A Day Off

First I slept for like 15 hours. I’m not sure what happened there, but I must have needed the extra rest. And it was awesome. The only reason it ended was because the Boxhound started barking and barking and barking and barking.

She’s a very good guard dog and I’m glad she takes her job seriously, but sometimes she’s like TSA:  her definition of a legitimate threat often differs greatly from mine (or, for that matter, from that of any sane individual). In this particular instance, the identified threat to life and limb was another dog shambling across our yard — a big, sweet, dopey mutt named Bucephalus who, we have since learned, lives down the street from us and occasionally likes to drop in on everyone in the neighborhood who might have a cookie to spare.

Later, we went to see Pacific Rim, which I highly recommend because it seamlessly combines the two best things, both in motion pictures and elsewhere: Godzilla monsters and giant fighting robots.

It’s not perfect*, but it’s pretty fun.

And…that was Saturday.

*Did you know?
1.) On kaiju-infested Future Earth, there are exactly FOUR women; and only two are allowed to speak (though never to each other).
2.) Despite the fact that most of the action takes place in Hong Kong, this film suffers from a surprising, somewhat nonsensical lack of Asian characters. Occasionally you *do* see groups of extras running from monsters while screaming their heads off (like you do, when being chased by eldritch abominations from a sub-oceanic rift/alternate dimension), or huddled in underground shelters, unable to run OR scream their heads off.
3.) The military of Future Earth is apparently mostly segregated — indeed, Idris Elba’s character, apparently the only black person in the military, has been relegated to an underfunded special operation that might have its funding pulled at any moment — and has more or less dispensed with female service members, with exactly two exceptions…and one of them has to do a hell of a lot of campaigning to even get out on the field of battle, as it were. (Furthermore, as you might expect, the less traditionally feminine soldier dies first.)
4.) Ok, I recognize that this might reflect very poorly on me, but — for the life of me — I just cannot tell blond people apart. There, I said it: they all basically look the same to me. Which is why the only reason I could even distinguish Main Character from his Rival was because they had different accents. Also, one had a dog. But you know what? Since movie studios don’t even pretend that Hollywood summer blockbusters are made primarily for the domestic market, since most of these movies make most of their money abroad, this may be a bigger problem than my inability to distinguish between, say, the cocky Jaeger pilot who’s American and the cocky Jaeger pilot who’s Australian (that is some world-class characterization right there, filmmakers).
I’m just saying: I’m an American; in my country, being blond, blue-eyed,  and physically fit is about the only thing that guarantees that you won’t be casually murdered (or, if you do happen to get killed, guarantees that you will receive anything like justice). So if I’m having trouble figuring out who’s who in this dramatis personae, it seems entirely possible that people in other nations might have similar difficulties.
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