Edgy MD

Documentary about the competitive field of Irish stepdancing visits several countries to follow many competitors (including some with few cultural ties to Ireland) as they prepare for that year's world finals in Glascow.

Which one of you is shitting Ashie? I'm having trouble gleaning what your complaint is. Given 20 minutes, I'm sure I could find 10 All Stars who began their third year of pro ball in high A. This is the way things work.

I love Ashie's post so much I've already embroidered it on a pillow.

"ScarJo"? Is this what the world has come to?

metsmarathon wrote: what you describe is an entirely different movie. a good one to make that i would love to see, but it's an entirely different animal. I don't think so. I think it would have been a film that honored the spirit they were trying to get across --- medium is the message and all --- while advancing the art of stop action.

Working within limits and exceeding the seeming limitations can be part of the magic of film. Resetting the shot for each frame would have been a challenge for much of the film, but not all of it, as it only takes a relative handful of brick replacements per shot to give the illusion of movement. Especially if you slowed the fuck down for a bit. Plus, you could have totally been within the spirit of the film by using a crew of 8-14-year-olds, working as a team of master builders. They could have worked off a computerized design template mapping out the changes for each shot. And then the only computerized animation would have been with the faces. And heck, that could have been done in pen and ink.

Hate to be the naysayer, but I'm giving this three out of five. I was leaning toward two-and a half. Between the zippity-zip pacing (which also put me off Cloudy with a Chance o' Meatballs), and just the number of times the production seems to betray the film's own spirit*, I had trouble getting on board until the last act. *Why didn't they shoot it in stop action with actual Lego pieces?

My Facebook feed has been filling with hyperbole over this all weekend. Having no kidmuffins of my own, I'm not sure if all this spooging is something that applies to me, or a real invitation to go see the film and CHANGE MY LIFE. Tell me about it.

Colin Cowgill is that sort of guy. He's not consistent enough to keep on the bigs, but his talent is enticing enough that he's hard to sneak through waivers. So when Oakland needed his spot on the roster, they traded him to the Mets for Jefry Marte, rather than risk waivers. Collin was briefly good for the Mets, then he really wasn't. So when the Mets needed his spot on the roster, they traded him to the Angels for Kyle Johnson. Kyle's a college-educated (Washington State, alma mater of Gary Larson, Dolph Lundgren, and Ed Bouchee) speedy outfielder that gets on base. He's got a .382 career OBP on top of his .289 batting average, and if the extra base hits aren't there, well, he's got more than you do. He was ripping up his season to the tune of .308 / .416 / .421 // .837 in the Low-A Midwest League, and the Mets promoted him to High-A St. Lucie shortly after getting him, depressing his performance, but he still came away with a .278 / .344 / .380 // .724 slash in 48 games. This spring, all eyes will be watching to see if he stays in Florida when camp breaks, or heads north to Elysian Fields of Binghamton. I've read about him, and he just really seemed to need someone to love him. He talked about the day he was traded: �I was just like, �OK.� I was caught really off-guard. I didn�t really know anything about it. He (Bobby Scales) asked if I had any questions, and I was just kind of speechless.� The poor guy and his fiancee had to make the drive from Iowa to Savannah, Georgia � and then drive again to Port St. Lucie to join his new team after less than ten games with the Sand Gnats. Johnson was a nice addition to the St. Lucie team and immediately gave them a boost at the top of the line-up with his speed. In his two-year pro career between the Angels and Mets, Johnson has hit .290 with a .395 on-base percentage. He has stolen 46 bases in 53 attempts in 128 career games. 39 of those stolen bases have come this year as he approaches the 50 mark quickly�no joke intended there. When he makes the trip up north, AND HE WILL, here's hoping he leaves this misbegotten uniform behind.

It gets embarrassing when you call one Ivan and the other one answers.

Won't vote here, but I bailed after 15 minutes.

Ash going back to 1984 for Woody's redemption. Vic Sage wrote: But i thought we HAD stopped, pretty much. Sounds to me like a meaningful handful of youse COULDN'T HELP YOURSELVES.

The big three I associate with being influenced by Big Star are REM, the Bangles,and the Replacements, to one degree or another, and in different ways. REM referenced them in guitar textures, the Bangles in harmonies, and the Replacements in song structure.

Has a lot in common thematically, with Hot Tub Time Machine. The main difference is this movie's version of "Lou" --- Gary --- is the protagonist.

Are either of Gatsby's nominations for Second Spitter's work?

In a foreshadowing of standard late nineties themes, Clint Eastwood is an assassin who wants out of the game, but the game won't let him go. Clint Eastwood directs. And in his direction, he directs women to throw themselves at him. By the bar, on the side of mountains, deep in the desert, or on the roof of a parking garage. Throw yourselves, ladies, throw. And it is on the side of the mountain where his showdown confrontation is to take place.

Ha! I joke! (This doesn't bode well for parody invitational this year.)

Well, the name is in the title and everything. Anybody else go for the Jackson-as-Smaug notion? I can't recall any film whose production felt like so much a contradiction of it's own script's morals since... Titanic? ... Mary Shelley's Frankenstein?

So what's your rating out of five stars? Who gave it half a star?

Ashie62 wrote: Was selected before Sonny Gray and Jose Fernandez... Well, tough. Still got plenty of time to make a big league outfielder out of this guy. He's like three and a half years younger than Gray, so let's try and be fair.

Ouch, you paid to see American President in a theater? I don't want to say you deserved it, but... .

He went 36 2/3 innings in for Bingo with a 3.44 ERA, striking out 41 and walking 13. Then he went to Vegas and added 28 more innings with a 3.21 ERA, striking out 27 and walking another 13. That's got to be good for a spring training invite, right? Right?

In 115 at-bats in the Dominican Winter League: .200 / .252 / .261 // .513. Gulp.

I've probably mentioned this but I had a chance to spend an evening with Kathleen Howard. I had adored her all through college, but the timing never worked out. She was wit' somebody when I was not, and vice versa. So we make plans to meet. It was going to be after work, but something came up and she was going to work late. "Catch a movie after work and I'll see you after," she says. I "catch" a movie called Short Cuts and damn it, but the time I get up to Morningside Heights afterwards, she's in her pajamas. Robert Altman was not my best buddy.

My dad had his own parking space at King's Plaza. He broke up a ring of robberies there, and as a thank you, the managers and merchants had a brief ceremony and surprised him with this special reward. He took the presenter aside briefly afterwards and told him he couldn't possibly accept this honor. It was illegal enough in general, but after the Serpico hearings, anything that smelled of graft would have been a serious threat to his career. But they had marked the spot as reserved and left it that way. So, occasionally we would go by King's Plaza and I would ask, like an annoying kid always does, "Is THAT your spot, Dad? Is THAT it?" as we circled looking for a real spot. He was a cop, so he probably could have left his car, idling, anywhere he wanted, but he couldn't use that damn spot. I remember going to Kings Plaza at Christmas time, and there were no available spots, and we circled and circled with the rest of the dopes and my Dad's head was turning red and building up pressure and ready to blow. Couldn't take the chance that another cop would spot his green VW wagon in his personal grafty-grafty spot. It taunted him.