There’s a section where Bill is talking about comics — making the point that Superman’s alter-ego is human while every other superhero is the alter ego of a human. The quote, from imdb:
An essential characteristic of the superhero mythology is, there’s the superhero, and there’s the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man is actually Peter Parker. When he wakes up in the morning, he’s Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man. And it is in that characteristic that Superman stands alone. Superman did not become Superman, Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he’s Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red "S", that’s the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears, the glasses, the business suit, that’s the costume. That’s the costume Superman wears to blend in with us. Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He’s weak, he’s unsure of himself… he’s a coward. Clark Kent is Superman’s critique on the whole human race. Sort of like Beatrix Kiddo and Mrs. Tommy Plympton.
Nobody else puts that kind of diaglog in “action” films. Few others could get it through the studio system, and most of those that could, wouldn’t.
Think about that; a serious critique of all humanity, embedded in conversation in what is by all standards an action film.
In many ways, it goes back to what made “Titanic” such a formula film; a guy flick is one where lots of people die quickly (think ID4), while a chick flick is one where a single person dies very, very slowly (think Terms of Endearment). Titanic — the Cameron one — tried pathetically to surf both these descriptions. It succeeded, but looking back I’m pretty sure most people will agree that it only succeeded on those terms. All in all, that film was much too clinical where it was factual, and too hammy where it was fictional. The makers of that film had no — zero — expectations of their audience. “Feel sad here. Here’s a touching moment of humanity. Don’t forget minor moments of humor! And in the name of all that is holy, don’t forget to include some simulated teenaged sex before the audience notices the plot holes or bad dialog or starts to think!”
Feb 6 04:08:18 sshd: Failed password for illegal user test from 126.96.36.199 port 59096 ssh2
Feb 6 04:08:18 sshd: Failed password for illegal user test from 188.8.131.52 port 59105 ssh2
Feb 6 04:08:18 sshd: Failed password for illegal user test from 184.108.40.206 port 59094 ssh2
Feb 6 04:08:27 sshd: Failed password for illegal user guest from 220.127.116.11 port 59499 ssh2
Feb 6 04:08:27 sshd: Failed password for illegal user guest from 18.104.22.168 port 59513 ssh2
So, we took Grace to her first hockey game. She wanted popcorn and cotton candy — some of which she even shared with Cy. By the time she had had enough, her fingers were more than modestly sticky.
But she wanted some more popcorn. One bite, and the look on her face demonstrated that she realized the cross-contamination problem.
Then, she got that sly look on her face, and I knew she had thought of a silly solution: to simply dip her mouth directly into the popcorn (as I was holding it), thereby bypassing the sugary fingers.
Also, when the game first began, she said “Miss Jody says that we don’t play with sticks.”
I’ve said it before, but I can’t repeat it too often: of all the things I never expected of being a daddy, her sense of humor is the most pleasantly surprising element.
There was also some confusion at the end of the “Rudy’s Barberque Sauce Drinking Contest” when the buzzer went off, but it was quickly cleared up when we realized that none of the contestants were miked.
It took less than 30 minutes for some user — notice that that is luser with a silent ‘l’ — to try to spam some magazine site on here.
Guess what! Everything is going to be moderated! Everything is going to have to be moderated! You know, I was hoping that this would be so much more work, as I’m not getting nearly enough spam in my life.
Not that I’m advocating that groups of 800 to 900 anti-spammers start taking house-to-house searches of known spam gangs in which everyone fires — oops — I mean misfires — a gun, so that there is no way to know which bullet killed that specific spammer.
No, I would never advocate that. That would be wrong. It would feel fantastic, it would better the ‘net as a whole, but it would be wrong.
We packed up all we needed from the condo to go to the beach itself, and headed on down en masse.
Once we got over the boardwalk over the dunes, Grace went racing ahead of us. Way ahead of us.
Once I realized what was happening, I dropped (carefully) what I was carrying, and ran to catch up with her.
Before I caught up, a wave took her and knocked her down. Right behind it, another wave rolled her over and over. Right then, I caught up with her. She was scared, and getting ready to cry — not cry, wail. No, not wail, squall.
But I had an instant in which to recover the entire day, and the entire trip, and all coastal trips thereafter. What did I come up with? Inspiration struck:
Ocean! You’re getting a time-out!
At that instant, the undertow from both waves pulled back, going out to sea.
I was rewarded many times, first with giggles, then ongoing with her sticking nearby and behaving the rest of the day, and by her ongoing love of swimming and the ocean.
Some of my best memories with Grace are at the coast, and this is merely the first of many!