Wednesday, January 8, 2020
Well THIS Mega Bites
Showing considerable predictive skills, poet Robert Burns wrote, in 1785, that "the best laid plans o' mice an' men gang aft agley." And we assume that he was referring to computer mice, because that's the infernal device that has had its way with us like a brute named "Jackhammer" in the prison shower.
Oh, we began the day confidently enough, even making plans to attend a movie - an experience which is somewhat problematic for us as previously outlined in these pages. But we went anyway, reserving the wrong seats online (and dashing around at the theater to get moved to a better row). We then sensed impending trouble when the theater patron about 5 seats away started coughing phlegmatically and, when the pre-show trailers came on, guffawing loudly at the antics of some animated M&M's. Sure enough, he proved to be one of those persons who seems to believe he can affect the outcome of a film by shouting helpful advice to those onscreen.
The movie was Clint Eastwood's "Richard Jewell," a very solid and well-crafted film revolving around the events of the Atlanta Olympic bombing and the poor security guard who discovered the backpack bomb and was then blamed for it.
Eastwood handles the material fairly, and shows how the government and media can destroy an innocent person not because they're being evil, but because they're being assholes. Which, of course, we're still seeing today in a big way.
In any event, the film gets a "thumbs up" from Stilton's Place, especially if you can watch it with no Tourette's sufferers in the immediate proximity. Also, the "scope" of the film is such that it will play fine on your home television if you don't catch it in a theater.
ANYway, we got back home and prepared to write a lovely blog post and...our principle piece of software for the job was screwed beyond belief. Beyond what was even theoretically possible, bending the laws of time, space, and physics to blow a hot raspberry in our face.
We labored for hours to no avail, and decided that our only realistic course of action was to mutter an expletive, drink four (count 'em!) glasses of Clan MacGregor, and then see what we could write for today when our eyes were out of focus.
Stilton Jarlsberg at 12:01 AM