Snipers

I waited almost 40 years for this scene.

And, the greatest thing is, it TOTALLY makes sense.

The fact that they call it "feminist" speaks pages about the closed-mindedness we still need to face.

Taipei Expat Game

After a week of hard study, you decide to go clubbing with this foreigner guy with a questionable love for cowboy hats. You know him just since one week. After the actually wild night, in the morning the guy tells you that he needs to deliver a VERY suspicious suitcase in a random hotel room. You
a) go home and never reply to his calls again
b) go home because it's late and maybe whatever he is doing for living isn't so legal after all
c) go with him in front the hotel
The guy tells you that he showed up in the same hotel already twice and he wants you as a cover. But, no worry: because for delivering his "paperworks" he promises you 500 dollars. You
a) are already at home
b) run fast
c) find a nice excuse and, then, politely run
d) start joking with him
When you refuse again, the guy suddenly handcuff you to the luggage. You:
a) at home, have already took a shower, and you are gonna take your beauty sleep
b) run as fast as you can, super scared, trying to dialing 911 at the same time, telling that a crazy guy just HANDCUFFED YOU TO A FUCKING SUITCASE and he is (probably) running after you
c) start asking for random help to like ANYONE of the 8 million people that live in this city
d) you indeed GO INSIDE THE HOTEL

If you replied mostly a), b) or c): CONGRATULATION. You are actually using the famous 10% of your brain.

If you replied mostly d): CONGRATULATION. Despite your proven stupidity, you chose the correct city to live in. Because in Taipei, in reality, you will probably just end up to have a nice conversation with the receptionist of the hotel who will find you a smith. If you are like VERY unlucky, you will have two runs of Mahjong with a lovely Taiwanese "gangster" old school. OR. You're LUC BESSON.

Le donne inutili dell'orsetto lavatore

And, finally, she saw THE WOLVERINE.

Personalmente, ho trovato meglio il primo del secondo (!!). Ma, forse, solo perché c'era ***GAMBIT*** invece di quella gran gatta morta di Jean. Che, porco CAZZO E' MORTA. Ma neanche da stecchita ce la leviamo dai coglioni?

Il film, praticamente, è da andare a vedere per la scena del bagno. Ché io mi prenderò il bluray solo per farmi le screencaps in alta. Piccole soddisfazioni della vita, cosa volete che vi dica.

E poi per la scena dopo i titoli, NATURALMENTE, che annuncia un "ERIK TI AMO, CHARLES" elevato alla seconda. Con componente zia Patty e zia Ian + Fassy e McAvoy ai confini del LOVE. CAPIAMOCI. Tipo che quel film può essere loro quattro che giocano a tresette per due ore e io sarò contenta.

Comunque.

Tornando a questo film, due piccole precisazioni che proprio non ci stanno.

Una [già segnalata da Morry] è la questione dell'uscita degli artigli. Se lui non guarisce più, le ferite sulle mani devono rimanere aperte.

La seconda è temporale. Se è vero che Yoshida deve avere saputo che Logan si faceva chiamare The Wolverine (come ha saputo anche dell'adamantio e tutto il resto), di certo non poteva chiamarlo così ai tempi della guerra, far away prima che l'altra gatta morta (stecchita anche quella, vabbé) gli raccontasse la leggenda e blabla. Giusto per.

Note a margine.

Jackman barbone all'inizio. Mi aspettavo da un momento altro che partisse con "Who am I? I'm Jean Valjean!"

Hugh Jackman. Period.

È TROPPO bono per essere vero. E tu, stecchino giapponese, hai cazzo di vinto tutto nella vita.

Considerazione finale.

Wolverine è un figo, ma si innamora SOLO di donne inutili.

Peccato.

Message to DiDio #3

BQM was forced to write Chloe and Oliver out of Smallville Season 11 due to Arrow's popularity. Eventually, for DiDio, I'm just too stupid for understanding that Arrow's, Smallville's and the canon-pre-52 Oliver (the 52 one, obviously, DOESN'T EXIST) are characters from *different* universes.

DiDio, all my hate. As usual.

AND.
Honestly.
I'm watching, week after week, CW systematically destroying what Oliver Queen was for almost 70 years.
I. AM. NOT. HAPPY.

I tried surviving with the "come on, it's just another universe" karma.
And for the sake of Amell who is a lovely human being (and since Barrowman is totally insane).
But the fact that now, just because millions watch the show not having ANY idea who the hell the comic character was, DC decided to obliterate the *ORIGINAL* Ollie for riding the wave, it's unbearable.

Thanks for all the fish

So. Another post about the end of the world. Yes, I'm pretty much into this thing tonight. First at all because I was actually thinking that, if I will die today, I'll do it quite happily. Ok. I'm not a Doctor yet (Damn, Sheldon). But I published something anyway. So. Whatever. I have great humans who love me. And THAT's a big YAY. Ok. I will be disappointed because I won't know how Sherlock survived the fall. I'm also pissed because the last Green Arrow run sucked. And I'd love that the old version of Ollie will be back. (Important stuff, folks, important stuff).

More than everything, I'm thinking that today, Friday 21st 2012, will be, in some ways, the end of the world for someone.

Mr. Lucas. I'm sorry.

But you already did it. You sold the franchise to the rat.

I don't think that suing the Maya will help.

Seven Guests

My seven guests.

1. Richard P. Feynman
2. Jesus
3. Roger Penrose
4. Tom Hiddleston
5. Emily Dickinson
6. Amelia Earhart
7. Joss Whedon

Having Penrose, Dick and Jesus all close to each other, would be definitely most of the fun of the night. Fortunately they are an American guy, an English gentleman and... Jesus. So, they probably wouldn't end punching each other on an argument. (I'm not so fond about Richard, doh).
Tom would try to hit the conversation of these big three all night, eventually without any effective result. However, he would end playing bongos with Dick during the after dinner. (Both drunk, obviously).
It would be perfect having Emily near Tom. She wouldn't probably speak at all anyway, so that having Tom there could either avoiding the frustration on being unable to interacting properly with the other three and entertaining her during the whole evening. Discussing about classics and poetry, but also rainbows, butterflies, tiny stars, unicorns and all "their kinda stuff". Unreal people.
Amelia would poke here and there Emily during the conversation, but, mostly she would be absorbed by Joss and his questions about women and feminism and power, probably with already a script forming in his mind.
Me? I would totally unable to say a single word, completely drowned in the awesomeness of my guests.
After that, I think, I will die.
Quickly.
And happy as a clam.

My Olympic Games essay

It's Sunday morning.
10AM.
I'm not awake because I just woke up, but because I didn't sleep.
Yet.
Or.
At all.
AS USUAL.

After a lovely evening ranting and bitching around with a couple of friends, drinking an immoderate quantity of pudding milk tea, I spent the whole night on the parquet of Dunhua Eslite bookstore lurking Chinese translations of all the Shakespearean plays I could think of.
Highest moment when a random guy, too into a Nabokov's poetry book, LITERALLY sat ON my head.
I can't recall about nobody SAT on my head before.
However, I didn't ask him to marry me, since it was Nabokov and not Yevtushenko.

(Impressively. In Italian we write Evtušenko. I just googled the English transliteration and it's Yevtushenko. God, why?).

Back home, I bought a pumpkin sandwich and a soy milk for breakfast, listening Keith Jarrett's 1976 Tokyo Concert Encore.

("Music is what feelings sound like")

For living, I read papers.
Tons. Of. Papers.
Concerning, mostly, bionic-men and heavy metals.
(And that seems Wolverine)
(But it is not).

I write on my agenda the day in which movies are out and comics are out and action figures are out.
At 36, I wear set of pins with witty jokes about famous scientists on my skull-themed sweaters.

Geek.
It's a compliment.