Archive for May 13th, 2008

Smallville In Extremis

Tuesday, 13 May 2008

It’s sheer kryptonite masochism to even write about Smallville anymore. The last 3 episodes have been as dismal as the previous.

Jimmy Olsen as 007/Bourne – Another “20 hours earlier” crapfest. My favorite part is when Olsen soundlessly drops from an AC duct. Must be a great feeling to start out an aw-shucks camera-wielding doofus only to discover you’re a ninja who can dance like Arthur Murray when forced into service by an agent of the “Department of Domestic Security.”

What if? – What if Clark had never made it to earth for some reason? Who knows, nobody bothered to come up with an interesting answer. Clark and his idiot super-cheekboned cousin can’t dodge a bullet across the room just because it’s made with kryptonite. This after countless previous seasons’ encounters where Clark had time to yawn and cook eggs at superspeed while various bullets crawled out of the ends of guns. If k-bullets were all it took to kill him, every villain would have such a gun.

Once again, Rosenbaum finds himself in the natty ironic all-white Apocalypse suit while the same footage of Judgment Day missiles from Terminator 3 gets re-used. Whew! That saves us writers like, a whole minute of creating anything new!

Then we’re treated to one of the most absurd scenes in the entire series’ history when Clark holds his baby self and places him in the ship that will carry him to earth! Is this still a dream? If not, where are Jor-El and Lara? Why does Clark lose his powers 2 seconds after skipping through the portal to Krypton? (Yes, I know about the red sun, but only kryptonite drains him that fast, otherwise, he loses his powers slowly).

(We interrupt this review with a mini-rant about Brainiac. This fucking plot irritant has never been given a solid background or explanation as to why it’s programmed to be evil, nor does Clark EVER try querying the Fortress crystals/Snore-El for answers about how to defeat it [or fly]).

The current episode where Lex follows yet another MacguffinI don’t know what to say about the “Veritas” plotline other than that it’s dumb. Just…dumb.

Wait…my super-hearing is picking up a meeting of Smallville’s writing team…

Smallville Writer #1: ….so we make Lionel part of this secret society that knew about Clark “The Traveler” all along!

Smallville Writer #2: But that makes no sense! It negates whole seasons’ worth of build-up! What about the Malachi caves?

Smallville Writer #3: Kawachi caves, dummy. Malachi was the name of the brothers in Happy Days that tried to crush the Fonz in a demolition derby. Thus, the Malachi Crunch.

SW#1: How did you know that?

SW#3: I’ve got internet access on my Sprint Gigapump Phonetextthingy! Everything you need!

SW#2: Shit. I’d have known that but I left my Sprint Gigapump Phonetextthingy in my Toyota Yaris. It’s sitting between the Yaris’s standard dual airbags and mp3 jack, right next to my pack of Stride Penguinmint Gum!

SW#1: AS I WAS SAYING, Lionel was part of this Secret Society along with Christopher Reeve, I mean, Virgil Swan. We just make everyone a part of this Secret Society in order to fill in any plot holes we missed: Swan, Margot Kidder, Chloe’s Mom Lynda Carter, The Queens, Lois’s Dad The General, Lana’s Parents, The Olsens, The Olsen Twins, The Trumps, The Jeffersons, The Bunkers, The Flintstones–

SW#2: —The Kents. (The other two look at him.) No? You said everyone! What’s the name of this Secret Society, anyway?

SW#1: I don’t know, but it’s got to be something Latin. Yaritas?

SW#3: Worry about that later. This Secret Sprint society will be the reason Lionel was always busy and ignoring Lex! Even though we’re not mentioning it till now!

SW#1: Because up until now it was a secret!

SW#2: What about when Lionel was made a Kryptonian vessel by Jor-El and won that episode’s superpowers lottery? Didn’t he get all of the answers right then? How could be give a crap about the Stride Gum Society after learning everything?!

SW#1: The answer to that, my friends, is simple. We kill off Lionel.

SW#2: Can’t we just make him blind again? Or shave his head in slow motion? That was cool.

SW#3: All right, let’s get started. We need another villain this week. The rebel vampire guy from Buffy?

SW#1: What the hell! It’s lunchtime! I’m having a salad! A very-tossed salad!

SW#2: Did you just say “veritas?” Isn’t that Latin?


This week we got a dose of “The Doctor” from Voyager as the last survivor of Veritas. Once again a mere mortal gets the drop on Clark–who can move at a speed par with light–by opening a secret lead compartment on his staff, revealing that all-purpose plot device, kryptonite. Oh well, even Clark’s not fast enough to speed away from lazy writing.

There was one cool moment this episode: the workings of the creepy CGI clock. spoiled only by the rest of the episode surrounding it. One cool moment in an hour (40 minutes, if you have Tivo) ain’t enough. Lest you challenge my opinion of the lameness, when Clark speeds out of the church the candles near the doorway don’t even flutter.

Coming up next week, it appears Lex, after weeks of chasing Super Macguffins around the globe, finally discovers the Fortress and possibly Clark’s “secret” now known by at least 10 or more people. Incidentally, the Fortress of “Solitude” has seen almost as many guests as the rent-controlled apartments on Friends.

I don’t know how finding the Fortress will enable Lex to ‘control’ Clark when NO ONE, including SuperBlonde Cheekbones who lived on Krypton for many years, knows how to operate it. The thing must’ve been made in China as it’s provided ZERO help from the day it was created. You’ve got the last remnant of an advanced world and civilization yet the writers can’t make a single compelling story around it. That, friends, is a total load of Stride.

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My world a toilet, you in it

Tuesday, 13 May 2008

Never did get back to you about frolf. Mac, a buddy from work one level above Acquaintance, his 3-year-old son, another guy and I went frolfing 2 weeks ago. Despite my rant, Mac’s boy was a cute well-behaved urchin except when he rolled off a bench and landed face-first in the dirt (he was OK).

The game of frolf requires strategy, skill, etc. I can’t imagine who came up with it or why since unlike bowling it’s a poor excuse to drink, though you’re walking often and far in hot weather.

I went frolfing again this morning after staying up very late on my “Friday” last night. I was late to pick-up Mac, who this time came alone. He’d wanted me to bring some weed….because I was late to get him, I brought a J along, but when he got in my car he already stank of the shit.

We went to a different park, much bigger with longer throwing distances (most holes were 3 or 4 par) and once again I borrowed a disc from Mac.

During the 3rd or 4th hole I sent his disc into a wide ditch filled with knee-high water. I was fully ready to buy him a new one but I’ll be damned, he waded in there, treading carefully along the clear, slimy bottom and got it. After that I didn’t do as well as last time. The water traps defeated any boldness I had, or had left.

The breeze was cool but it was still a disgusting humid Florida morning. Before and after the water trap incident, Mac kept hitting me up for the J. As it’s easy to out-argue a stoner I deflected his rap. I was disgusted that he kept asking for more after he already stank like a bong in a hippy’s den and I was already pissed about having to carry the shit in my car. The draconian punishments the State metes out to stoners it should be giving to child molesters, but that’s nothing to argue about after you’re pulled over. I didn’t want my car seized and shit job lost over a fucking joint, as well as being arrested by some dumbass cop who smoked plenty more weed in high school than the amount I did (none).

Yes, after the water trap my heart wasn’t in it anymore. After 5 holes we left the park and went to the local store that dealt solely in frolf sporting goods.

There were 30,000 or more discs in there, neatly stacked in crates separated by tabbed dividers. It looked like a record store, if records meant sleeveless albums of fat neon wax. I couldn’t believe all the shit in there. For a made-up sport, frolf has all the trappings of a real one, including a poster of its friendly jug-eared pro champion, Ken Climo (pronounced KLEE-mo).

The shop’s owner was a slightly chubby but cute chick. For the record I’d rather have fucked the proprietor of this establishment than ever play frolf again. But life has a way of rolling you forwards long after you’ve died inside, so I bought two frolf discs for $15, savoring the $1 discount. The Frolf-chick remembered Mac from his last visit though he didn’t think she would. He’d set himself apart by being stung by a bee in a park. She remembered.

I got rid of Mac fast after that. I had shit to do today and no more time to waste.

I don’t know what to do about frolf. I learned what I needed to know, mainly that I don’t have a secret talent or gift for it. Odds are before reading this you’d never heard of Climo, but as the Tiger Woods of Frolf, he probably makes 30 to 40K a year, not counting endorsement deals.

That’s what I’d like, I think, a well-paying but not too-well-paying career where I’m famous or interesting to only a few and no one else on earth gives a fuck. Kind of like blogging.