Reasonable Doubt

Woman shoots husband over a warm beer.

After reading this I have to wonder: was it because the beer was warm, because it was Stag, or because it was warm Stag? It sounds to me like he was asking for trouble.

From the Ashes

Fascinating account, censored until now, of how the Pacific fleet was rebuilt after the attacks at Pearl Harbor.

Missouri DOR Can Lick My Balls

Copy of the e-mail I just sent to the state of Missouri:

I just spent more than 30 mintues in line only to be told that I could not renew my plates today. Why? Because apparently, I did not have my 2004 personal property tax receipts. That's funny -- and utter crap, because I did have it with me.

It seems that back in 2004 when I purchased my car, I was leasing a Honda Civic. As part of my lease, I had to pay the personal property taxes, which I did. My name is even on the property tax form as a c/o.

When I registered my car, they accepted it without any trouble. So EXACTLY WHY DID THEY NOT ACCEPT IT NOW?

Please answer this for me, because I really want to know. I don't understand how two years ago, they accepted this paperwork without any problems, but now it's a problem. The state didn't have any trouble cashing the check back in 2004, 2003, or 2002. I paid it. I have the receipts, which according to some arcane bureacratic rule, I can't use.

So now I have to go to another office to get a waiver, when in this golden year of 2006 AD, we have these things called computers that talk to one another via this magical invention known as the internet. In fact, I'm using it to communicate with you now! How hard is it to set the systems up so the ("extremely") helpful employee can go ahead and look the damned thing up, thereby taking care of the problem? I'm willing to be that an integrated system would save all sorts of time and money, which is probably why the state rejects that solution. Please explain this me, because I'm utterly confused about this.

But mostly, I'd like to know why is it that I can use a valid tax receipt showing I paid my property tax in 2004 is no longer valid. That doesn't make a lick of sense and right now, I'm so angry that my hands are still shaking. Because Monday, I now have to take time off of work, drive downtown and get a piece of paper (that they probably won't have - because I already paid my taxes) that merely repeats information that I already gave them. Please explain to me how this makes sense.

This state never ceases to amaze me. In the roughly 18 years that I've been driving, I have never had an easy time getting my plates renewed - no matter how many times I check the paperwork I have or how early I start, some new rule keeps springing up that keeps me from taking care of it without jumping through so many hoops that circus monkeys start shaking their heads in wonder.

Thank you for your time. I'm not really expecting to hear from you, since I know what a premium the state puts on its customer service.

Sincerely,

Brian McCown

Christ, I am pissed. My hands are still shaking. Needless to say, I plan giving my amigos over at the Missouri Dept. of Revenue a friendly call on Monday so that we may discuss my issues with them. I'm going to try not to use the word "fuck" as many times as I did when I sat down to write this, but I'm not promising anything. In fact, I was kind of proud that I only dropped one f-bomb when I was told I couldn't renew my plates.

TSUNAMI!

Earthquakes rocked the Kurii islands this morning, and the Japanese government issued warnings. People were told to flee the expected tsunami.

So I'm sure they were a little confused when the 16-inch wave pounded the coast.

A co-worker told me that CNN devoted several segments of breathless coverage, waiting for the destructive tidal wave to hit the Japanese coast -- apparently one that you can avoid by either timing your jump just right or taking a big step at the right moment. Apparently, the anchor was rather distressed that we weren't going to see Japan or Hawaii erased from the map. Nice.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm all for weather warnings; I don't want to ever see a repeat of the 2004 earthquake; however, I'm thinking that maybe - the folks over at CNN might want to reign in the journalistic zeal a little bit. At least the guy on NPR sounded a little amused when he read about the 16 inches of terror that washed ashore this morning.

Cursed? I Think Not!

My fingers are numb; my tongue, even more so.

Several years ago, I burned myself badly while cooking. As a joke, my mother purchased me a set of oven mitts. As an even bigger joke, they might be able to hold out the heat from an ice cube, but a cookie sheet? Forget it.

Needless to say, when I was pulling the cookie sheet with the bread on it out of the oven, I burned the bejeesus out of two fingers. Not fun. Fortunately, I have much experience with this, so I immediately immersed them in water. A few minutes later, I was functional again.

Until I decided to try the spaghetti sauce. The spaghetti sauce that had been simmering in the slow cooker for several hours.

Perhaps I was overwhelmed by hunger. Maybe I was distracted; who knows? All I know are blisters on the roof of the mouth aren't much fun.

This is not the first time I've burned myself while cooking. Nor is it the first time I've cut myself, crushed a finger, banged my head off of something. Maybe it's clumsiness. Aaron thinks it's because he cursed me many years ago. I don't buy it. And I still laugh at him!!!!!

No, I think it's mainly because I subscribe to the extreme school of cooking, where no knife is too sharp or no pan is too hot. Like all great composers, I suffer for my art.

I just pray I live to enjoy it.

Election Day Jitters

The butterflies in my stomach have been turning cartwheels all afternoon. At first, I thought I might be suffering from election-related nerves, but I believe I've stumbled on the real truth:

When re-heating leftover chicken, make damned sure it's hot enough. Because food poisoning? Not fun. At least my old friends el Kaopectate and el Pepto Bismol are here to to celebrate the election returns.

Now if I suffer a round of vomiting after a particularly odious election outcome, I'll have an excuse.

Karma is a Harsh Mistress

While technically not a Halloween story, this is a tale of monsters and spirits gone awry.

Once upon a time, I worked as a counselor at a summer day camp. For some reason, my employers decided it would be wise to put me in charge of a group of 12 six-year-old boys. Yes, I was ten years older than them, but I was just as mature as they were.

One of the keystones of being male is the utter inability to admit to fear. Fear is not an emotion we admit to. Sure, in the dark hours of the morning, after the fourth beer, we might sit and dwell upon mortality, but in front of a crowd fear is not an acceptable emotion.

I’m happy to report that one year, the kids in my group were the most utterly fearless six-year-olds to walk the Earth. No threat of violence (non-enforceable, of course), restriction of privileges or dire happenings could prod them into doing something they didn’t want to do, and God help you if they decided they wanted to keep playing on the playground – no force known to man could pry them from the sweet siren song of a sandbox.

And if they decided to run into the woods? You were in for a long period of yelling and searching, hoping they chose not to go home (many of them lived nearby).

Enter Mr. Moto. Mr. Moto was an escapee from an insane asylum. He lived in the woods, where he would tie the bad children to trees and would eventually eat them. Like the idea that I was actually in charge of these kids, Mr. Moto was pure fiction – the nuclear option we (the boy counselors) used if the kids were being especially uppity. The mere mention of Mr. Moto guaranteed instant compliance, as no child wants to be eaten while tied to a tree.

St. Louis in mid-July has all the ambiance of a steam room. Clear blue skies and the hot sun shines down as humidity blows up from the Gulf to guarantee that your clothes will stick to you by 9:00 AM, and finding a cool spot to relax is a treasure indeed. For me, excessive heat also makes me cranky. Add cranky to my general laziness, and you begin to see how chasing bratty kids around isn’t always a fun way to kill an afternoon.

One day, after a particularly long playground session, we had to move on, and the kids fought like crazy, not wanting to go. I invoked the spirit of Mr. Moto.

And was rebuked.

I tried again.

And they laughed at me.

Good Lord, I thought, we’ve gone nuclear one time too many. It no longer works. I could feel my control of these kids slipping away – soon, anarchy would reign, and my fellow counselors would shun me, because no one wanted to associate with someone who had no control over his group.

I then hit upon the solution. “If you all don’t get moving now, Moto’s coming out of the woods for you!” I said.

They laughed some more.

“Okay. Your funeral. I want no part of this.” And I ran off.

Straight into the woods I ran, around the trails lining the park. One trail let out next to the playground. As I approached the opening, I pulled my shirt over my head and ran out, screaming “YYYYYEEEEAAAAHHHHH!”

I pulled my shirt down, chuckling. And realized my kids had scattered to the four winds. Uh-oh.

Fortunately, I found them before they ran into traffic or straight home. After much whining and crying, I finally calmed them down (and promised them lots and lots of ice cream the next day).

But when I was climbing into my car to go home that night, I realized my wallet was no longer in my pocket. Egad.

I slipped back into the woods, and found it. Two hours later. With no cash in it. The next day, I loaded up on treats and ice cream and made up to the kids. Oh, and I also got my ass chewed up one side of the park and down the other by my boss.

I’m a different person than I was back then. More mature, more confident. And if I’m ever in that situation again, I would do it differently.

I’ll keep my wallet in the car before going out to work with the kids.

Apparently, There WAS Something Left to Sell

If you thought major league baseball has sold out to ridiculous levels (AT&T Call to the bullpen, anyone?) and could go no further, you were wrong.

At this rate, it's only a matter of time before Jerry Reinsdorf sells that last shard of dignity on e-bay.

Getting My Nerd On

Last Friday night, Darcy babysat, and rather than use the time for self-improvement or making the world a better place, I opted to get my nerd on instead. I know, I know, you all see me as this really hip dude, but sometimes, I just have to let my inner nerd out.

Some thoughts about Friday’s Doctor Who and Battlestar Galactica episodes, some spoilers included.

Doctor Who – “Tooth and Claw”

• “May God forgive me.” This is my favorite opening teaser of all the new episodes; it’s perfect – kung fu monks taking over the castle, the women and servants fearfully looking on as the monks drag the mysterious cage down with them, the scream and cue the credits. Perfect timing.
• “You’re a punk.” Any doubts I had about the Doctor banging Rose were completely dispelled by the first scene.
• “Eighteen seventy-nine. Same difference.” Nice throwback to past continuity when the Doctor claiming to be James MacCrimmon – I’m glad the new show doesn’t disregard the long history – this especially comes up in the next episode.
• I want to like David Tennant as the Doctor; I think he was well-cast – in many ways, he’s taken to the role far better than Christopher Eccleston did, but I wish Russell Davies would have given him better episodes to work with. My favorites for this season: “Tooth and Claw”, “School Reunion”, “The Impossible Planet” and “Doomsday”.
• While I like Rose as a companion, she alternated between making me laugh and wanting to reach in the screen and smack her. I liked how she took charge in the basement, but the whole "We are not amused" thing was irritating.
  
• The big thing I’ve enjoyed about the new series is that Davies tries to explore the aftermath of a typical visit by the Doctor. Let’s face it – he leaves plenty of devastation and bodies behind him. The idea that Queen Victoria wants no further part of his “help” is a great one; unfortunately, I thought the execution throughout the season was poorly done.
• “Oh my god! They’re werewolves!” Overall, a fun episode. It works well because it, like all the better episodes of Doctor Who, doesn’t take itself too seriously, and really, how can you take a plot involving kung fu monks trying to infect Queen Victoria with lycanthropy in order to seize control of the crown too seriously?

Battlestar Galactica – “Occupation/Precipice”

• I didn’t think they’d be able to top last season’s finale – they did. Man, I can’t wait until Friday.
• Without Adama there to reign him in, Tigh has become a combination of Ahab, Ho Chi Minh, and Osama bin Laden. He’s going to make the Cylons pay for that eye, and pay dearly. Unfortunately, the cost will ultimately be his humanity. The scene where Roslin confronts him about the suicide bombings sums it up perfectly.
• Joining Tigh in the crazy section, Kara has also lost her mind, and I can’t say I blame her – you’re locked in a gilded cage with a loony Cylon who you murder regularly only to have him return a few hours later. Oh, then he produces a child that may or may not be your daughter? You and sanity would probably part ways a bit as well.
• Off the subject, but the people who came up with and approved the shit joke for the new Domino’s ads probably shouldn’t be in marketing. Just a thought.
• Lee has finally given into his inner whiner, something he’s long threatened to do. This disappoints me; I always enjoyed Lee’s character – it’s hard seeing him like this.
• “Have hope. We’re coming for you.” This simple message was the heart of the episodes - and the series itself - that no matter how dark things look, don't give up hope.
  
• Head-Six still rocks. Forget the real thing – the scenes where she keeps Baltar afloat are always intense, and this one was especially so. Six might enjoy messing with Baltar, but she always has his best interests at heart.
  
• I need to listen to the podcast, but it looks like Moore is still going to keep screwing Sharon
• The end was straight out of The Great Escape, and it’s a shocking way to end the episode. I’m guessing that Roslin escapes, since they show her in upcoming teasers. However, I do hope that Zarek escapes as well, because I like how the two characters see right through one another, but they still grudgingly respect each other. And I never thought I would say this: it would be a shame to lose Richard Hatch from this show.

Wreckage

The car settled in the trees, gently rocking for a moment or two as if it wanted to get back up, then it settled into stillness. Steam hissed from the crumpled front end as I ran up to the car, briefly wondering if it was liable to burst into flames or explode (thank you, years of bad TV). The whole time, I dreaded what I would find.

Augusta is tucked away in the hills of Missouri, about 20 miles south of St. Charles. It’s a quiet, rural area of rolling hills and farms. It’s a stop along the Katy Trail, and it’s known for its wineries. Every October, a long caravan of cars full of wine-country pilgrims wind their way up and down the hills along the country roads.

Darcy and I were headed there Saturday afternoon, when we came to one of the steepest, most winding hills. A short line of cars had just started down the hill while we were starting our climb. The lead car in the downward procession suddenly tried jerking to a halt, juked right and left, spun out, sailed off the road, flipped twice and landed in the ditch not 30 feet from my car.

When you see an accident like this, time slows. It takes a second to register that lives – including your own – are potentially at risk. You feel like you’re watching something that’s going on somewhere else – thing like this don’t happen, they can’t. Something like this is too terrible to contemplate.

I told Darcy to call 911 as I jumped out – along with several others – to see what could be done. And really – there wasn’t much. Someone had already helped the sobbing seven-year-old off to the side. Two people were helping a forty-ish woman from the car as a girl climbed into the back seat to remove the baby from her car seat. I helped the woman from the car sit down on the embankment then started to go around to the other side to see about freeing the driver. With someone else’s help, he climbed out of the car and walked around to his family.

Glancing inside the car, I could see air bags limply hanging from the dashboard and steering wheel. Toys, pens, and all the assorted flotsam scattered throughout the passenger compartment. Had they not been wearing seatbelts, we’d have been carrying their bodies from the remains of the car.

Someone more knowledgeable in first aid than I started treating the victims, and the army of cell phoners finally reached emergency services. Help was on its way. Realizing that standing around and staring with ten other people would do little good, we returned to the road and headed onto our destination.

This summer and fall especially, it seems like tragedy and fear are lurking just a heartbeat away, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Second chances are rare. Don’t let the piddling problems weigh you down – save that for the big ones. Hug your kids, kiss your wives (husbands, etc.), and revel in what you have instead of dreaming about what you don’t.

The Most Dangerous Place on Earth . . .

Is between Hugo Chavez and a camera. Honestly, I'm all for making waves and understand that keeping yourself in the public eye rarely hurts, but this dude is an attention whore. And of course, the media, when it senses sensationalism, immediately jumps and dances at his bidding. My advice? Ignore him. At some point, he'll see he's not drawing crowds or notice, and after a brief stint where he goes out in public wearing no pants and juggling chainsaws, he'll stop hogging headlines.

Out of the Frying Pan

On our nightly walks, we always pass by the rehab house. Whenever I walk by, these guys are constantly tinkering, painting, or refinishing something in the house. And thanks to the lovely weather here lately, they’ve started eschewing air conditioning.

Normally, I would have no problem with this – for a long time, I’ve felt we’ve turned into a society of A/C wimps (I say as I feel the cool air from the window unit wash across my face). However, there’s one big problem with my neighbors’ position.

A roughly 100-pound problem that hangs out the screenless front window of the house and growls and snarls at us as we walk by. Normally, I'm not afraid of dogs, but this one disturbs me. A lot. Every night, his pitch-black body defies gravity as ¾ of it is suspended in space, following our every move. I can almost see the drool dripping from his jaws, and I feel the hackles rise every time, as my trusted watchdog gleefully ignores the fact that six feet of thin air separates us from becoming lunch.

Lately, I’ve taken to crossing the street. He hasn’t lunged at us yet, but I figure there’s little to be gained by tempting fate. Besides, this way I’ll at least have a few seconds to compose myself and face death as it charges me, rather than cry and scream hysterically as the dog jumps me from behind.

Or so the theory goes.

Sunday night, we cross the street, right into the path of Stan. I don’t think his name is Stan, but I have to call him something, don’t I? Stan is a little stocky, with a doughy, constantly smiling face, black hair with flecks of gray, a thin mustache, and glasses so thick that when he looks west, he can check the traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge.

Stan is also crazy; harmless, but nuts all the same.

We’ve crossed paths before; he usually tries to aggressively befriend Trudy, who slinks behind my legs while he tells me of some exploit. Normally I smile, talk to him for a minute or so then we move on.

But Sunday was a bit different. Rather than try to pat Trudy on the head, he walks straight up to me and says, “She saw me! She saw me!”

Not knowing if he was referring to Trudy, God or some other undefined she, I came back with the brilliant “Really?”

“She did! I ran away! I have penis-sized nut!”

What do you say to that? “Well that’s good!” I said, slowly edging away, hoping he wouldn’t show me his nut or anything else.

We crossed back to the other side of the street, free from other dogs and passers-by. I had to wonder if Stan was doing some peeping somewhere, or maybe I misheard him. I don’t think so. All I do know is that between vigilant guard dogs, guys walking their ironing boards, girl fights, and 12-year-old pimps, walking the dog is rarely boring.

Homeward

It's been a couple of weeks where I've dreaded hearing the phone ring; however, the ringing phone brought a little good news this morning: my brother is out of Iraq and should be home within a week or two.

Rub-a-Dub

Doing some housecleaning; figured I'd post something while updating the template. Why this? Cause it's so damned funny. Enjoy:

Fear Itself

Couldn't have said it better myself.

How Can We Miss You . . .

If you won't stay away?

I realize the lure of an easy buck is a hard one to avoid, but why must another dinosaur rock act come back for yet another tortured album where they turn themselves into a big joke?

Take the Rolling Stones -- the Stones circa 1965? Hell yes! The Stones circa 2005? No thanks. They stink now. Their shows aren't interesting, their albums suck, and basically they leech more money out of their few remaining true believers and those gullible enough to buy into the "hype".

So of course, the Eagles see this and think "why not us?" Jesus. Just retire. Keep popping out the occasional solo album. Act like you've grown professionally and personally since your band last split up; you know, after the last "farewell" tour. Keep some self-respect. I say these things as a longtime Eagles fan; one who would prefer not seeing one of his favorite old bands turn into a punchline.

"We decided we better get some new product out, some new songs. We could rest on our laurels and play our catalog forever, but we're not a nostalgia band," said Joe Walsh. Really? This from a guy in a band that hasn't put out any signifigant new material in 17 years? You know, Joe, I would respect you more if you just came out and said it: we want to get paid. Saying it's for the fans or all about the music is disingenuous at best.

But in the end, fans will line up to buy the album, realize it stinks, and clamor for the Eagles to play the old stuff on tour; meanwhile, the Eagles keep playing somnambulant concerts while counting the cash from the new album. Nice work if you can find it.

Yahoo Can Bite My Crank

I haven't been able to access my e-mail for 24 hours. Whenever I try, I get a "Temporary problem accessing your mailbox" message. To fix it, the message helpfully offers up these nuggets:

• Click Refresh
• Log out then log back in

Of course, when these "solutions" don't work, you're hosed. I had the same problem earlier in the year, and all it does is causes my blood pressure to spike.

Yahoo's Customer Service is next to useless, offering up some great tips like clearing cookies and clearing out the cache, assuring me it's a "transient" problem. Hint to Yahoo: how about giving real answers and helping your customers out instead of hoping it will go away.

Any suggestions on how to deal with this? Other than bombarding Yahoo's customer service with complaints until someone gets up and actually tries to be helpful -- I'm already doing that. Failing that, any suggestions on other e-mail service options? Because I've just about had enough of Yahoo.

Landis Speaks

In an emotional press conference, Tour de France winner protests his innocence. I'd probably believe him more if he wasn't weeping one second and swinging a folding chair around his head like a baseball bat the next.

Seriously though, I do hope they find him innocent. This was one hell of an inspiring comeback, and for once, I'd like to see a sports hero win without the specter of steroids or some other form of performance enhancer looming in the background.

One of the sad results of last year's steroid hearings (along with McGwire's lame "I'm not here to talk about the past," Sosa's sudden inability to speak a word of english, and Rafael Palmiero's strident (and ultimately false) denials that he was a user) is that we look askew at anyone who achieves any degree of greatness and wonder whether he's juiced or not.

Just last week, I was with some guys who were talking about how Albert Pujols is on the juice, and it's only a matter of time before he's outed. I was his sole defender in the room, and still, a small part of me wondered whether I was just wasting my time defending yet another cheater.

Maybe I've become to jaded to enjoy sports, or perhaps I'm far too naive, because I want our athletes to come by their successes using God-given talent, hard work and drive, as opposed to dirty needles in a cramped bathroom stall, while hoping they can figure out how to evade the next round of testing.

In any case, right now a winner stands in front of the world, trying to maintain his innocence. Even if he succeeds, the taint will be with him for the rest of his life, coloring his actions, spreading doubt into the hearts of those who want to believe in him. In some ways, he's already lost.

Party Shuffle

I'm playing poker online and kind of bored at the moment (don't tell the feds--they're still looking for me after that little incident; I'd prefer not to talk about it right now, from what I hear, the statute of limitations is almost up). And don't worry, I claim all winnings on taxes (so far, it hasn't been much of an issue).

I saw this done here, and thought I would try something similar. So I have the i-Tunes up and here's the first ten songs in the party shuffle:

1. No Rolling Back - Jay Farrar
2. Sympathy for the Devil (live) - Jane's Addiction
3. Eyes on My Back - Joseph Arthur
4. Narc - Interpol
5. My Father's Waltz - Hem
6. Garden - Goober and the Peas
7. You Might Think - The Cars
8. Madness (Is All in the Mind) - Madness
9. What's the New Mary Jane? - The Beatles
10. Christ is My Hope - The Innocence Mission

I don't use the party shuffle enough; it's a pretty nice mix, and it certainly beats reading donkeys chatting with each other between hands.

I Am Superman and I Can Do Anything

Way back in '03, I sat through the Matrix Revolutions, wondering how I was going to get my money, and more importantly, my time back from that complete piece of garbage.

However, from my perspective, the movie did offer one revelation, if you will: after watching Neo and Agent Smith battle in the skies and throughout the city, I thought "Someone's going to make a kick ass Superman movie someday."

Fast forward to today. Superman Returns is out in theaters, and while I was right in one regard – it is impressive. Otherwise, I’m feeling a big pile of ambivalence about the movie.

For those of you who don’t know, the basic plot is after a mysterious five-year absence, Superman returns to Earth, discovering that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Lois Lane is winning a Pulitzer for her editorial “Why the World Doesn’t Need Superman.” Oh, and she’s raising a son and engaged to Perry White’s nephew, and associate editor at the Daily Planet. Lex Luthor is out of prison and he’s raiding the Fortress of Solitude for advanced technology, but he’s using it for a land swindle. And the world? Still needs saving.

This movie does a lot very well. I liked that Bryan Singer chose to make it a sequel to Superman II, effectively removing Superman III and IV from the picture, and using Richard Donner’s version of Superman as a springboard was a great choice, in that viewers are already somewhat familiar with the basic premise and story.

The action scenes, especially the plane rescue, are simply breathtaking. (If you get the chance, see it in 3-D; you’ll thank me later), and Brandon Routh, except for his propensity to pose like Gerorge Reeves in every scene, isn’t bad as Superman. (I was most concerned about him in the title roll – I originally thought he looked too pretty for the part).

But the movie brought a lot of negatives along with it as well. Kate Bosworth, while easy on the eyes, simply wasn’t very convincing as Lois; she failed to convince me that she had Lois’s steely character down. However, she’s still a step up from Margot Kidder’s gravelly voice rumbling “SUUUUPPPPEEERRMMANNN!!!” –shudder-

Superman Returns is also about 30 minutes too long; I’m pretty sure small scenes could have been cut. As it was, the movie screeches to a halt in several scenes and it has a lot of trouble recovering the lost momentum.

And then there’s the plot. I felt like there was a lot of been-been-there-done-that thrown into the movie, and I’m not sure why. Rehashed jokes from the original Superman movie included Superman reminding reporters that flying is still statistically safe and Parker Posey’s character repeating one of Miss Teschmacher’s jokes from the original. Plus, there’s the small problem that the plot is largely a rehash of the first movie, where Lex Luthor is going to kill millions in a land grab. Couldn’t they do better?

I’m thinking probably not. I’ve long suspected that Singer and his writing partners, Michael Dougherty and Dan Harris, don’t have many original ideas within themselves. Take their biggest recent venture, X-Men 2; the plot was a cross between Chris Claremont’s graphic novel God Loves, Man Kills and Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Kahn (watch the end of X2 and then watch the end of Star Trek 2 and tell me the end of X2 wasn’t a straight lift – I expected Patrick Stewart to start saying “Space, the final frontier . . .” in his ending voiceover). It worked, but I was a little disappointed, seeing that there was so much better material available to use.

So we get Superman Returns, which is basically a rehash of Superman: The Movie. I didn’t think it was bad, but I was disappointed that they chose to basically remake Superman instead of mining other parts of Superman’s rich 75-plus year history. There are other villains available – Brainiac, Mongol, Metallo, but they went with Luthor again (and apparently, there was a version of the script where Zod made an appearance, but Jude Law, who Singer wanted for the role, declined so they wrote him out). And lest I forget, the scene where Lois is on board the yacht and finds all of the wigs was also lifted straight from Star Trek 2.

I don’t mind homages; I don’t mind even incorporating elements from previous films, but I believe this could have been a better movie had the filmmakers chosen to go a different route.

In any case, while it's definitely not a great movie, it's not a bad one either. If you're looking for decent check-your-brain-in-at-the-door entertainment with a lot of truly impressive special effects, or you're a big fan of the Man of Steel, then Superman's well worth seeing.

Just be sure to block out lots of time.