(no subject)
As I passed the mini horses on the way to work today, I saw that one of them was rolling onto its back and waving it wee hooves in the air, creating a perfect storm of cute. On the way home, I saw what is perhaps the exact opposite. The mini stallion was attempting to get busy with one of the (presumably) mares. I didn't want to see that. I don't want my illusions shattered. I prefer to think that mini horses spend their lives romping about and looking cute, not indulging in their baser instincts. It was as though a couple of My Little Ponies started gettin' in on (come to think of it...weren't all the My Little Ponies female? In which case, where did the baby ponies come from? Were they capable of asexual reproduction? Or did they have cloning facilities? Ooh, now I'm picturing Mad Scientist Pony, presiding over banks of frozen pony embryos. As a pony ages, a new one is grown, so that when the pony dies, its place can be taken by the new one, thus preserving the continuity of Ponyland). Leave me my delusions, dammit!
Also on the way home, there is a branch lying by the side of the road that, in profile, looks exactly like a Brontosaurous (I have no truck with this Apatasaurous crap, it will always be Brontosaurous to me).
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We just finished watching Eight Below. Christ, what an incredibly hokey movie (and I say this as someone, who would, in that situation, strap my fellow humans to the wings of the plane in order to make space for the dogs). Not a single cliche was unused: the obsessed scientist, the plucky girl, the sensitive outdoors guy, the goofy sidekick, the anthropomorphized animals, a really fake looking leopard seal; there was even a Wise Indian, for chrissake. As soon as one dog was introduced as "Old Jack, who's retiring this year", I knew he was doomed, this being the equivalent of the kid in the WWII movies who pulls out a picture of his sweetheart and announces that they're getting married as soon as he gets back, thus ensuring that he will get killed fifteen minutes later. Also? There was enough room on the plane for the dogs. It's only a three hour flight, who cares if it's cramped and smells of eau de chien? Or maybe someone could have called one of the other research bases and asked them to pick the dogs up? Perhaps then it wouldn't have become Seven Below (Jack), and then Six Below (Dewey). It's as though the Disney exes had a meeting where they discussed just what the ideal number of dead dogs was; enough to tug the heartstrings, but not enough to get labeled heartless bastards (the answer being two, with a third, the favourite, being on the brink of death when they are rescued. Once inside the snowcat, however, she makes a miraculous recovery). In short, Eight Below did not fill me with the warm'n'fuzzies, it just pissed me off.
(I did some checking. The "true story" is was based on was a Japanese expedition in 1958, only in real life the dogs were abandoned in order to get the equipment out. Of the fifteen dogs, only two survived, with six dying on the chain. That pisses me off even more).
Also on the way home, there is a branch lying by the side of the road that, in profile, looks exactly like a Brontosaurous (I have no truck with this Apatasaurous crap, it will always be Brontosaurous to me).
**********
We just finished watching Eight Below. Christ, what an incredibly hokey movie (and I say this as someone, who would, in that situation, strap my fellow humans to the wings of the plane in order to make space for the dogs). Not a single cliche was unused: the obsessed scientist, the plucky girl, the sensitive outdoors guy, the goofy sidekick, the anthropomorphized animals, a really fake looking leopard seal; there was even a Wise Indian, for chrissake. As soon as one dog was introduced as "Old Jack, who's retiring this year", I knew he was doomed, this being the equivalent of the kid in the WWII movies who pulls out a picture of his sweetheart and announces that they're getting married as soon as he gets back, thus ensuring that he will get killed fifteen minutes later. Also? There was enough room on the plane for the dogs. It's only a three hour flight, who cares if it's cramped and smells of eau de chien? Or maybe someone could have called one of the other research bases and asked them to pick the dogs up? Perhaps then it wouldn't have become Seven Below (Jack), and then Six Below (Dewey). It's as though the Disney exes had a meeting where they discussed just what the ideal number of dead dogs was; enough to tug the heartstrings, but not enough to get labeled heartless bastards (the answer being two, with a third, the favourite, being on the brink of death when they are rescued. Once inside the snowcat, however, she makes a miraculous recovery). In short, Eight Below did not fill me with the warm'n'fuzzies, it just pissed me off.
(I did some checking. The "true story" is was based on was a Japanese expedition in 1958, only in real life the dogs were abandoned in order to get the equipment out. Of the fifteen dogs, only two survived, with six dying on the chain. That pisses me off even more).