Contentious C

The producers of this film would like to inform you that the stick was, in fact, made of ancient, petrified dog feces. *sad trombone* Also, as I sit here and watch the last Mission: Impossible movie, I realize Tom Cruise and Ving Rhames (and to a lesser extent, Simon Pegg) are so damn old they're going to have to call the next movie Mission: Incontinent.

If it's influenced by 2001, it's shoddy. It feels less like that and more like an attempt to smuggle religion into a space story, which is part of why I compared it to The Visitor. I get how it could be a "this walked so X could fly" kind of film, and I definitely wish the film industry didn't CGI everything into oblivion, but at the end of the day, any film that could have changed its name to The Plot Hole and rendered itself a thousand-fold more descriptive is one I'm not going to enjoy (and I say this as someone who likes Man of Steel, FFS).

Pursuant to our earlier conversation, half-famous people get this way, too. Ragusea's content has always left me a little dry, because I find his delivery to be smug even when he claims he isn't being smug. But I wouldn't mind having his bank account about now.

You forgot "and literally no one will care". Unless it's Chris Evans, and then people will only care because they will be disappointed he attached himself to this burning sewage barge.

I don't do them enough, and I'm not sure that's 100% because I hate them, or if it's just as much because I haven't prioritized them and get to the end of leg days without enough energy to throw *that* bit of misery on top. The balance issue for me is pretty serious. I'm a little klutzy to begin with, but one of the real weak spots in Fitness Youtube is doing *anything* at all to address balance problems. I do all the little tricks to position myself right (lower the bar on the device, do the 'sit on it and plant your heel' trick, etc.) and they still suck so damn much for me. The problem is me, and I don't know what I can do to actually improve my balance. I'm not remotely interested in all that Bosu ball garbage, and I would really, really hope there is something out there that's helpful beyond, "Stand on one leg more often." I don't know if it's my legs generally (my parents took me to a specialist when I was little because I walked funny), my hips, my ankles and my ridiculously high insertion points for my calves (I do not have aesthetically pleasing lower legs and never will, no matter how jacked I ever get) or if it's just everything all together. But DAMN it would be great if there were a reliable, useful resource for this one topic, because the Bromleys and Dr. Mikes of the world have nothing to say about it.

So much for my "strong" legs. I can move 8 plates on the hack, but I can't get out of the bottom of a Bulgarian with a 35-lb dumbbell in each hand. Granted, my balance is SHEEEEEEEEEIT as Clay Davis would say, but still. It's fucking embarrassing to struggle with things like that. Did SMFFELs, 3 sets of 6 per leg with 100 lbs today, and I didn't feel like my cardiovascular system was going to shit itself and burst out of my thorax in the process, so maybe I won't die of Lunge-induced lung sadness just yet. I was definitely pushing through my back leg some to finish those reps, though; I wonder if I'd be at all better off dialing back the weight and trying for more reps, or if what I'm doing is good, since 8-10 reps even at 80-90 lbs will probably kill my overall fatigue to the point that everything else suffers. Then 3x7 of deficit RDLs at 195, then Nordics for the first time in months and months with the second-thickest band (I really need one in between that and the next one down, and 2 bands at once is a shitshow; next best hack is the thinner band but a weighted ball to brake against at the extended position), 3x5, then my attempts at Bulgarians. Ended up with just one dumbbell on the working-leg side and doing 2x10. I could probably go up in weight there. At least my legs still feel appropriately fried 5 hours later.

Paracock definitely sounds like the username of some weirdo who's into Peamounting.

I never said Past Lives was overrated. Where did I say this? It's always funny when people read what they want into things, instead of things I said. Whatever. I have better things I ought to be writing anyway.

If you're trying to focus on quads, barbell squats aren't really top-tier anyway (though they're obviously close). Hack squats are great, belt squats are even better. If you need lower back work, have you tried doing SLDLs or RDLs? They could be an issue if you're a 'big front porch' type (hard to believe if you can run 8 miles, because I fucking can't run 80 feet), because the range of motion can be a little funky, but if you really focus on keeping your core tight and your back straight, they can be awesome for strengthening your low back. They're basically my favorite Leg day exercise anymore. Don't go that heavy, just focus on slow controlled negatives and really feeling your glutes and hamstrings stretch out as long as your back doesn't round. You could also cut the weight on your squats and try to focus more on getting deeper, and comfortable, with lower weights (even if it's literally just the bar or bodyweight). Also, do your hips feel tight? It's possible your back bears the brunt because the rest of you doesn't want to participate like it should. Squats are a pain to get really, really right (I'm a lot more comfortable doing them now, but I'm still only pushing 195 for 5x5).

Haven't done one of these in a while. You can read the "Stuff" thread to guess why. Life stinks, and so do movies, sometimes. But sometimes they're great, too. Past Lives - If I'd paid closer attention to this film's synopsis, maybe I wouldn't have been so excited to finally watch it. It's hardly a new sort of story; after all, I lived my own and wrote about it, too. The first bit of this that really grabbed me by the scruff and made me take notice was the tiny argument about first- and second-place in school; right out of the gate, it was like reliving a chunk of my past. Hmmm, if I'm Contentious C, then, well, let's call my old friend "Fanciful F". She and I routinely traded best and second-best test grades, fastest answers, the occasional wicked second-grade barb, and maybe an Eskimo kiss or two. When I wrote my graphic novel about my relationship with F, this was one detail I had omitted, but it's one that definitely rings true, so good on Celine Song for putting it in her rendition. There, things diverge as they (evidently have to) do. F and myself were younger when we separated, and I was the one who left. But, as so many of us probably have done, social media helped us find a way back; in our case, it was the long-ago Before Times of Myspace, along with several paragraphs of prose so purple it would make any film review I ever write look drier than a rice cake left in the sun. It worked, though, maybe because F was in a bad place and because my message arrived a day or two before her birthday. Three months later, just before my birthday, we saw each other again for the first time in 18 years; by New Year's Eve, she finished rebounding out of her prior relationship and moved on from me, punching an F-shaped hole out of my heart. When I wrote my graphic novel the following spring, I gave Anna and Adam a better ending than either of us got, maybe a better one than poor Hae Sung and Nora, as well. Ultimately, it's not really possible to expect anything as brave and brash as true love from someone so far back in your past. It becomes a high wire act, at best, to truly love them for them, rather than clumsily grasping for evidence of the infallible caricature you've loved from a distance for decades of your life. Eventually, their faults come to the fore, and that's when, in the immortal words of Liz Phair, you know that the problem is you. But still, it's good to know things like this are out there, and that they happen all over the world to all sorts of us. Even if, after another 18 years, they still hurt sometimes. What about the movie, you say? Yeah, watch the movie, and bring some Kleenex. Drugstore Cowboy - Interesting but borderline inessential if you've seen any significant amount of Gus Van Sant's output. In a number of different respects, this feels like a dry run for the superior My Own Private Idaho, and it helps the latter film that he pulled a story from Shakespeare rather than a contemporary novel. Having said that, it was funny as Hell to catch the goofs in this film: it's set in 1971, but in the first pharmacy, they're standing at a comic book rack that has "Zell: Sworddancer" on it, and man, does the obviously-not-1971 art style jump off the frame at you. Plus, Matt Dillon's bandage is literally on-again, off-again in the silliest possible way. How long are you going to keep your head bandaged like that for a scalp wound? The acting is fine; it's one of Dillon's better roles, and one of Heather Graham's better Ubiquitously Dead Girl turns. But ultimately, James Le Gros is the only one who looks like he could be a drug addict; everyone else is too fucking glamorous, especially Literal Goddess Kelly Lynch. But if a story about being so strung out that you don't want to make it with her doesn't get people to skip drugs, there's no hope for addicts anywhere. The Black Hole - *Late in the film* Wait, did Maximilian just punch VINCENT with his robot dick??? *scans back and replays* Holy shit, he did! Still, this is an absolutely dreadful wannabe Star Wars/Star Trek pile of garbage with Low-Rent Captain Ahab as the baddie, and virtually every moment of it is a masterclass in how to fail at "Show, Don't Tell" (other than that fucking bonkers ending). The miniatures are something, though. But even though this is a bit under 100 minutes, it's so full of bad exposition dumps, "action" moments that are information-free, and bad plotting that it feels like 100 minutes underwater. Between this and the even-more-dreadful The Visitor, 1979 must have been the nadir for shitty rip-offs. I blame George Lucas. Black Snake Moan - I'd tried repeatedly to watch this and could never really get past the opening half-hour. This feels like Sam's Last Gasp, one of the only roles he had left where he wasn't just "Sam Jackson as" and instead inhabited the character as intended. Of course, it doesn't hurt to run most of the film opposite Christina Ricci, who is mostly great in this and keeps the proceedings on course (and may also be the hottest sweaty person ever). But...then there's the rest of it. The plot's lifeless when it has to swing back to Timberlake et al, and there is that more-than-troublesome first half-hour. Its message tries to be hopeful but in the most patriarchal way possible, stepping on its own tail in the process. The music bits are nice, but the intercalating footage breaks up the flow too much when it shows the second time; it could have just been skipped altogether. So yeah, this is all right. Just depends on what you're watching it for (hopefully more than just boobs, because, c'mon, just go elsewhere for that). Not the best example of anyone doing exploitation-with-a-twist. Kiss Me Deadly - ...because maybe this is? I don't know. This is one of those movies, like The Rules of the Game or The 400 Blows, where I don't think I'm ever going to be able to appreciate it like I should. Pulp Fiction - one of this film's most obvious descendants? Yeah, I got that head-to-toe right out of the gate; it's easy to contextualize because I lived then and the movie does feel and has felt lived-in. But it seemed like every time I read what someone else had to say about this ball-buster of a movie, there was another layer of the onion being peeled, another detail I couldn't parse because my post-modern-film-drenched brain couldn't see how the cold open or the ending or the characterization or the genre subversions were different, because films like this launched that kind of cutting, self-referential, "turn the funhouse mirror back on society's ugliness" filmmaking. I've watched the movies this engendered my entire life, and now all its innovations seem utterly normal. I guess that's the biggest tip of the hat of all to Robert Aldrich: changing someone's perspective without that person ever knowing. Watch this, watch this, watch this.

Sunday was Legs, and it was kind of a shitty workout. I mean, it's Leg Day, they all suck, but mine lately have been special sorts of suck. Whatever lingering lung issues I have are still a limiting factor, particularly for that. I managed some hack squats with 4 plates a side, then switched to barbell squats with only 135, and that was frankly enough. There was a recent RP vid about doing this exact thing to try to prioritize quads on barbell squats and, yeah, it does work fairly well. I probably gave my posterior chain short shrift in the process, though my whole setup is intended to be 8-day cycles so that 1 Leg Day is quads and the other is Posterior, so I guess this was the Quad-focused day. Yesterday was Push and wasn't terrible. Did bench 5x5 with 165 for the first 2 sets and 160 for the last 3; slightly less volume than when I did 160 for the whole thing and got more reps at the end, but I'm at least headed in the right direction with it. Flys fucking shredded me (Mr. Stork Arms over here can literally touch the floor with the weights while on a regular bench), then more Smith military, shoulders, and some tricep stuff I saw in a Eugene Teo short that actually felt good on my elbows.

Well, more like,

Jimmy Kimmel is getting sued by George Santos because Santos claims Kimmel hid his identity and then asked Santos to make Cameo videos for him that ended up being a source of mockery on TV. I don't really care for Kimmel on all sorts of levels, but DAMN is that both the best and the worst use of a rich person's money.

God, just give me a job, RogerEbert.com. I can watch movies and shart out 2000 words that make more sense than that.

Yep, this is my biggest problem with the movie. It's SO elaborate. Here was my Letterboxd remark, in case anyone wanted to see it.

Her Head Hit a Tree is the most overrated movie in recent memory, as far as I'm concerned. Midsommar had its problems (like that godawful "tell you everything and look ridiculous doing it" triptych and scene that sets up the initial premise), but is far better once you're into the weeds of it.

Ah, turns out it's on Archive.org for fucking free any old time. I spent 20 minutes trying to install apps and look up other shit, and there it was all along. Derpes are incurable.

Which channel was this? If you mean the 1955, I can't find it anywhere unless I buy the Criterion (not that I'm not tempted).

Just the usual "players don't respect him/Giannis has pull with the front office/first-year HC in over his head" kind of drama.

Your Eastern Conference All-Star Coach is now 3-7 after losing at Memphis, whose starting 5 consists of Santi Aldama, a Bag of Used Wind, Champagne Wishes, Caviar Dreams, and a Sandwich LeBron James left in the locker room after that game where Dillon Brooks punched him in the gonads.

I hate to bring it up, because it sounds stupid - it sounds doubly stupid on such a badly male-skewed place as this - but I was just thinking last night how, if there is any double standard in the world that is actually unfair to men instead of women, it's 100% the mental health domain. All the other double standards that exist, women definitely take the L, let's just get that out of the way. But men...well, women may get labeled more frequently as crazy, it's certainly meant more as slander towards them as a gender, but FSM help you if you tell someone you're struggling and you're a dude. "Active shooter" "dangerous" "violent" "lone wolf" etc., and those are probably the nice ones you may hear. Granted, the VKM sewer parade elsewhere does justify quite a bit of the worst of it, but...oof, if there aren't a lot of us bearing the brunt of the pieces of shit who get away with the worst. And there might be a sniggering stereotype of That Old Dude Down the End of the Bar, which we all cringe at and hope isn't us someday, but hey, that guy is probably feeling lonely, or feels broken, or is an addict, or might even be experiencing all of the above. Maybe you don't want to talk to him, or immediately get involved in whatever is dragging him down, but he's not alone. He is all around you. He might be you already. And most of us aren't remotely the dangerous kind of struggling. We're just struggling. We're just broken. Sometimes all you want is someone to acknowledge that it's OK to be broken. I'll put the rest in spoilers, for a variety of reasons. Ahead there be Dragons. Hopefully if you read the above, you can gauge just a teensy bit of difference between now and how I behaved here 20+ years ago. I'm glad this place still exists.

Man, those two inspire confidence (B-R puts them at 25-57(!) and 38-44 respectively; I figured they stunk but wow).

Meh. Pedro is WAY too old to be starting something like a potential franchise. I mean, I'm not exactly chomping at the bit for 3 or 4 FF movies, but I want to see them done well if they have to get made, and c'mon, dude's going to be 50 by the time a movie comes out. Are they trying to say that, because he's super-stretchy, all the collagen in his skin is shot and that's why he looks old and flabby in the face? Yeesh. I guess Ebon as Thing could work because all you're going to see are the eyes and he's basically Mesmero as a real boy anyway. And he can act. But it still feels like a little bit of a waste. I almost would've rather seen him as Reed, but He's Not a Draw(TM) -- like Paul Rudd had captained a whole bunch of hundred-million-dollar blockbusters before Ant-Man. Quinn could be great, but Johnny's the least important of the group anyway. Hell, given modern storylines, it feels like even Franklin & Valeria would be a bigger deal. Kirby could be awesome, but she's gonna look awfully young next to Guy Who Is in Every Show and Movie, and her flings with Namor are going to make a LOT more sense if MCU goes that direction. Then again, doing a first FF storyline that's anything besides "Solve Everything" is a terrible idea, and I imagine they will fuck it up, like they've been doing.

Meanwhile, the Celtics are already close to clinching a playoff spot of some kind. The nice thing about a home-and-home against the Nets, besides skulling the Nets, is that their magic number for at least guaranteeing the play-in is already going to be down to 7 after tonight's prime curb dinner.

I had a recent, albeit one-sided, contact with my all-too-alive father recently and I feel like it touched off a passel of other grindy mental health issues that have been dragging me down the last couple of weeks. I don't know what your relationship was like; maybe it's just impossible to get away from negative feelings about someone who mistreated you, or, worse yet, impossible to get away from the childhood desire to receive validation from that person, but, well...if your relationship with him was truly a lot like that song, you wouldn't be the first person I've known who grew up like that, and I doubt you'll be the last. And each and every one of them thought their lives would have been better if their father had been involved. Mine was involved. He was a massive piece of shit. I wish he'd left sooner. The two-parent fever dream only works when both parents actually give a fuck. I'm not here to compete in the Misery Olympics with you or anything, but the Bad you got may have been a somewhat more bearable Bad than the alternative. The people in our lives were probably, more like certainly, broken themselves, and there's no guarantee whatsoever they could have done better even if they tried. Maybe more of them would also be just worse of them, you know? Basically, I'm saying don't beat yourself up over the past. You - and they - had less control over it than you think.