The dinosaur just heard there was a ruckus going on downtown, and he thought he would show up and lend a hand. Clearly, he is delighted at how good of a decision he made.
I saw the trailer for the new Where the Wild Things Are movie, and I highly recommend everyone take a peek. All I’ll say is it gave me goosebumps when I first saw it. The link to the YouTube trailer is here. It contains Arcade Fire and James Galdoflini. You’re welcome. My only complaint is the trailer is a bit misleading, I think, in suggesting that Maurice Sendak, the original author, wrote the film. The screenplay is actually credited to Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers, two fairly rocking dudes, but they also 100% aren’t Maurice Sendak.
A bit of tangental fun: YouTube, being the Internet demigod that it is, also suggested a few other clips I might like based on my previous browsing history. Not culled from my search for Where the Wild Things Are mind you, they were rather birthed from a combination of my life’s YouTube searches and my heart’s greatest desires. Meaning, of course, they all ended up being clips from Roadhouse. Go on, peer inside my soul.
Not much new in nerd news this week. I’ve been busy packing up my house, getting ready to move to a new place in a month or two. This week was devoted to going thorugh all my old artwork and short stories from college and before. Not that I’m churning out O’conner or anything right now, but I honestly can’t believe how horrible my writing used to be. I would repost some here, but I don’t want anyone to vicariously die from shame poisoning. Instead, let me paint a picture for you:
Imagine the most horribly violent scene you can think of. Do this twice more, then link everything togethter with a mix of poor transitions, depression and a healthy splash of pretentious misanthropy. Frame everything in an unusuallly uninteresting plot that revolves around “getting the girl” or “sticking it to the man,” and you have every story I ever wrote in college, minus about 9,000 unnecessary swear words.
I’ve moved many time in my life, and I have to say that the worst part of packing is digging through your old crap and having to face who you used to be. Oh well, nothing a few more comics about laser-breathing turkeys won’t fix I suppose.