Super Zeroes

We went to see Captain America last night (it was really good, BTW). We haven't seen any of the super hero movies lately because they all look the same, based on the previews, but CA was fresh and interesting. Good performances without the big names. Anyway, I was surprised to see a preview for ANOTHER Spiderman movie. New guy, new girl, but basically the same story.

Is there nothing new under the sun? Can Hollywood not take a character and tell a new story about them, or better yet, come up with a new character? Some of my favorite comic-style movies are ones that are based on obscure stories (like Scott Pilgrim or The Watchmen) or else sort of spoof these other comic movies that take themselves so seriously (yeah, Batman, I'm looking at YOU). So in the spirit of Handi-Man, Kickass and Mystery Men, I offer up some alternative characters for Hollywood's consideration:

Weight Watcher's Woman - This average-sized heroine will serve a dual purpose. On the one hand, she will fight the Temptation, the evil allure of chocolate, ice cream, and fried foods. She will burn Calories, cut Fat, and eliminate Carbs. She will also provide a positive role model for the size 12s, 14s and 16s everywhere, showing that a little stick-sized 0 would be blown away by these hard-to-vanquish villains.

Next is Family Man. He has six hands because he has so much to do. One might hold a hammer, another a diaper bag, a third has the remote. What else could he have? Briefcase, checkbook, frying pan, baseball, kids' drawing, car keys, book, weed eater? Family Man fights a hydra sort of villain that's made up of his job, the economy, bills, home and car repairs, past mistakes, future worries, and a toddler.

And finally, Fashionista (I think we need more female superheroes). She will be a parody of herself, bringing down her nemeses by clocking them with her Jimmy Choos, braining them with her magic Kate spade, or blinding them with Bling. She can do all of this without breaking a nail or getting a hair out of place (due to Super Product).

There. You're welcome, Hollywood. Go write me some new stories.

Roughing it

I grew up camping, and I enjoy it. I have no problem cooking over a fire or camp stove, sleeping on the ground, or peeing in the woods. I have carried a pack roughly a third my own weight, I've gone for a few days with no access to running water (and then showered at a truck stop. No regrets.), and I have gotten so nasty-sweaty-muddy that the Deep Woods OFF! was a joke; no self-respecting bug would have come near me.

In spite of all that, as I get older, I find that camping is losing some of its appeal. Some of that is because there aren't many places you can camp where you aren't surrounded by asshats who don't seem to understand the difference between a National Park and their neighborhood bar. Seriously, one time these guys kept their car engine running for EIGHT HOURS because they had a full-sized computer plugged into the cigarette lighter so they could play video games (obviously this was awhile ago). My point is, while we don't rule out backpacking for a few days, and we incorporate a tent into our road trips, we lean towards creature comforts when we can.

Take this trip, for example. We just got back from New Mexico (cool weather. rain. bliss.). David wanted to take the dogs, so camping was a possibility until they closed the national forest due to fire danger. Hotels traditionally frown on shrieking puppies and shedding pitbulls, so we opted for a cabin. We'd had a good experience with the cabins at Buffalo River last Thanksgiving, so we figured we'd give it a shot. And for what we payed, I was impressed - full kitchen, spotlessly clean, ample room and quiet. The bathroom was tiny; but it had a shower, toilet and sink, so what more do you need, right? The whole atmosphere was relaxing, and just what we needed.

But here's the thing: within fifteen minutes of getting home, I was in the shower. My OWN shower, where I didn't elbow the wall while lathering my hair. Where I could use four kinds of soap and a back brush. Where the water pressure was constant. It's not that the cabin lacked any amenities we needed; it's just that, I guess, there's no place like home. And more than anything else about camping or traveling, I love feeling squeaky clean and sweet smelling. So although we weren't in a four-star hotel on this trip, the roughest thing that came out of it are my heels, from wearing sandals. I'm going soft, caring about rough spots.

Baby, you're a firework

Most of the firework stands around here were shut down this year, because of the fire danger. And when I say "around here," I mean the ones that are 20-30 minutes away, in the rural counties, since in the city fireworks are technically illegal (for more "technically illegal" fireworks fun, go here). We usually go to the one by the farm and get about $20 worth, set off a few, and save the rest for "later." Except later only comes around once every few years, so we pretty much just have a big stash that sits in my closet. Occasionally we’ll get bored and decide to shoot a few off. Of course, we have the old favorites like roman candles and fountains and spinners and whatever, but every once in awhile we try something new.

You know how firework stands always have those specials - buy 10, get 10 free, or buy 2 boxes of these cool things and get 2 boxes of things we can’t get rid of? So one year I did that, and I ended up with 2 boxes of...some kind of missile. I say 2 boxes, but they were really just 2 individual fireworks. I mean, you couldn’t just pull one out and light it, you had to light the box, and there were like 16 or 20 missile-looking things in there. It didn’t really say what they did, and we figured it was just a bunch of loud poppers, like lighting a bunch of M80s. (I know, the "missile" shape really should have tipped us off, but it didn’t. Shut up.) Loud popping is sort of boring unless you’re trying to scare someone, so these sat in the bag for a few years before we were bored enough to try them.

My husband and I each took a box out front, and figured we’d light them in the middle of the street, which was pretty deserted in terms of traffic, in case there were any sparks that might land on a roof or yard. I had grabbed the aim-n-flame on the way out, so he told me to go ahead & light mine first. It was a short fuse, maybe an inch and a half or so, so I lit it and backed up pretty quickly. When it got to the box, there was a loud POP, pretty much like we’d thought, but then something launched way up in the air with the loudest WHHEEEEE you ever heard. Then another pop, whistle, then another.

Shit.

I turned around to ask my husband what I should do (like there’s much I COULD do at that point), and he’s not there. In fact, he has taken his box of missiles and headed back to the house, where he’s hovering just at the door, in case anyone starts coming out looking like they’re going to call the cops. I don’t feel like I can just leave, with this thing sending up anti-aircraft from the middle of the street where anyone could run over it, so I have to stand there, while all 20 of those things, one after another, launch with a bang and a whistle. Meanwhile, SOMEONE is up on the porch practically peeing his pants with laughter at the fact that I’m about to set someone’s roof on fire or get arrested.

As soon as it was over, I grabbed the box and hustled inside. No one ever said anything, but I think we threw the other one away. I’m sticking to sparklers from now on. Oh, wait - I have a story about them too.