Weekend Update...

...but not with Dennis Miller. sigh. Those were the days.

Saturday night we headed out to the movies and caught "V For Vendetta." For those of you who may not know, it's based on a comic by Alan Moore. Alan Moore is one of those people who brought a badly-needed shot of respectability and depth to the comic book biz - he, Neil Gaiman, and Frank Miller (among several others, but these guys are the giants) did a lot to change the face of the industry over the past 20 years. And the comic version of V rocks. As such, I was a little bit afraid of the film, because I expected the story to be endlessly tweaked and a lot of the ideas to be watered down. Hollywood does that sometimes, you know. I also expected the Wachowski brothers to screw it all up in some way or another, because - well, look at what they did to the Matrix trilogy. Such a promising beginning, such a waste in the end.

The verdict? Well, I enjoyed myself, although some of the things I worried about did come to pass, at least to a degree. Visually, of course, it was stunning, and the action sequences were everything we've come to expect in the age of CGI. Most of the actors did a splendid job, although Hugo Weaving was bugging me from time to time. Which is weird, because I like him a lot. The film loses its way a bit, however, when it comes to the central ideas of Moore's work. For one, it seemed like the movie was made not necessarily because the original material was thought provoking and entertaining, but more because the central ideas are such hot-button issues for our times (thus generating crucial "buzz" for the film - nothing gets your name out there faster than a little controversy). Also, the original comics are honestly just too literary and dense to neatly fit into a two hour box. It's like - well, picture the movie as an ocean, if you will, and the heady ideas contained within as icebergs adrift in that sea. 10% of them may have been touched on in one way or another, but the other 90% were left lurking unseen and unexplored beneath the waves. Does that make any kind of sense? I can understand to a point why Moore dissociated himself from the project, although I do also think that he didn't need to be so pissy about it. Intelligent fans who love his work will always see the film and the comics as two separate entities, just as Stephen King fans look at Kubrick's version of "The Shining." The movie doesn't diminish the book, nor is one of them necessarily "worse" or "better" than the other. They're just different.

After that, it was drinkin' time. And drink we did. Hoo, boy, did we ever. The less said about that the better, I think, although a good time was had by all (you know who you are) and it was sorely needed. I didn't even really mind the inevitable hangover that followed early this morning, although I could also have definitely done without it.

Waking up early this morning on a couch that wasn't my own, I stumbled on home (figuratively, of course) to watch the early morning coverage of the rain-delayed third round of the Masters. Which ended up being a mistake, although it's hard for me to just ignore a television when there's a major being played. Even so, I could have saved myself some future grief by deciding to take a nap in the time before CBS's coverage of the final round started this afternoon. I didn't, though. I figured "I'll probably just sleep right through my alarm and miss all the action. I can just stay up, it's not like I got no sleep last night. I'll be cool."

Oops. I made it through the first half of the afternoon coverage, no problem - but right about the time that the leaders were making the turn, my body said "nuh-uh." And I crashed. Reeeeeally hard. Missed the rest of the tournament (yay Phil, and thanks for winning without any drama, so at least I don't have to be too upset about missing it), missed Gary heading upstairs to crash himself, missed everything else that may or may not have happened in my apartment between then and about 9:30 tonight. And missed my plans to hang out with a certain someone this evening, plans that have been on my mind for a week or more since she's been so all-fired busy and our schedules seem to always be at odds lately. And that's something that is probably going to get me into some hot water. Well, there's no probably to it. The only question is just how deep that water is going to be. And I can't even call tonight to apologize, because due to said all-fired busyness (that word always looks wrong to me), there's a better than average chance that she's already in bed thanks to the hellacious week that awaits her. Argh.

If there's an upside to my idiocy, it's that I did manage to wake up just early enough to catch the Cubs' most excellent 8th inning rally against the hated Cardinals. Michael Barrett, you rock. Nothing like a little comeback action to get the juices flowing, especially when said comeback includes a grand slam that leaves the park like it's tied to a rocket. And, of course, few things in life are as satisfying to a Cub fan as sweeping the Boobirds. Maybe this is the year? Nah, I doubt it. (Hi, Hank :op)

So. I'm off to write a lame email of sorritude (something's better than nothing, right?) and then maybe puzzle out just what form my forthcoming ass-kissing needs to take. Good times!