Man of Steel Review…


I will preface this post with a very, very important disclaimer — I am NOT a movie buff. In fact, I hardly have the attention span to sit still in a restaurant for more than 45 minutes, or to enjoy a regular conversation for over 10 exchanges. …Perhaps that’s a bit extreme.

Additionally, I have never read a single DC or Marvel comic strip in my life. But I was raised and heroically trained by a most adamant superhero lover, who occasionally ties a towel around his neck and calls our family dog “Robin.” My father can be considered the guru of all things involving radioactivity, space exploration, and power struggles in graphic literature. …Also, not quite.

I digress. Let us seat my uncanny knowledge of superheroes before a 2 hour Hollywood film. That’s essentially what occurred. Superman- the invincible, the alien, the man of steel- suddenly became a squirming lab rat of a psychological specimen. Superman is now wearing a shroud of loneliness and despair. And don’t feed me that, “You just don’t want to see Superman cry” bullshit. Guess what? HISTORICALLY, HE DOESN’T.

Guys. I don’t care how drop dead gorgeous Henry Cavill is (and always has been – I have loved him FOOO’ EVA). The only accurate progression was the explosive and violent destruction of Metropolis during the epic fight battle. Cyclones of glass shards, crushed bodies, dust covered heaps of cement… and our hero, streaking into the next edifice with General Zod’s head secured under his armpit.

Ok, so you wanted to “modernize” a timeless, fictional comic character, who is also an ALIEN (i.e., not human, lacking identical neurological architecture and thus psychological capabilities). Suddenly, he possesses his entire species’ genetic code (ripping off the human genome project, eh?). Suddenly, Jorel. Suddenly, the Fortress of Solitude is not as such, but is a “Genesis Chamber.” Suddenly, Lois FUCKING Lane is blonde.

What part of eternally and snarkily brunette did you NOT understand? “Lois Lane” tends to go synonymously with short, dark hair. This fair-haired film “Lois” was only a sarcastic bitch for the first 3 minutes of her entrance (INTO said Genesis Chamber, mind you). How could you veto such a classic rule in the Superman legacy?!

General inconsistencies with the situation on Krypton also manifested themselves. I won’t spoil all the failure, but let me say this much – it is solely our yellow sun in this solar system that powers SUperman. Not the fucking composition of the air. Not the sun’s “youth.” If the MoS writers knew ANYTHING AT ALL about astronomy, they’d be aware that young stars are actually on the bluer end of the spectrum, and our sun is yellow-green, slowly approaching the END of its stellar life.

At the end of the day, after an excruciatingly long and loud one-on-one brawl with General Zod, my dude actually KILLS THIS MOTHERFUCKER. He snaps his vertebral column in one swift twist of the C-spine. Since when does Superman kill anyone? Especially someone who is supposed to be tragically committed to the Phantom Zone? So you’re telling me… that for the past TWO HOURS THAT I’VE BEEN FUCKING SITTING HERE [QUIETLY], Superman will go against every “good” strand of morality he stands for, and kill his own kind? And you want me to also believe that General Zod’s C-spine is his Achilles heel?

And let’s backtrack and discuss the Phantom Zone, briefly. Why would Kryptonian officials “condemn” Zod and his henchmen to 300 cycles in the Phantom Zone while their planet is about to die? You just preserved your criminals. And all that talk of genetics and preserving the “best lines”… you JUST SAVED YOUR SCUM. I don’t care that the writers attempted to implement an Orwellian utopia on Krypton, with predetermined births that forced Zod to become the ultimate savior for his race. That was incredibly full of stupid.

Man of Steel can be likened to a theoretical and disastrous lovechild of Batman Begins and Spiderman I (with Tobey tobez). It was chock full of psychological trauma and emotional struggle, and moral training to become a superhero. “With great power comes great responsibility,” says Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben… NOT THE KENTS. WTF. They instilled in young Clark a sense of solitude and hope, promising him that he and his powers were destined for carefully planned greatness.

I feel like I can go on forever. Did I mention how shaky the camera was throughout the entire film? I wondered if they ran out of capital for tripods after paying a heavy salary Amy Blonde Fucking Adams, to stare doe-eyed at Henry Cavill.

Man of Steel Review…

Persistent Ontological Ponderings

Tonight is one of those nights when I feel the transience of my life down to the cells spitting out my bone marrow.

These are most unfortunate nights.

We went to a 25th anniversary vow renewal tonight, and got to discussing our own very-future permanent, legal bond. Counting the years until our schooling finally comes to an end almost made my hairs stand up. I’d never really thought about it in perspective; I’ll be ready to live a real adult life by the end of 2015. We will be that much older, with so many years still ahead to accomplish standard things (like create a beautiful daughter or buy a house upstate) and personally preferred things (like stay awake for 48 hrs in Ibiza or hike through a rainforest).

But where does all this stuff fit in around the daily 9-5, at that point? I’m supposed to be enjoying him and our life now, but instead, I’m worrying about every second ahead.

This probably sounds jumbled; these are my pre-serotonin flux thoughts. Gute Nacht.

Persistent Ontological Ponderings

My wanderlust is eating me alive. Someone, please fondle it?

I want to get it tattooed on my forehead. But that is FAR TOO mainstream, and absolutely, understandably un-hirable. 

But, wanderlust. It’s really quite true – this compound noun is straight out of a German textbook. Wander and lust – combine two words of any lexical category to create a new content word. Wanderlust. Insatiable desire to roam.

That is what I have, at the most inopportune time. Once again, self-diagnosing. I’m nailed into place with my seasonal 9-5, and then I will be safely crucified in Washington Sq Park for the next 2 years, studying for my Masters degree. Conveniently, a study abroad trip awaits me next summer. So I’ll have to tame my wanderlust for the time being, feeding it a nice vibrator made out of Benjamin stacks, until I can actually get on an aircraft and relieve my craving overseas.

For now, daily adventures on the NYC subway will have to do. What a drag.

My wanderlust is eating me alive. Someone, please fondle it?

I’m Angry at the Prompts Now

What was the one experience that completely changed your life? What happened? How did it change your life?

What kind of shallow, unfeeling, unthinking human being believes that a single experience can completely alter your daily happenings?! Life is a compilation of experiences, which you internalize, and then you can learn a thing or two, or regress… or remain stagnant. The latter is not relevant to this post, but merely supports the fact that experiences can build up and plateau, crumble, or skyrocket. None of this YOLO/out of body shit.

I’m Angry at the Prompts Now


A pain somewhere between my ribs


As I begin to realize that I am not alone

In mortality.

But the flesh dressing your

Beautiful, beautiful bones

Will one day also cease to grant your life its motion.

And I feel sickened —

Deep within, to contemplate the state of Earth

Without you on it.

Shallow breath tries to fill my lungs

As I imagine your soft skin in its clothes,

Out of its clothes,

Pressed against my body,

Being held and holding.

Your lips.

Oh, your lips! 

And I love your skeleton just as much as every other part

You claim as your own.

But bones alone will never be 

Enough for me.

What of us?

You, me — the totality of our flesh and bones,

All of our passion,

And every last kiss.

What then, my love?

And my greatest anxiety thus takes form —

Where will we be when neither exists?

Will I still remember?