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Thursday, December 26, 2002
Merry Christmas to everyone! I hope yours went well. Congrats to Matt and Chrissy on their bundle of Christmas Joy! What a gift huh? I only found a lump of coal in my stocking...... Anyway, here is a little Christmas tale. It's a little goofy, but so am I. I dedicate it to my beautiful little girls, and my wonderful wife who is always my source of inspiration in all things. I love you, Angel. CHRISTMAS WISH by Shawn Joseph Douglas Christmas was near. As always, the workshop bustled with energy, as everyone added overtime to their overtime. If you walked into it, the chatter coming from all around could be close to deafening. The little people were known for their high squeaky voices, and for the fact that in their language, they could carry on three conversations all at the same time. Some in the workshop would not see their beds again until after Christmas, which was fine as far as they were concerned, there would be plenty of time for rest after. Now, they had work to do. Elsewhere, others were attending their jobs with just as much dedication. In the stables, Foster and Fester, the two head stable elves, got the reindeer together. The closer to Christmas the more they became concerned with the reindeer’s diet. Special enchanted grass grown in the hothouse found in the west wing became the food of choice. A little cinnamon and nutmeg and the grass was ready to serve. Tick and Tock headed the map room. They spent the entire year plotting the big guy’s course with complete accuracy and timing. They had the entire night broken down into time phases, accounting for how long it would take at each stop and for time differences as the sleigh passed one time zone to another. There were 24 different clocks hanging in the map room. They were not labeled but if you asked Tick or Tock about any of them, they could immediately point on the map and tell you where in the world that clock referenced. It was their job to know. And then there was the post service. Here, Longfellow and Longfellow (no relation), read through each and every letter, trying to get them together for compiling their gift lists, which were than pasted to the workshop. It was here, the week before Christmas, that the alarm sounded. When a child writes to Santa, the letter goes through the post office. There, the post offices stick all the letters together, and put them in one place. Afterward, the workers destroy the letters. At least, that’s what they REMEMBER doing. And in the end, no one ever wonders why they can’t find the destroyed letters. Must have put them in the trash after all, right? They pay no attention the little person who casually walks into the respective office they are assigned to, and then comes right back out with a sack full of letters that are no longer supposed to exist. Only the occasional child would ever bear witness to this, and even then, they wouldn’t be sure what they were seeing. When the letters arrive to the North Pole, they are put into the sorting machine (a gift at the beginning of the twentieth century from the workshop to the post office), which sorts the letters into the different piles. When the alarm sounded all mail stopped. It didn’t happen often. And in that moment, the post office looked like the workshop. Both Longfellows and all their assistants jumped and started going through all the new letters, trying to find the cause for alarm. They were good. The best. And I can tell you, that inside of five minutes, one of them would find the letter, one of them would be chosen to deliver said letter, and the big guy would decide on its fate. Longfellow decided to take it personally. (The redheaded one, not the one with red hair-a very important distinction.) He ran down the hall, down the spiral staircase, passed the kitchens (the smell of sugarplums hung in the air), passed the library, the multimedia room, around the gym (all the snowmen liked a good workout when time allowed), and passed the great tree. Out of breath when he reached the door leading to his master’ study, Longfellow (the redheaded) took a moment to catch his breath. He raised his hand, but his fist never reached the door. “Enter,” said a voice on the other side. Longfellow did. Inside, the room flickered in the beautiful candlelight. The study was as it had always been. Books lined the shelves, a small cot sat in the corner for long nights, and a huge glass window revealed the snowy landscape outside. St. Nick sat at his desk, dressed in a nice suit, wearing bunny slippers (a personal favorite), smoking a pipe. He was busy writing a long letter with a feathered pen. His desktop computer was on, and the screen saver of a sandy beach somewhere on an undisclosed island glared out from the screen. He didn’t look up. “Sorry to bother you master, but um, we have a sort of emergency.” Claus stopped writing. He put the pen down, stroked his long billowy beard with his right hand, and held his pipe in his left. “Indeed?” “Yes master.” Old eyes looked at the elf, clear blue, wisdom and intelligence reflected in their gaze. “We haven’t had one of those in, why, quite a long time. Even for those such as ourselves.” He managed a small smile. The elf, normally of good cheer, didn’t return the smile. “It’s a miracle sir.” Claus sat motionless. Still. “It’s a call for a Christmas miracle.” The only sound in the room after that was the howl from the whipping wind outside. Claus sat his pipe down and stood up. He seemed tired. Normally reserving himself as much rest as possible as his long night approached. “Let’s see the letter than, Longfellow.” * By early evening the word had spread, and although they needed to be concentrating on the coming holiday, the elves were all curious as to what was happening. Tick and Tock were now completely rearranging their plans, going back to scratch practically, with a week to go. Foster and Fester had to get some assistance from the workshop to get the reindeer saddled up, and getting the sleigh together. Longfellow (the red haired one) had seen that St. Nick’s green uniform and robe were cleaned, the colors he wore when it wasn’t quite Christmas yet. And all that weren’t deeply immersed in work, gathered in the departing place, waiting for Claus. He came, minus his sack of gifts, minus his normally jolly demeanor. He had a clear sense of purpose in his eyes, and ignored the crowd that had gathered. Finnegan, Claus’ chief in the workshop had begged Claus not to leave now, with the fateful day so close, but Claus just had looked at him with gentleness, and said, “I may not have till then. You are in charge till I get back. Do not fear. I won’t be long.” Claus went to his reindeer. He whispered kind and thoughtful things into their ears, reassuring that their sacrifice was for the greater good. And they nodded in reply. Faithful and ready, they showed that they would fly well tonight. And they would fly fast. He jumped into his sleigh and prepared for take off. * The little town of Talbert could not be seen on most maps. It was too small to be considered important by most. And that was fine for the people that lived there. To live in Talbert meant that you knew everyone and everyone knew you. Your neighbors were always your friends and you shared each others good time, as well as the bad. In St. Mary’s hospital, the only one in all of Talbert, the Jacobs sat in a little room. The room was full of letters, balloons, gifts, flowers, pictures, candies, and various other things all from friends, neighbors, and family. Jamal lay quietly in his bed. His eyes were hollow looking, sunken into his face. They were closed, and his breathing was slow and raspy. Mr. Jacobs looked tired, felt tired, and he couldn’t sit and relax. He paced a lot. Back and forth, at the window one minute, in the other corner reading letters the next. Mrs. Jacobs sat next to the bed. She seemed fine, but the bags under her eyes gave away her little insomnia problem. Mr. Jacobs watched her. And for the tenth time in that day, felt the tears form in his eyes. He didn’t believe in crying. Didn’t believe in that weakness. He asked his wife if she wanted anything from the cafeteria, and then excused himself when she shook her head. The hallways reflected the time of year with all kinds of Christmas things hanging. Mr. Jacobs wish it would all go away. He would be giving up on Christmas this year. Mrs. Jacobs sat there watching her boy. Night had fallen outside, but the moonlight kept it from being too dark. Jamal turned toward his mother, and opened his eyes. He was nine, but at the moment looked four. “Hi mama.” “Hi, baby.” “Did it snow yet mama?” “No, babe. You know it hardly ever snows here” “I know mama.” “Do you want anything, sweetheart?” “No mama. I’m fine.” Jamal smiled and his mother smiled in return. She didn’t stop smiling. In fact, she wasn’t moving at all. She sat frozen. “Mama?” “She can’t hear you Jamal.” The voice came from across the room, in a dark corner. The voice was heavy and thick, but warm and comforting. “But she’ll be fine. I thought you and I should talk alone.” Jamal sat up in his bed, it was a struggle. “Who are you?” The man stepped out of the shadows. The first thing that Jamal noticed was how tall he was. Then, he noticed how round he was as well. His outfit seemed familiar but green instead of red. And he wore and overcoat, made of green with red trim. His beard, though still long and full, was black now, and his skin dark. His ageless eyes were a deep, dark brown. He wore a small pair of spectacles on his nose. “I thought you were white.” St. Nick was caught off guard. “Excuse me?” “White,” repeated Jamal. “My friend Jeremy said you were white, like in the Christmas movies.” “Oh. Ho ho. I see.” The big man allowed himself his first great big grin since he read the letter. It made him feel more like his jolly old self. “Sometimes, Jamal, I am. And sometimes I’m not. I’m a lot of things to a lot of people. Understand?” Jamal thought it over. “Yes, I think so.” “Good. Now, Jamal, do you know why I came here tonight?” Jamal knew, and full of awe in what he was seeing said in a whisper, “You got my letter sir?” “Santa, Jamal. Call me Santa, and yes. I did.” “Wow.” “Ho ho, indeed.” “Can you do it for me Santa? Can you get me my gift?” Claus said nothing. His jolliness left his face. His imposing figure slouched a little. He grabbed a chair and sat near Jamal. “Jamal, though I admit that I can’t tell you I am not capable of many great things, what you ask of me, “ he paused, “is not within the power I have.” “I don’t want to live forever, sir. I know that’s impossible. I’m tired and know that I’ll be in heaven soon.” Claus listened to the child speak like he had lived as long as Claus himself had. “But I want to wish my mamma Merry Christmas on Christmas day and I want to give her that other thing she always wanted.” Claus looked at him. He felt sad. He couldn’t whip up something in his workshop that would give Jamal his Christmas wish. He couldn’t perform a miracle. “I’m sorry Jamal.” Jamal sat still, his eyes looked heavy again. “It’s ok Santa. Thank you for telling me in person.” “You’re welcome Jamal. Now sleep young one.” Jamal slept, and soon dreamed of a better place than this. * For three days Santa would see no one, except Mrs. Claus. He talked to her for hours, days. He couldn’t sleep or eat, which troubled all the elves. It would not do to have a somber Santa for Christmas. “The boy won’t make it past the night tonight, “he told Mrs. Claus. “What do I do? What can I do?” Mrs.Claus listened, and then said, “You can relax and think it through. You’re Santa. Christmas miracles should come naturally to you.” “But I can’t..” “You can’t extend his time I know. But you can try to give him his wishes. Surely there is some other way.” “Like how?” Mrs. Claus smiled warmly at her husband. “You are so amazing Kris. So amazing. You are a symbol of Christmas, the best day of the whole year. You bring joy to so many. But sometimes, you still think too much like a man.” “What?’ “Not every miracle has to be magic. I think even you can figure it out if you think a little harder.” And with that, she left him to his thoughts. He thought about what his wife said. Yes, he didn’t know what he would do without her sometimes. And after thinking of her words, he realized as always, she had steered him in the right direction. He called Tick, Tock, both Longfellows, Finnegan, and told them to saddle up again. Four days till Christmas. Five hours before little Jamal left this world for good. And he had a lot to do. Before he left, he went to see the crankiest being he had ever met, Jack Frost. Who owed him a favor. * Jamal’s funeral had been the day before Christmas. It was quick, but Jamal’s parents did not want to have everyone come after Christmas for their goodbyes. And so Christmas morning Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs went downstairs after their other two kids, Janice and Keith awoke. Neither of them feeling like celebrating Christmas, but Jamal would have wanted them to, for Janice and Keith’s sake. He was so wonderful that way. So unafraid. He had seemed a little sad the last couple of days until his death, but a few hours before he passed his mood changed. Almost as if someone had given some extraordinary news. And he said his goodbyes and I love you’s to everyone. He went very peacefully. Downstairs Mrs. Jacobs watched as the presents were sorted, trying to look interested. Instead, she kept looking out the window, to the ground outside. Jamal had wanted it to snow so badly. Not for him though, but because his mamma had told him how she had always wished for it as a little girl. But it hardly ever snowed in Talbert. And there had never, ever been a white Christmas. After all the gifts were done, Janice came up to Mrs. Jacobs and handed her a box. “It was under the tree mamma. I didn’t see it before, but it’s for you.” On the box was the word ‘mamma ‘on it. Mrs. Jacob knew the handwriting right away, and she tried to refrain from crying. So she quickly opened it and looked inside. In the box was a mini tape recorder and a small snow globe. The family gathered around Mrs. Jacobs. And she pressed play. They heard, “Hi mamma. I don’t have long but the most amazing thing has happened! A friend of mine is giving me want I want for Christmas. I knew he’d make it happen. I knew it. So I need you to pick up the snow globe and give it a good shake for me. Go on. Do it.” There was a pause on the tape, and Mrs. Jacobs picked up the globe. Only then did she realize that there was a little town in it. And on the front of the globe it read: TALBERT. She couldn’t help but to cry and smile all at once. And she shook it. Shook it hard. And the snow in the globe engulfed the little town. “There you go mamma. It will be a white Christmas after all.” The joy in Jamal voice was quite clear. “And now for my second gift!” There was silence and then they all heard, “Merry Christmas!” The tape recorder shut off. Mrs. Jacobs looked at her husband. They were both crying. They smiled at one another. Jamal had got to wish them Merry Christmas after all. “Merry Christmas Jamal, I love you“, she whispered. “Mommy come quick!” Keith cried from the window. They all came anyway. At first none of them could see why he was so excited, and then they did. There were only a few at first. Then a few more. And before you knew it, the snow was falling all around. The Jacobs stared in wonder, at Talbert’s first white Christmas. * The caretaker usually left early on Christmas, though he knew many families came to see their loved ones. The snow that had begun to fall was exciting, even the weather people on the radio couldn’t believe it. This Christmas would definitely be magical. He headed for his car when he noticed the man in the red suit by a headstone. Or thought he did, anyway. When he blinked, he saw no one. He let himself laugh a little, but approached the headstone anyway. It was a new one. Little boy had passed a couple days ago. Tragic loss this close to the holidays. Little guy probably didn’t get to get his gifts this year. The caretaker looked at the headstone. The name read Jamal Ethan Jacobs. And there, in the snow, was a candy-cane. The caretaker smiled and walked away. He was definitely seeing things this year. Must be the snow! He walked away without noticing the big boot prints in the snow, next to Jamal’s headstone. The boot prints that were just there, with no prints leading up to them or away from them. Like the owner had just vanished. But then, only a child would have been really able to see them. Not a grown up. And even then, they wouldn’t be sure what they were seeing. Ho, Ho, Ho. Announcement! Kaia Noelle Frankenberg was born on December 22nd, 2002 at 4PM on the button. She was 6 pounds, 8 ounces and was 18.5 inches long. She's cute as hell and doing wonderfully. My wife is doing great as well. She's just slightly sore (from stitches. Ow.) and quite tired. She's also completely made of breasts now. Went from a B to a D cup in 48 hours. Loving it. Sunday, December 22, 2002
Now that I have the keys to paradise so to speak, I am looking around the office, and debating about what we're moving where. I like Matt's site here. First and foremost, I pay nothing for it. Second, it is already set up, so the work I have to do is next to nothing. And third, I can rearrange anything I want. Just not sure what yet. I thought I'd change things up a bit. No links to naked females (so half of you have already left), and I think I may post some of my writing up here (damn, there goes the other half.) Oh, well. I've been talking to Matt about a possible comic book project for years now. URBANIA, which was to be our first foray into comic book history, went the way of the Dodo right after a film came out using our name. I think Matt took it harder than I did, but the magic that was there in every page I wrote and picture he illustrated, fizzled. We may go back to this one day. Sometimes I can almost grab onto a little of that magic, but it is still slipping through my fingers. Oh well. Some day. I have talked to Mr. Frankenberg about THE LIBRARY, which would be a serialized anthology, in the vein of works like Neil Gaiman's SANDMAN or Warren Ellis' TRANSMETROPOLITAN. A monthly comic that would have a set ending in mind; a series that could run a year or six, so long as I had stories to tell and Matt could keep the excitement in the drawing. It's a horror tale really about an old organization who records supernatural occurances, and puts them in their archives. Puts them in their LIBRARY. Like the X-Files there would be single issues, as well as an ongoing plotline. In heart, it's about the end of the world, and the only one who can prevent it, is a man who wants to die. There are a few other projects I've talked about with Matt as well. One is SOUL STEALER, which is mainly about a young man and his search to find himself, and his place in the world. Less horror, more suspense. The other is an Original Graphic Novel, about a person who loses their memory, and has to make a new life for themselves. This would be a more subdued project than any of the others, not quite so epic. I have a short story I am almost finished and will probably be finished by Christmas, so I'll be throwing it up here. It is a little tale that spun out of something I had been thinking of recently, and something I have been going through. It is a story I think I will be proud of when it is finished. I have to change a few things about it as it will now be a Christmas story. But it will still be done in time. For those of you I have talked to before, I still have CHIVALRY on the back burner. It's a book I started a year or two ago, that I have outlined, but not fully written. I have begun another book, WHAT MATTERS MOST, and know I will finish that before I begin CHIVALRY again. CHIVALRY is a fantasy novel, set mostly in the real world, bit fantasy nonetheless. WHAT MATTERS MOST is a personal novel for me. One that is writing faster than anything else I have ever worked on. It seems I have alot to say on the subject matter. I can only describe it as a chick-flick for guys kinda book. I don't think there are many of these in existance, so I may be onto a whole new genre. That means I probably won't sell many copies if it ever gets published. ;) Anyway, if your interested, check back for the story later in the week. If I don't get a chance to say it before hand, have a happy holiday. Don't worry. Matt will put up more naked pics soon I am sure. Just ignore me while I'm here. Think of me as just sleeping over. Later. Friday, December 20, 2002
Ahhh...Friday. Here are a few pictures of gorgeous women with beautiful, natural racks. Sydney Moon: Pic 1, Pic 2. Mathilda May: Pic 1, Pic 2. Aria Giovanni: Pic 1, Pic 2. Adele Stevens: Pic 1, Pic 2. Enjoy! I'll be blogging more this weekend (seriously). You all have a review of the 'Two Towers', breasts, and some scribblings on breast milk to look forward to in the next few days. During my review of the 'Two Towers' I will also talk about the very sweet, very sexy Stacy that I had the pleasure of meeting there. Until then..... Wednesday, December 18, 2002
There are alot of stories to be told. Some real, some not. Rolling off people's tongues or hiding behind furniture in your head-it doesn't matter. They are everywhere. Here is one I heard recently: One of my buddies, we shall call him PFC John Doe, told me the reason he joined the Army yesterday, as we shared personal backgrounds. Sharing of your personal life comes easier in the Army, as there are alot of people who have been where you are, or will be. We rely on each other. And once our duty is done, we'll probably never see one another again. Though if we did, be it 30 days or 30 years, it'll be like we were never apart. Quite a botherhood we are. So he says to me, "Yeah, I joined because my girlfriend of 3 years got pregnant." I listen to him tell me this. Like a mathematician I begin to add the figures in front of me. Something didn't compute. PFC Doe had, at least since I have known him (5 days), been in contact with numerous females and seemed to be, pardon my french, a fucking slut. I think he read my mind, because than he gave me the rest of the equation. "So I joined because I loved her. And even though we were going through a bad relationship turn, I wanted to do right by her. Give her and my kid a good future. You know." I nod. Not because of what he is telling me, but because I'm pretty smart. When I want to be anyway. And I know where this is going. Without looking at me he says, "Six weeks into Basic I get a letter." I want to tell him not to bother to finish it, but my voice gets stuck in my throat. There had been alot of letters for other buddies of mine in Basic that were going to be like this one. Alot more even, were the ones in AIT. Letters from the significant others. Some said they didn't want to be together anymore. Others that they had cheated, and they were sorry. And then some caugth you by surprise..... "And it says that she, um, she got an abortion. She didn't want to have it. The baby." I nod again. He turns and smiles a little smile at me. "So here I am." I've thought about that for a whole day now. Here he is. Alone. No one is there for him. He wanted the life of a family man, he wanted to be the man for his future wife that she wanted and deserved. They had talked of marriage, and the baby was only speeding up the plan they had set. And now he doesn't have any of it. He lost everything he was working for. And that saddens me. There are many different reasons my Army brothers may have joined, but here we are. Many of us thousands of miles from our nearest loved ones. And I think I understand why he seems so carefree. Why he parties hard, and talks to alot of females. He said if he didn't, "I'd stay up feeling sorry for myself. I don't want to stay up and cry every fucking night." And all this time I thought he just didn't want to grow up. That he was a big kid. Don't I feel stupid after that conversation. We drank a few. Talked about both our ups and downs. In the real world we would never have been friends. Here, he's the closest family I have. Just another story. Just another tale. Once upon a time........ Sunday, December 15, 2002
Schwing! In case none of you noticed, I'm not the only human posting on FrankenBlog nowadays. I thought it might be fun to mix things up and have another contributor. Someone who doesn't always see eye to eye with me. Someone with a different take on things that may bring something a little different to the site. Please welcome Shawn Douglas, a good friend of mine. Shawn is a guy I have mentioned on the site before. He's in the Army and now stationed in Hawaii. Fucking Hawaii! What an asshole. Anyway, I thought it only fitting that I mention one of Hawaii's best features: 
Tia Carrere. We all met Tia (born Althia Janiro) in the first 'Wayne's World' movie. I'm sure many a guy (or gal) watching that flick for the first time had the same thought: "Damn. I really want to see her without any clothes on." Super hottie. Now our wish has come true! Thank you, Tia! Thank you, Playboy! The pictorial is so good that my wife and I couldn't help but drool looking through the pages. Simply stunning is this Hawaiian beauty. Go out and buy the January 2003 issue now. Here's a peek. Saturday, December 14, 2002
Ok. My buddy tells me, "Dude, I want to give you access to my site to Blog (WTF?) stuff." I look at him like he has lobsters crawling out of his ears. "Um, thanks. But I didn't get you anything." So the long and short of it is: I now have complete access to his site. Oh the evil things I will do. So evil it will be E-VIL. Stay tuned. 
I’m beginning to think there will never be another GREAT Star Trek movie. Star Trek used to have an edge. It used to tackle important social and political issues. It used to be thought provoking and challenging. It gave us insight into how things could be or should be. It mirrored what was going on around us yet found a way to make it easily digestible. Remember the Original Series episode where Captain Kirk is brought to some planet to mediate a dispute between two races? He’s confused as to why there’s a problem. “You both look the same.” he says. “No.” says one of two representatives. “I am black on the left side. He is black on the right.” Did you know that TV’s first interracial kiss was on Star Trek? Kirk and Uhura playing tonsil-hockey. Right on, baby. Don’t get me wrong, though. I am not an Original Series nut at all. In fact, 95% of the Original Series episodes could conveniently be lost forever and I wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Ever see the one entitled “Spock’s Brain”? For your sake, I hope not. Pure crap. I became a ‘Trekkie’ while I was in college. Although I had grown up on the Original Series, watching with my dad when I was really young, Next Generation really grabbed me more. I couldn’t have picked a better time to start watching, too. My first Next Generation episode was “The Best of Both Worlds, Part 1” where Picard is taken by the Borg. It was amazing. Battles. Drama. A hopeless outcome. A cliffhanger. I simply had to watch the very next day to see what happened. I was hooked. Next Generation was awesome, even though it didn’t have the balls the Original Series did. Deep Space Nine (my absolute favorite) followed. Then Voyager (ugh). Then Enterprise (not bad). But none of the new show’s had the balls to comment on the present day like the Original Series did. Even the Original Series movies kept the essence of Star Trek together. ‘Star Trek II: The Wratch of Kahn’ pitted Kirk against his arch-nemesis. ‘Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home’ spoke to us about endangered species and how it almost led to the destruction of our planet. ‘Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country’ was about the Wall coming down in outer space as the Klingons begin negotiations for peace. Powerful shit. Now we have movies that are nothing more than bigger budget TV episodes. ‘Generations’, ‘First Contact’, ‘Insurrection’, and now ‘Nemesis’ all have the same problem: they’re bland. There’s no substance to them. I’m fine with them being Picard/Data-centric, but Christ, can’t the powers that be write a script at least on par with Star Trek II or IV? Shit! Give us something to look forward to. ‘Nemesis’, while good, really failed to deliver the goods. Although the script was executed well, it left a lot to be desired. John Logan, the guy who wrote Gladiator, couldn’t write a better script than this? He’s a fan for fuck’s sake! This is the best he could do?! I’ll try and overlook the obvious “Attack of the Clones” influences here, but why would the Romulans want to create a clone of Picard? Why him? I must also ask why we’ve never even fucking heard of the Remans before? Where the fuck did they come from. Oh yeah. From John Logan’s moronic head. Star Trek can’t be fucked with like this. There’s a time line. There are a million different cultures. Give me an origin that explains them. (Nerdy Trekkie Fact: The Romulans are actually descended from the Vulcans. When the Vulcans decided to get all logical, those who were against it left and settled on Romulus.) I could accept that the Remans are similar in origin , but it’s never explained. There was also the added bonus of yet ANOTHER Data-clone. Look out Lore, here comes B-4! What the fuck? “B-4”? And if you care to know what B-4 is like, think of Data and give him the brain of a 4-year-old. Worf is barely in the movie, and has become the clown. Wesley Crusher had way too much screen time, even though he was only shown in two brief shots. Riker and Troi marry. Ricker gets his own ship. The entire Senior Staff goes on an Away Mission leaving the Enterprise in the hands of cadets. Picard goes Dune-Buggying. Lame. There WERE some good parts in the movie. The space battle was cool. Some of the dialogue was great. Hell, it was even touching when Data dies and you see how the crew is affected. Yes. He’s dead. Blown up. He’s NOT coming back. Oh wait. Fuck. That’s right. He uploaded his memories and intelligence and experiences into B-4. Guess he’ll be back in ‘Star Trek XI: The Search for Data’s Brain’. Ugh... The movie's grade would have gone up a good bit if they had killed Wesley, though. PICARD: Dammit. We've lost the battle. There's no escape. Suggestions? B-4: La la la la lah lah. Hee hee. RIKER: Perhaps we could feed Wesley Crusher to the Remans, Captain. It might give us some time. PICARD: Make it so. Grade: C+ Tuesday, December 03, 2002
Finally feeling better after a brief bout with the plague. Lots of blogging to come. Quick confession: I think I'm developing a Christina Aguilera fetish. Seriously. Audioslave 
I have no idea what some of the asshole reviewers out there are thinking. Sounds like Chris Cornell fronting Rage Against The Machine? Tom Morrello doesn't do a lot of his experimental guitar work? Bullshit! Fuck 'em all! This record rocks. It's about time Chris Cornell (the best voice in rock) did the band thing again. |
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