

Generally while traveling abroad, I am so awestruck and absorbing my surroundings like a dried-out sponge eager for moisture that I cannot dedicate even one moment to missing things back home. There is one exception to this, however; the desire to make a shopping trip at Target somehow invades my excitement at being in a new place. Once again, I blame the Oompa Loompa relatives and their fairy dust (probably on loan from Tinkerbell).

It cannot be as simple as the focus on the color red, can it? When I think red, the first place my mind leaps is anger, Spanish bullfights and ketchup (yeah, I need to go to therapy). It's DEFINITELY not their creepy mascot dog. I'm sorry, but whatever "genius" in the marketing department who thought up that one should be fired on the spot. Why would you not pick a cute breed like a Jack Russel? What kid growing up could resist Wishbone's charms (no one, according to him)? Hopefully I didn't just date myself too much with that reference...

You cannot tell me that THIS is cuter than Wishbone??

It also can't possibly be their bull's eye logo- that thing just looks like a stationary Eye of Sauron. Certainly not an inviting image, yet I understand where they were going with that idea- right on Target prices, every time you shop there you get a bull's eye, yadda, yadda...

Whatever it is, I cannot get enough of my Target fix! If I go longer than two weeks without bursting through those automatic doors, I start jonseing worse than a heroin addict in rehab. 

Watch Out for This Wolf, Little Red Riding Hood

If his previous films weren't proof enough, The Wolf of Wall Street provides sufficient evidence of Martin Scorsese's cinematic prowess. It is shocking that he made three hours in a theater seat literally "fly by", and even more shocking the things this film manipulated my mind to feel.

The Wolf of Wall Street chronicles the life of Jordan Belfort, albeit to an exaggerated degree (I hope to God, anyhow), the real-life New York swindling stock broker millionaire. He earned those millions by taking advantage of unsuspecting players in the stock market game and swindled the bills on countless hookers, enough drugs to tranquilize a pack of overweight elephants, multiple houses, a yacht... you get the picture. Some critics feel that this film glorifies such a lifestyle but I think they are missing the subtleties that make up the point- it is simply, in my opinion, a portrayal of a macho, testosterone-driven, shallow lifestyle somehow made acceptable by our society.

By some miraculous film miracle, I actually found myself empathizing with Belfort despite his uncountable list of heinous deeds. His partner, played by Jonah Hill, was only slightly less monstrous, yet I found myself "touched" by their strangely deep friendship. As Belfort would say, it's some "f***ed up s***" (actually, he would have sprinkled the phrase with a "c word" or two) to feel that way. That's the magic of good screenwriting coupled with convincing acting.

The cast of this film was bizarre. Random actors and actresses from movies dominating my childhood (Uncle Vernon from Harry Potter, one of the weird aunts from James and the Giant Peach, the main guy from that show where he got the newspaper one day early and saved people who died in the articles, etc.) kept popping up in the film. Everyone played their part perfectly, most notably our dear Mr. DiCaprio. What a loathsome embodiment of testosterone not even attempting to hide his filthy core... I can't stand that Belfort is not a concoction of the imagination.

A sign on the ticket counter warned me that The Wolf of Wall Street well-earned its R rating what with the pervasive language, frequent full-frontal nudity, sex, drug-use, blah-dee-blah. Yes. True. This film is not for the faint of heart. If you don't want to watch Leonardo DiCaprio throw little people at a dart board, beat up his wife, and snort line after line of cocaine through 100 dollar bills (often off the body parts of naked prostitutes) sometimes will already under the influence of quaaludes all while screaming every profanity you can imagine, skip this movie. But if you think there is even the slightest chance you can handle it, it is WELL worthwhile. It gets off to a running start and never really pauses until it beautifully wraps up after, as I said, three full hours, and it never skips a beat. Plus, they teach you all about quaaludes- I can't imagine all the useful things I can do with that newfound knowledge.

See- he really throws a little person at a dartboard... 

A Different Perspective

Guilty as charged: I am one of those reserved people emanating an unwelcoming aura screaming "LEAVE ME IN PEACE" when sitting in my seat on a plane. Or I thought I was, at least. That was until a recent flight and one of the most chatty seat neighbors I've ever experienced in my life. I can't tell you his name because he never told me and was never silent long enough for me to ask, but I can tell you just about every other detail of his long, eventful life.

I will never forget the first words that seat neighbor man spoke to me as he plopped down beside me: "well, one sardine can to the next I guess!" He was referring to the lack of space in modern airplane seating, of course, and to the fact that this was a continuation of the first leg of his trip. I can't even fathom the look that must have befallen my face but I know it must have portrayed anger, irritation, or some attractive combo of the two unpleasant emotions. Somehow I forged a smile, or at least a fraction of one, in the hopes that this gesture would be friendly but not so friendly it would encourage further interaction. The smile must have been more inviting than intended, as he then plunged into his life story, starting with informing me of his occupation as an elderberry farmer and listing the health benefits of the under-appreciated berry (his words). Prior to elderberries, he raised sheep- a very specific breed of sheep that did not require shearing (he then explained to me how many different breeds there are and their varying textures of fur/hair).

About an hour into the flight put us around an hour into his life story. At this point I learned that he was dressed in a full suit as he was en route to his sister's funeral. She lived just outside San Jose where he lived briefly himself while stationed at an air force base there. He met his first wife with whom he had two children but married her too young and they divorced. He met his second wife at a high school reunion and whisked her off her feet in a whirlwind dance. She worked as a teacher but traveled with him when he was deployed. They lived in Japan where they adopted two children, one of whom died in her forties due to poor diet leading to diabetes. They then lived in Greece, his favorite spot.

At this point, the plane hit a spot of turbulence and I gripped the tiny armrests so hard my knuckles whitened. This jarred my seat neighbor from his anecdote of the moment and he shifted his efforts to attempting to calm me down. "Young lady, do you think this pilot WANTS to die? No, he doesn't, and he is going to do his best to get us out of this. You know how turbulence works?" Then he was off and running with a full-on explanation of the physics of turbulence followed by stories of frightening flying maneuvers he experience in the air force.

At one point, he expressed to me how truly grateful he was to live his life exactly as he did- married to the love of his life (the second time), living where he lived all around the world, and as a recent Mormon convert. He then informed me how blessed he felt that he was "only shot at once, and they missed." What a great perspective on life! It forced me to think about my cushy life during which, I can gladly say, I have NEVER been shot at.

The joys of air travel!

Ron Burgundy is Back!

Ron Burgundy and his news team back in action is a welcome premise- it's been so long since filmgoers last enjoyed their crazy, often politically-incorrect antics. Yes, Ron Burgandy is looking a bit aged in this second installment of the Anchorman films, but that may have been more prominent in my mind as I recently watched Elf, starring a much younger Will Farrell as its protagonist. Christina Applegate also looked a lot older albeit just as attractive as always.

I enjoyed the second part of Anchorman about as much as I expected to. When I read that its running time pans over a length of two hours, I felt that this was a bit excessive to say the least for that type of goofy, crass comedy. Turns out I was right- a good 20-30 minutes could have easily been shaved off with a 5-blade cinematic razor with no damage done to the plot. It could have easily gone without an entire, draggy and not-funny sub-plot about Ron, his wife and son raising a great white shark named Dobby (there is even a ridiculously unnecessary musical number pertaining to this storyline). 

Anyone who enjoyed the first film will, at least to some degree, enjoy the second. There is nothing particularly noteworthy or fantastic about this addition, but I did find myself laughing out loud at certain jokes and I appreciated the plot revolving around how news first became sensationalist and not really about the news. I thought it was creative to pinpoint the moment journalism stopped being about the news on the actions of Ron and his compadres. There are crude jokes, racist jokes, and some jokes that went right over my head. This movie provides that which it is expected to provide- a nice, lighthearted escape from the seriousness of our everyday lives. 

Some people really should not get perms...