Lands End, San Francisco, California 2017
And here, the same picture in glorious color. Isn’t Lightroom grand?
I wish you all a safe and happy New Years. May 2018 bring better things than 2017 which, let’s face it, can’t end soon enough.
Plot: Police officer Dogman (half man, half dog) clashes with nemesis Petey the cat across four independent chapters and 200+ pages of boldly illustrated graphics.
Child Enjoyment: 10/10 A euphoric mix of madcap hijinks and crude humor. For a certain type of child, it’s kiddie catnip. My child is totally the target demographic..
Parental Enjoyment: 4/10 I am not the target demographic. I was maybe never the target demographic.
Age Appropriate: The six-year-old LOVES it.
Pain Factor: Yeah, okay, so here’s the thing about Dogman:
Have you ever read a book out loud to your kid, aware, even as the words are leaving your mouth, that you have just unintentionally uploaded some undesirable content into their lexicon? That’s Dogman. My son’s personal favorite (and there were oh-so-many to choose from): “Me go boom boom in my panties.” Boy, does he think that’s some funny shit. You might too. Now, however, imagine that phrase repeated during Thanksgiving dinner. At the doctor’s office. To the Starbucks barista. As it turns out, there are so many potential forums.
On the other hand, the kid loves the book, and part of the reason why he loves the book is because “Somebody pooed in your office!” is a typical plot point. The kid loves Dogman so much he sat and read an entire chapter out loud to me this evening. It took him half an hour, but darned if he didn’t plough through the whole thing mostly unassisted. That’s some kind of miracle. How bad can a book be if it encourages a 6-year-old to read?
Then again: “Me go boom boom in my panties.”
Story Assessment: According to the book’s conceit, Dogman was written and illustrated by George and Harold, the fourth-grade auteurs who also brought you the adventures of Captain Underpants. In keeping with this conceit, the pictures are charming, graphic and unsophisticated, and the word choice, well, choice. The book is divided into four independent Dogman adventures, all with similar structures. A villain – usually the dastardly Petey the cat, or a henchman thereof – uses some wacky new technology to wreck havoc upon the town. Mad hijinks ensue, before Petey is ultimately subdued by Dogman and returned to jail. I repeat: the child finds it all very enjoyable.
In summation: I want my kid to love to read, and if what he loves to read is Dogman, so be it.
You can buy Dogman by George and Harold – I mean, by Dav Pilkey – at Amazon.
I have a new tripod for Christmas, and took it out to Monterey to give it a shot. The tripod worked great, but after I got home, I realized that I had a technical issue I hadn’t considered. The technical problem was that no matter how still the water is, the boats still move a little bit. The boat movement becomes pretty pronounced when the exposure is long. Live and learn.
It turns out, though, that my camera can pick up the stars, even with all the light, if processed correctly. I don’t know much about processing right now, so I don’t yet know how to bring out the stars without blowing out other parts of the picture. Here are my efforts:
Darker, with fewer stars
More stars, but kind of blown out otherwise
I took this photograph while visiting Munich in 2015. We were in a rush, and I didn’t get the picture I really wish I had gotten, which was the view from the beach. Instead I got my picture from the bridge, resulting in a photograph that was largely water. You have to look at it a little while to see why I wanted take this picture, and what amused me so much about the scene, which was that all of these people were sunbathing in front of an ancient church. Ah well. Next time, Munich. Next time.
Plot: A literal bad seed tells his tale of woe, and mostly mends his ways.
Child Enjoyment: 9/10 Bad seeds are funny.
Parent Enjoyment: 8/10 Clear and to the point, with no wasted words and bold, charming pictures. Also, bad seeds are funny.
Age Appropriate: The six-year-old feels a real kinship to the bad seed.
Pain Factor: Delightfully low. I die a little on the inside when my kid brings me excessively wordy picture books to read. You know the kind – full of adjectives, adverbs, and fussy dialogue attributions. Who needs that stuff when a book has pictures? No one, that’s who. What a picture book needs, at least where a little boy is concerned (or, at least, where my little boy is concerned) is action, humor, or a combination of action and humor. The only thing this book doesn’t have that my kid craves is bodily function humor but hey, no one’s perfect.
In my opinion, the book is well written. It utilizes clear, evocative language. The pictures are charming too. I’m a fan. The kid is also a fan. This is what we call a win win, people.
Story Assessment: A bad seed (a baaaaaaaad seed) recounts the litany of his bad acts, including such sins as not putting things away, failing to wash, and telling long jokes with no punch lines. (By this metric, my own child is the worst of bad seeds.) The bad seed explains how he came to be so bad – a sad story that involves falling from his sunflower and being packaged for consumption at a baseball game – before abruptly pivoting to his decision to try to be a better seed. No joke, the seed’s trauma is real. My only quibble with this book – and I almost never say this – is that I wish it was longer. If only our bad seed had a few extra pages to experience his epiphany, instead of abruptly announcing his reformation! Now that would be quality literature.
In summation: I would read this book again. And have. Five times in a row, just this afternoon.
You can buy The Bad Seed by Jory John and Pete Oswald on Amazon.
Note: I don’t get paid for any of this, which makes this an honest-to-goodness, real deal positive review. It would be swell if I did get paid, of course, but come on. Even my mother doesn’t read this blog.
Plot: In which Lightning McQueen goes searching for his lost mojo in all the usual places. An excessive number of usual places.
Child Enjoyment: 8/10. Cars are cool.
Parental Enjoyment: 5/10. B-list Pixar visuals are at least as enjoyable as A-list Dreamworks animation.
Age Appropriate: On the nose for a six-year-old.
Pain Factor: Could be worse. I’m not into cars, and I’m not a member of any other demographic that might be attracted to a movie about cars. I can’t speak to what that demographic is, beyond children of course, but this movie has its fair share of characters with folksy drawls who live in small towns, listen to country music, attend demolition derbies, and dream of the big time, which happens somewhere in Florida. Make of that what you will. As someone who doesn’t speak with a folksy drawl, live in a small town, listen to country music, attend demolition derbies, or have any desire to go to Florida, I think it’s safe to say that if I can make it through such a movie without squinting too often at my watch, it can’t be all bad. “It can’t be all bad,” is exactly the sort of low bar a kid’s movie has to clear for me to recommend it to other long-suffering parents. Mission accomplished, Cars 3.
Story Assessment: I actually saw this movie in the theater. The deal with seeing a movie in the theater is that, unlike at home, where I’m on the computer, or on the phone, or on the computer and on the phone while the movie is playing, in the theater I am forced to actually pay attention to what’s going on. I’m not about to be that asshole who messes with my phone during the movie, even if the movie is only Cars 3, and I’m sitting alone but for my offspring in the very last row of the theater. I may or may not choose this seat every time, on the off chance that the movie is so abysmal that I can’t help myself. Hasn’t happened yet, but I like to keep my options open.
And as I sat through the Cars 3 matinee, I couldn’t help but feel like this movie had been written by committee, in the same way, say, as a piece of legislation is written by committee. In order to achieve final approval, everyone on the committee had to have their interest addressed. Someone on the committee wanted to talk about the importance of mentoring. Someone else on the committee wanted to talk about facing and surmounting personal limitations. A third person had something to say about issues of equality. Somebody wanted to talk about middle age ennui. And retirement. Also, sports.
The movie also clearly had to hit some predetermined, inorganic plot points, maybe to meet expectations of the genre, or of certain animators. McQueen needed to win some races. He needed to lose some races. He needed a character or two to conflict with, however weakly outlined (and they were pretty weak, which was a total waste of Nathan Fillion and Armie Hammer). He and his newfound sidekick, failed racer-turned-trainer Cruz Ramirez, had to search out a new mentor for McQueen (his old mentor, the late, great, Paul Newman, having moved onto that great parking lot in the sky). They needed to attend a demolition derby. They needed to drive in the Grand Canyon, or its equivalent. McQueen needed to visit the town from the first movie. He needed to talk, briefly, to his otherwise superfluous girlfriend from the first movie. It goes on and on. It’s really quite extensive.
In the end, McQueen achieves some kind of resolution: After meeting up with his new mentor, honing his skills as best as he is able, and fending off threats of forced retirement from his new sponsor, McQueen is forced to admit, sorta, that his best days may be behind him. McQueen wins the right to quit racing when he feels like it, turning his attention increasingly to the mentoring of Cruz.
In short, it’s sort of the plot of Mr. Baseball. But with cars. For six-year-olds.
In summation, I have spent worse 109 minutes in movie theaters before. That’s some kind of success, I guess.
Z: I’m going to get you a Christmas present. Guess what it is.
Me: I have no idea.
Z: It starts with a C. And ends with an R.
Me: You’re getting me a car?
Z: No. Guess again.
Me: Colors?
Z: The last two letters are dr.
Me: Um…
Z: It’s electronic.
Me: You’re getting me a computer?
Z: Yes!
Me: Where are you getting a computer from?
Z: I’m going to call Aunt Emma on the phone and ask her to give me one for free. For you.
Me: That’s a very nice idea, but Aunt Emma can’t give you a computer for free.
Z: No, not Aunt Emma, that place she works for.
Me: I get what you’re saying, but still, Apple isn’t going to give Aunt Emma a computer to give to you to give to me for free.
Z: Are you sure?
Me: Pretty sure. It’s a very nice thought, though. What if you just make me one out of paper?
Z: That’s a great idea!
Because really, who needs Apple when you have scissors? Also, I feel compelled to admit, it took 3 or 4 variations on “scissors” to get close enough to the correct spelling that spellcheck could get me the rest of the way there.
Mr. Z visits visits Dublin. I have no idea what this pose was about.
I took my camera to the local holiday lane recently. This house is one of my favorites, in large part because of the luminaries. I took this picture with my Fuji.
I am learning (slowly) about post-processing. I mostly rely on pre-sets at the moment. My son liked the version (posted above) better than the HDR version (posted below). He thinks the HDR version looks too much like a painting. I am inclined to agree, but you can be the judge.
Ever wonder whether Christmas is celebrated on the Death Star? My neighborhood is here for you.
Happy holidays from the dark side.
