George Lucas IS a Completely Useless Writer

I just saw some show on VH1 called When Star Wars Ruled the Earth. They discussed the only good bit of dialogue I was willing to credit to George Lucas ("I love you." "I know." Enter carbonite!) Turns out the scene was originally written "I love you." "I love you too." and Harrison Ford was the one to suggest to Irvin Kershner that Han Solo wouldn't be such a limp cheesedick in the moment and thought they should change the line to "I know." And so is flushed the last bit of credit I was willing to give Lucas. Too bad Natalie Portman and Hayden Christiansen (or anyone with talent) couldn't have stood up to Lucas enough to save Episode II or make Episode III what it could have been.

Edited to add: They also showed Harrison Ford commenting that he didn't think Return of the Jedi "had a very successful ending, with a teddy bear picnic" Why couldn't he have been in charge of Episodes I-III???

Also, they just showed "Superfans" and their Star Wars-themed WEDDINGS. One bride actually had the nerve (or complete loss of touch with reality) to say "I didn't want to go for the typical goober Star Wars wedding" Excuse me?!?!?!? You have Yoda as your ring-bearer and Stormtroopers as your groomsmen. What other type of Star Wars wedding IS THERE???

Bring the Funk

I have been in this weird funk lately. I don't think I'm actively unhappy, it's just that I seem to be realizing/remembering a lot of things in my life that I wish were different. Like my job. And maybe my ass.

Deep Throat Revealed!!! And not ugly 70's porn either. This holds particular sentiment for me since my parents didn't know I had learned to read until I picked up the newspaper and started reading bits about Nixon. What kind of parents don't know when their kid is learning to read, you ask? The kind of parents who will tell their kid that Sesame Street doesn't come in on the big new color tv and the kid will have to go watch it on the crappy black and white tv upstairs. And you wonder how I turned out as supahstah cool as I have.

Last night, perhaps in a subconscious desire to punish myself for imbalances in my life, I decided to sit through the movie Hannibal which was on USA. Now, I read the book when it first came out, and it was seven different shades of Jaded Self-Important Atrocious Crap. If you for some reason need to punish yourself by reading this book and don't want to know what happens, stop here. But the rest of you know (or don't care) that Thomas Harris basically phoned in 400 pages of dead boredom, and finished it off by having Lecter and Clarice dine happily on Krendler's brain, and then go travelling the world over shagging like bunnies. The movie was actually better than the book in that respect, but it still sucked BALLS. I might have to watch Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon tonight to cleanse my palate and make the awful go away.

I know you didn't miss the latest Old Navy skirts commercial, set to the fly tones of Superfreak. I just know the poor man is screaming even while spinning in his grave, "I'M RICK JAMES, BITCH!"

I don't really like to insult the viewpoints and opinions of another culture, but come on, Germany has to see my point of view while watching the footage of the Berlin Wall coming down - "this is GREAT...wow what a momentous occasion...what the hell is KNIGHT RIDER doing at the Berlin Wall?!??!?!?!?"

I know I have more to tell but for right now I'm tapped. Thank every power that be that it's Friday.