The Cabin in the Woods - Review (☆☆☆☆)

          Recommending a new film is incresadingly rare—not quite as rare as having an enjoyable conversation with a stranger; but definitely rarer than having an enjoyable conversation with a stranger younger than the minimum legal age to become president.

          The Cabin in the Woods is a wonderful blend of scares and humor, orchestrated for people who have already seen at least fifty frightful films in their life.  This is not to say it's a comedy; it definitely will be found in the horror section wedged between Identity and Devil.  And, I'm not saying (yes I am) that if you have only seen a small dozen scary movies in your life that you're mentally unprepared to see this film (woefully so) and, if that were the case, that you wouldn't be affected by the make-you-jump-parts (of course you'll still be a-scared) or wouldn't enjoy the lighter moments (you'll giggle) but unless you have already attended Camp Crystal Lake near Haddonfield, Illinois, watched videos with Masami and Tomoko, and perused the Naturan Demonta...you will be unable to savor the miasma of ingredients that were expertly combined  in order to fabricate the broth and bones of the soup. 

          The last funny horror film I recommended, Rubber, was a foreign film in every way except dialogue (which may be confusing, but no more than the film—in its entirety—is intentionally confusing).  Before that, I recommended the Korean monster film, Gwoemul, as containing just the right amount of humor and fear.  If I were asked to say only one thing about exceptional American horror films, it would be: they have very few peers.  The Cabin in the Woods has now joined those ranks.

Another Corpse

Fabric of Space - To Point Out - pending - the curb appeal
muggy | SkyWookiee | odefinierad | veach

also:
exquisite corpse explained
2009 corpse

For my wife who was once my fiancée (who was bona fide)

          I learned, just recently, of my love's pterodactyl preference.

          Due to profanity this is NSFW or when children are within earshot.

 

you still only get what you pay for

          Our coffee maker broke in the last move.  For the last six months we've used a french press.  A few days ago we were skulking around a large chain department store—rationalizing our guilt by focusing on our budget (both of which we pronounce as if we were René Magritte or Marcel Duchamp...targé, budgé) when we stumble upon a 12-cup coffee maker.  For ten dollars.

          On the box it listed: warming plate, removable filter basket, and automatic shut off valve.   At home, it bore an uncanny resemblance to a coffee maker.  It had a real looking plug which fit snugly into an electric wall outlet; a small switch which lit up when it was turned from 'off' to 'on'; a receptacle for the cold water as well as one for a filter containing ground coffee. 

          Although it boiled water, not very much entered the filter basket.  The amount of water which did mix with the grounds was, for the most part, not able to drain into the warm pot and—instead—seeped over the edge.
 
          I now own an authentic looking replica of a coffee machine which is both objet trouvé and inexpensive reminder.

          In this picture it is 3/4 full of coffee, which was made in our french press.

          Note:  click on the images for their derivations.

Dear Bethesda Game Studios,

KARA

          This short film (from the Heavy Rain game studio) is intended to unveil their current motion capture ability.  Although it isn't—unfortunately—a teaser for their next PS3 game, it is a very effective measure of how fantastically high they're setting the bar regarding: story, character, direction, script, and cinematography.  I admire anyone (I still use singular blame) who can cause me to empathize with their character in five minutes.

Fistful of Silence by Markus Feder

For The Remainder by Omer Ben David

For the future is gated, and there are tolls to be paid.

          Oh, what a wondrous sentence.  I tripped over it at the terminus of the short fiction, We Show What We Have Learned.  Although the metaphorical story (written by Clare Beams) was deftly crafted, it was her insightfully essomenic bumper-post sentence which brought me pause. 

          I paid my first toll exactly thirty years ago.  Up to that point I'd been clumsily sketching together a future which included a degree in art followed by a job which would utilize my creativity.  I'd been tracing my future on the skein of selfish privilege in the ridiculous naïveté of youth (qualities, both invisible in the mirror but soon to become extremely clear in my backlight).  Inside the echo of a single conversation in February of '82, I permitted my future to be shanghaied and—subsequently—dropped out of college, joined the army, and became an infantryman.

          Navigating through life's toll gates must be something of a forte; adapt or become trapped.

lex parsimoniae

          Abstract of Magnetic alignment in grazing and resting cattle and deer found here.  Full paper found here.  These "scientists" forgot about wolves and, obviously, Occam's razor.    

Other posts on fuzzy, pseudo, or bad science:

Dear fuzzy headed faces from prestigious places,

Must a bellydancer driving a pink truck be female?

How Many Chicken-Little Wridiots Crying Wolf Does It Take?