Let's Put a Smile on That Face!

So I have a feeling I'll go to the movies this weekend to check out the new Batman flick.

No, I wasn't one of the midnight moviegoers. That might be yet another sign of age coming on. In past years, I'd have been all over that. I'm sure that was a good time at the theater last night. A movie like The Dark Knight with a crowd is surely an experience. But the need to see something first isn't what it used to be. Uncle Ian prefers his theaters quiet nowadays, and with a little room for stretching out.

Considering I spent a portion of the evening doctoring photos of myself with Facebook's "Joker Graffiti" application, however, I don't know how much of a claim I can make on being too old for anything.

What do you think? That picture of me doesn't look quite so glum anymore.

It's Not Called the Stanley Bidet

The Stanley Cup is the greatest trophy in sports. Even my father, who wasn't a hockey fan, was awed by this glorious chalice when he glimpsed it with his own eyes at the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto. So it's not really something you let your kid take a $#!+ in, Kris Draper. Yet that's exactly what happened last month while the Cup was in his possession.

Red Wings forward Kris Draper revealed during the weekend that his diaperless baby, Kamryn, did a number on the Cup last month. A number two, to be exact.

"A week after we won it, I had my newborn daughter in there, and she pooped in the Cup," Draper said. "That was something. We had a pretty good laugh.

"I still drank out of it that night, so no worries."

C'mon! No! No, no, no! He let his baby take a dump in the Stanley Cup? Where's your respect, Kris Draper? Hopefully, he took some rubbing alcohol, bleach, or Purell (or maybe just soap and water) to it afterwards.

I have a picture somewhere of my dad kissing the Cup. What's funny is that he thought he was getting away with it, behind the security guard's back. I was later told that you could kiss it, but couldn't hug it or try to pick it up. I'm just glad he planted his lips on the Cup before Draper's kid sat in it without a diaper. What do you think about this, Hayden Panettiere?

Really - An Adorable Little Hellboy

Here at FRT, we received a surprising amount of traffic today from Google searches for "little Hellboy." That brought them to this post, and I'm not sure that's what they were looking for. So I'm going to presume I know what these people wanted, and I'm going to give it to them.


I know - totally #@$%ing adorable, right? I almost bought one of these on a keychain today, but talked myself out of it. It was a long talk, however.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to console my ego after getting a lot of clicks on a day where I didn't write anything.

Wanted: A Four-Sentence Movie Review

Sometimes, I feel like I'm a pretty simple man who doesn't ask for much from this life, and giving me a movie with Angelina Jolie firing a lot of big guns, beating the crap out of anyone who gets in her way, and somehow managing to be haltingly seductive while doing it (I don't think she has to try too hard with that) fulfills many of those simple needs.

Beginning with the part where Jolie walks up to James McAvoy's hen-pecked, walked-over, beaten-down, miserable office drone of a character and tells him to come with her (raise your hand if you wouldn't do that), Wanted is almost two hours of total male fantasy that amazingly doesn't include pornography - unless you consider sensationalized, computer-generated depictions of elegantly crafted bullets spearing through foreheads while trailing blood and brain matter behind them kind of sexy (and we don't like to judge here).

Watching this movie, with its balletically staged action sequences and physics-defying violence (yet still with nothing as ridiculous as the car launching into the helicopter in Live Free or Die Hard) kind of gives you the same feeling after eating a tub of popcorn at the theater, when what your body really needed was an actual meal with protein and vegetables instead of carbohydrates soaked in something resembling butter.

Of course, that popcorn also tastes really good, especially when you're in the mood for something salty, and outside of the Wachowski brothers, I'm not sure anyone creates reality-bending special effects and action like Timur Bekmambetov (check out Night Watch and Day Watch if you're in the mood for some fun sci-fi/fantasy stuff), but after you've shoveled it all down your gullet, do you really feel that good about yourself?

Hancock: A Four-Sentence Movie Review

Leading up to the summer, I thought the surplus of superhero movies would make Hancock kind of a flop, but I obviously (stupidly?) underestimated the power of Will Smith and the appetite for these kinds of movies, not to mention that no one's seen Big Willie Style play one of the guys in a tight leather outfit with abilities far beyond those of mortal men.

"What if Superman was an asshole?" seems to be the guiding premise of this film, and it starts out with such promise, addressing the millions of dollars in damage that's caused by these extraordinary displays of strength and power, and shaking up typical superhero story equations such as the hero being summoned to fight the bad guys, leaving said bad guys captured in precarious positions for the police, and invoking the awe and adoration of the general public.

I just wish Peter Berg (whose work I've really enjoyed, especially The Rundown) and his screenwriters would've dug deeper and pushed the idea even further, asking questions like why someone with superhuman abilities automatically decides to help people and be a hero, instead of using those powers to do whatever the hell he or she wants, and with Jason Bateman's publicist character trying to improve Hancock's approval amongst the masses, the opportunity was there to explore that territory.

One reassuring aspect of the movie is that an actress of Charlize Theron's talent (and I mean that sincerely) isn't given as useless a role as the marketing would lead you to believe, and actually has something meaningful to bring to the story (though her ultimate role seemed like a bit of a stretch that came out of nowhere, as entertaining as it was for a few scenes).

That Adorable Little Hellboy

I know I'm long overdue to write something (especially about Malaysia), but for now, here's a funny ad for Hellboy II, if you haven't seen it yet.



I'm not sure whether to shake my head at James Lipton's willingness to sell out or to appreciate that he doesn't take himself so seriously. Anyway, this could've been good for at least five minutes. What, no Hellboy answering the ten questions originated by Bernard Pivot? Or taking questions from Actors Studio students? Opportunity missed.

Hellboy's also hanging out with Chuck:

The Malaysia Diaries: Following Buddha

Even my mother was asking when I was going to post another Malaysia Diary, so I know I've been slacking for too long. Hopefully, you guys are still interested in this stuff. ("What? When did you go to Malaysia? That was weeks ago.") This isn't the entry I originally planned to post, but I'm in kind of a contemplative mood today. On our second day in Malaysia, my uncle Alex took us sight-seeing, and kept mentioning "Sleeping Buddha, Sitting Buddha, and Standing Buddha." I figured we'd just be going to one altar with three statues lined up next to one another. As usual, I had it wrong.


Each temple was its own separate spectacle located around Kota Bharu. Besides the extravagant statues and altars, each complex still had a residence for monks and a proper place for worship. I was worried we might be interfering with something, but as you can see, these temples are set up for visitation and tourism. This is one of the largest sleeping (or reclining) Buddha statues in southeast Asia. When I heard that, my first thought was "one of... ?" I mean, there can't be a bigger one, right?


Compared to the other Buddha statues and temples we visited afterwards, Sleeping Buddha seemed more like a tourist attraction, with wide corridors and concourses created for onlookers and photo opportunities. Yet because of all the open space, and because the five of us were the only ones on site at the time (besides the monks, I'm assuming, and the stray dogs that were dragging around), it was probably the most peaceful and serene of the settings despite the showy surroundings.


It didn't occur to me when I took this picture, but it kind of looks like the smaller Buddha is tickling those giant feet. Cootchie, cootchie, coo! If those feet were within reach, I probably would've tried for a tickle myself. And I probably would've felt like a desecrating jerkface afterwards. There were far more statues than I'm showing here (and I hope to put everything up on Flickr this weekend), and to throw a little bit of geek on it, the setting reminded me of the cave with the seven statues from the Shazam! comic books.


The Sitting Buddha was probably the most elegant and beautiful of the temples we visited. Where the Sleeping Buddha appeared sort of molded and plastic, his sitting counterpart looked as if some serious work with hammer and chisel had been done. The craftsmanship - not just on the statue itself, but the entire complex - was amazing. One big difference is that there wasn't much shelter from the sun, however, and like every other day in Malaysia, it was hot. But I suppose that added to the surreality of the setting. Looking up into the sun at Buddha, with heat bouncing off the concrete and sweat pouring down the face, frequently felt like an invitation to enlightenment.


I can't believe one of these monkey wasn't wiping the sweat off their brow. Of course, they were probably used to the heat. Everyone seemed to be, except the fat gringo from the States. Oh, did those bandanas come in handy. (And that will most certainly be a future diary entry. The heat, that is, not the bandanas.) I also think the monkeys move and go for the papayas growing nearby, either when no one's looking or when it's dark.

Maybe I was more conscious of it as we hopped from Buddha to Buddha, but driving around Malaysia, you get an idea of how diverse the religious beliefs are among the people there. It's largely a Muslim country, so many women are dressed in robes, veils, and head scarves. Enormous mosques dominate the streetscape every few miles or so. Buddhist temples and monasteries can also be seen, though they tend to be overshadowed (with the exception of the elaborate shrines we visited) by the hulking mosques and surrounding traffic. And if you look hard enough, you can also find some Christian churches.

My mother's family is an interesting reflection of that complexity. Most of her relatives are Buddhist, and some converted to Islam in marriage, but she went to Catholic school as a teenager, and ended up influencing her siblings upon her return. They're most certainly a religious minority in their country (9.1% of the population, according to the 2000 census), and even within their own households. I'm sure there's a story behind that, which I'll have to hear someday.


Standing Buddha was the final leg of our tour, and it seems appropriate that he was at the top of a long stairway. If you want enlightenment, shouldn't you have to work a little bit for it? And to add to the experience, shed your sandals at the top of the stairs and let the marble that's been baking under the sun all day scald your soles. (Or should that be "souls"?) Of course, there always has to be some joker who sees those stairs and has to imitate Rocky Balboa.


Some of you might think I'm raising my arms in triumph after scaling those stairs. Actually, I'm screaming in my pain from the soft, supple flesh of my feet burning against white-hot marble. Or maybe I stepped in some of the doggie-doo that was lurking around. ("Where's a hose??") Actually, I managed to step around it without even looking, which might be an indication that I'm on the right path.

Stay Strong, Iowa

I haven't been back to Iowa City since leaving three years ago, and if anyone I knew is still living there, we haven't kept in touch, other than adding each other on Facebook. My time in Iowa gets smaller in my rear-view mirror each day, but whether I ever visit again or not, that town and the University of Iowa will always be important to me. I realize this sounds entirely melodramatic, but I feel like that place and the people I met saved my life.

So when I see what Iowa City (and the greater Eastern Iowa region) are going through right now, my heart breaks. I can't even imagine that most of the roads and sidewalks I navigated are under water right now. The photos from the Iowa City Press-Citizen and The Daily Iowan are jolting.


This photo was taken just a couple of blocks from my old apartment (which was evacuated at the end of last week), and I believe the flood waters got even higher over the past couple of days. Fortunately, the Coralville Reservoir finally crested over the weekend, water levels are (slowly) receding, and water can start getting pumped out of campus buildings and residences. Though it could be a while before any of those places are deemed safe.


Somehow, I managed to avoid severe weather emergencies, such as these floods and tornadoes during my two years in Iowa. I remember my father telling me I needed to become familiar with shelter or evacuation proceedings during tornado season whenever he heard about things getting nasty in that part of the country. I shrugged it off back then, thinking nothing was going to happen. I had no idea how lucky I really was.


One thing I do know is that Iowans will do everything to help each other get through this. Those are some of the friendliest people I've ever met in my life, and they care deeply about their neighbors and their community. No one will have to suffer through this alone. It's just not how they do things in Hawkeye Country.

If you'd like to help, you can make a contribution to the UI Flood Relief Fund.

A 5'4" Inner Beast of Unstoppable Rage

This scene must have been cut out of my screening of The Incredible Hulk this weekend. Thankfully, there's YouTube to keep me constantly giggling.



"You hurt my belly!" Hilarious! And it's nice to see Edward Norton not always take himself so seriously.

A Bittersweet Sunday

It seems remarkably cruel that Tim Russert died (so suddenly, so shockingly) just two days before Father's Day. As known as he was for hosting Meet the Press, I think so many more people felt as if they knew him because of his willingness to share his memories and feelings about his family in books like Big Russ and Me and Wisdom of Our Fathers. Watching the tributes that have been composed for him all over television, not just on NBC and MSNBC, it's clear how important family was to Russert (as a son, as a father), how much his friends meant to him. But you also see a man who really, really loved his job, and loved what his life had become. And more than anything else, that's what I find myself admiring about him. How many of us get to say that?

Sunday mornings were often a source of tension between my father and me, though less so as the years progressed. I know he wished I'd go to church with him, and we never had the discussion we should've had about why I felt so conflicted about our church, and religion in general. But as Dad began to accept that it was something I just didn't want to do, we found other common ground on Sunday mornings, and that was Meet the Press. I don't think anyone was more gratified that MSNBC began replaying the show at 6 p.m., because he'd usually forget to tape the show, or we'd forget to do it for him.

Two people really got me interested in politics: Aaron Sorkin and Tim Russert. And I'm grateful for that, since it gave my father and I so much to talk about during what turned out to be the last years of his life.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

Hulking Out Over the Darnedest Things

With The Incredible Hulk coming out on Friday (and me spending far too much time online watching clips and reading interviews last night), I wanted to post these videos that should help us all remember why this is a character that continues to resonate in our pop culture.

Will the new movie have scenes anywhere near as compelling as these? First, here's David Banner trapped in New York City traffic.

"I've got to be there by five!"



Man, Ferrigno's wig is terrible in that one. Did his head get bigger or something?

Here's a situation we can all surely relate to (though not in a phone booth these days). Oh, those annoying operators with their falsely calm condescension!

"I don't have 25 cents!"



Better wig, though. Maybe Edward Norton's cell phone will cut out in this new movie. "Only one bar? Rrrarrhhh!"

Finally, the music in the trailer emulates the "Lonely Man" theme that played at the end of every TV episode. But wouldn't it be cool if they were somehow able to incorporate this old cartoon theme?

"Dr. Banner, belted by Gamma rays... Turned into the Hulk... Ain't he un-glamor-ays?"



Wretched. The movie has to be better than this junk.

And How Did You Spend Your Monday Morning... ?

This was the scene outside the Borders in downtown Ann Arbor this morning, with people lined up to get wristbands for David Sedaris's reading and signing this evening. Wristbands only came with a purchase of his new book, of course, and were passed out beginning at 9 a.m. I got there at 8:45, though I intended to arrive a bit earlier and the queue was already stretched from Borders' front door to the corner of Liberty and State. I'm not sure when people began to gather.

Even had I not gotten a wristband (I think they were capped at 400), I would've been happy to buy a book. But since I did nab a wristband, I guess I now have plans for the evening besides watching baseball. Will I have the patience to wait in line for a signature? Not if everyone in attendance gets in line. Life is getting shorter by the day, thinks the man who turned (gasp!) 35 yesterday.

The Malaysia Diaries: Beginning at the End

I'm not exactly sure where to start with these diaries, so I guess I'll begin with the end. Or at least an overview. Visiting Malaysia with my mother (and for part of the trip, my sister and her husband) was an amazing experience, if for no other reason than I'd never been outside of the United States before. (As a teen or adult, that is; my mother brought me to Malaysia when I was 15 months old.)


But there was so much more to the trip than that. Seeing where my mother grew up, watching her get excited about food she can't eat anywhere else, meeting her brother and sister, her many cousins, and of course, her mother all helped me understand my mother more deeply than I had before. And I thought I already knew the woman quite well. Subsequently, being introduced to this other side of my family that I'd never met before also helped me understand myself better. I'll write more about that in a post to come.


Something I'd like to write about in this first entry is the flight to Malaysia, however, because it seemed to come up any time I talked about the trip with someone. "Oh man - how long of a flight is that? I don't think I could do it. I'd go crazy." We're talking almost 24 hours spent on an airplane. It's roughly four-and-a-half hours from Detroit to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, I flew Northwest Airlines for that, after I said I'd never fly with them again after the way they treated me in New York, back in March. But I didn't book this flight. You can still go fuck yourself, Northwest.

On the bright side, Lou Ferrigno was one of my fellow passengers to L.A. I noticed him waiting in a restaurant near the gate, but wasn't entirely sure it was him until I caught a glimpse of his arms. I excitedly told my mother that the Hulk was going to be flying with us, and she encouraged me to go over and say something to him, but I didn't. For one thing, I didn't want to bother him and draw attention. And I never know what to say in those situations.

"Hey, you scared the shit out of me when I was four years old. Must've been that green wig. But I stopped being a sissy and got over that. By the way, I don't know if you remember but you totally cut in front of me in the hot dog line at the San Diego Comicon eight years ago."

Mom said I should tell him he was one of my heroes, but I think that's pushing it a little bit. Plus, I'm not sure that would've rang true with a fat guy professing such admiration to a former bodybuilder. "Hero? Then why didn't you pick up a dumbbell instead of a pizza slice, Tiny?" Ah, I should've at least snapped a picture. But I digress...

From L.A., it was another 12-13 hours to Taiwan, where we stopped to refuel. And that was capped off with another five hours from Taipei to Kuala Lumpur. How did I feel after finally getting off the plane? Well...


Ye gahds. That's the biggest picture of myself that I think I've ever posted here. And it's not very flattering. My apologies.

Anyway, I tried my best to sleep through as much of the flight as I could, and did a pretty good job of it. (My sister's husband told me he hardly slept at all; he must've been going nuts.) Each time I'd wake up, I'd hope I burned off four hours or so, only to be told by the screen in front of me that only one or two hours elapsed and there were eight more to go. But even if you nap for four hours, you wake up and still have a hell of a lot of flying left.

Could I have made it easier on myself by turning the screen off or switching to the in-flight programming? Maybe. But the maps and graphics were kind of hypnotic. And watching a movie titled "Jumper" didn't sound like a great idea on an airplane (though I do want to see it when it's released on DVD next week). So my iPod (with the full season of Mad Men on it, along with all of the podcasts and music I loaded on it before leaving) and several issues of The New Yorker kept me sane in between succumbing to sleep's sweet seduction.

It didn't quite feel like it at the time, but one fringe benefit of being stuck on a plane that long and warping through the 12-hour time difference was that I kicked my caffeine addiction. I managed to sleep through most of the withdrawal, but there was a period when I woke up feeling nauseous and in a cold sweat. At one point, I thought I might have to reach for the bag. I suppose I could've asked for a coffee or Diet Pepsi if I really wanted one, but I told myself this was a good thing. Being afraid of the headaches that would ensue without having some coffee each morning kept me from trying to wean myself off before.

I also tried to view my withdrawal symptoms from a somewhat spiritual perspective. I've been an angry person recently, irritated with several different aspects of my life and annoyed with many people I deal with. It's not healthy, and I really felt like it was eating away at my soul a bit, affecting how I act toward the world around me. Getting away from those situations was really important to me.

And though my body was literally dealing with its lack of a caffeine fix, I'd also like to think I was detoxifying all of the negativity, all of the bile I'd been carrying around, out of my system. I'll let you know if that worked next time I'm behind someone who's been in line at the coffee shop for 10 minutes, yet still insists on looking up at the menu and trying to figure out to order once he or she gets to the register. Serenity now! Of course, now that I'm no longer under caffeine's high-heeled foot, maybe I won't be sitting in those lines as much.


There's one photo I wanted to include in this post, of the local flight we took from Kuala Lumpur to Kota Bharu on AirAsia airlines, because the scenario was bizarrely hilarious. The planes were comfortable and looked nice with their leather seating and flight attendants in rather tight red uniforms. But most importantly, they were cool. Besides the air conditioning, it looked like some kind of cool mist vaporizer was being used to keep the temperature in the cabin down before take-off. But when we got onto the plane, all of the mist made it look like there was a fire. Maybe someone was trying to transfer something spicy back from Kuala Lumpur.


So I figure I have anywhere between six to 10 posts in me about Malaysia, judging from the notes I jotted down in my handy, dandy Moleskine. At least two posts will be devoted to the food I ate, though I should probably tell you right now I didn't eat anything too weird. Sorry, no bull penis or any sort of animal testicles. I guess I can't sit at the table with Bourdain and Zimmern just yet. But almost all of it was good, and I'll probably try in vain to re-create some of it here at home. Other topics should include my family, the language barrier between us, the sweat-pouring heat, the rather exotic animals that lurked nearby, and my unhappiness with the bathroom situation in that country. We'll see where it goes in the next couple of weeks.

Welcome Back to Hockeytown

Before finally updating The Malaysia Diaries (which I've slacked on due to a jet-lagged sleep schedule, compounded by late nights watching baseball and hockey), I wanted to post a brief note about the Detroit Red Wings, who won their 11th Stanley Cup championship in team history last night. It's also their fourth cup in the past 11 years, which is quite a run of prosperity after a 42-year drought leading up to the Wings' championship in 1997. (And that might have been my favorite memory as a Detroit sports fan.

I'm not nearly the hockey fan I used to be, which I think reflects the lesser appetite in the metro Detroit for the sport. The NHL lost me when it shut down in 2005, and I've been slow to come back. Not because I don't enjoy the sport, but once something goes away, and you find something else to replace it or realize you don't quite miss it, it's easy to forget. But this is a team that Detroit should embrace, because it was built the right way - with young talent developed within the organization (pronounced organ-EYE-zation for our Canadian friends), and filling in holes with role-playing veterans, instead of just buying the best available superstar players.

Following the Detroit Tigers as closely as I do, and trying to choke down the daily disappointment that their season has been thus far, it's sometimes become difficult to remember just why I love sports. But this Red Wings team has reminded me of that, of how fun it is when one of your local teams finishes as the best, and how that can draw a community together.

I was worried that the Stanley Cup Finals might be completed before I returned from Malaysia, and I'd miss the Wings playing for - and hopefully winning - another championship. I'm glad I returned in time to see the last three games of the series. And I'm really glad I got to see the guys in the red-and-white shirts, with the winged wheel on front, hoist that magnificent trophy over their heads one more time. It's the best celebration to watch in sports, and it's even better when it's your team doing the celebrating.

Enjoy this one, Hockeytown. And please appreciate this team.