I am nonplussed. Now, despite Left Thumb's arguments that this could very easily mean I am also non-subtracted and hence neutral, this is not the fashion in which you, the reader, should comprehend my statement of dissatisfaction. What has me so perturbed? Well, Stephanie Meyers, obviously, but beyond her attempts to return literature to the stone age (although, this might be an insult to rocks), numbers bother me. On the West Wing, Josh Lyman once said "Numbers don't lie." Joey Lucas astutely responded. "Of course they do. They lie all the time."
So let's get to it. Some are purveyors of the truth, others are dastardly (like 156. watch out for 156). But either way, they (or their being ignored by people) annoy me. Actually, they enrage me. Right Thumb is enraged.
156. Let's face it. This number lies all the time. You know it does. I know it does. Let's just get rid of it. Who is up for going from 155-157?
12,000,000,000,000: This is how much money we owe people. Needless to say, I am not a big fan of gargantuan numbers which represent money I owe to other people unless there is a cute little "-" before the number begins. Of course, there isn't.
Something like a gazillion: The number of pages in the Senate and House healthcare bills. Easy reading.
3.1: Nuclear power plants, over the long haul, can produce electricity at a relative costs of 2.1-3.1 cents per kilowatt. Coal plants, from 3.7-6.0 cents per kilowatt. So, why are we not making nuclear power plants? I HAVE NO FREAKING CLUE SO EXPLAIN IT TO ME. Granted, the startup costs for a nuclear plant are a much higher percentage of those total long run costs (estimated to be about 50% of the total cost compared with 15% for a coal fired plant's start up costs) but with today's interest rates, who cares?! And these aren't numbers spewed out by some Nuclear Researcher who needs a job. They come from two international organizations, one within the OECD (the Nuclear Energy Agency) as well as the IEA (International Energy Agency). The end is nigh, not because of Mayan calendars ending, but for the same reason the end is always nigh. People. Are. St00pid.
0.0: The effective interest rate in our country right now. Seriously. Look at that number. Somebody tell me this could possibly be a good thing. SOMEONE TELL ME THAT.
*looks around*
No one? Yeah, thought so.
Approaching 70%: The divorce rate in our country. Let's keep advertising contraception on TV though, because clearly it is working.
Some positive number: The amount of money our Treasury Secretary did not pay to the government that he was legally obligated to pay.
3rd: The arguments regarding a "2nd" stimulus bill are really about a third. Bush passed a stimulus bill. We just didn't call it that. But it cost 800 billion dollars and was, for all intents and purposes, a stimulus bill.
6: The number of years you were expected to be dead for by the time you got a single social security check back when social security was invented.
20: The number of years life expectancy has increased since social security was invented.
14: The difference between those two numbers.
8: The number of years since the Twin Towers got knocked over by a bunch of evil thugs.
0: The number of large buildings we have built where the Twin Towers used to be. I'd say shameful, but this is just the way we operate now. When was the last great public works project this country undertook? The transcontinental railroad? We might as well hold up a sign: knock our buildings down... we'll talk about our resiliency a lot, maybe even invade some countries we picked out of a hat, but we won't actually fix anything!
Let's end on a happier note:
25: Days until Christmas. Have a wonderful season.
~Right Thumb~
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Robber and Robbed: Subjectivist Slamming
This post is being made in response to one of our readers, who, in commenting upon one of our posts, expressed dissatisfaction with the intelligence level of our philosophical foils. (Let it never be said that we do not heed the comments. So go comment. Now.) This reader was of course right in that Ayn Rand’s IQ was lower than the temperature in Antarctica or even the IQ of Uwe Boll. According to reliable sources,* any IQ beneath 70 is considered feeble-minded. By this measure, Ayn Rand’s mind was so feeble it couldn’t make it from the easy chair to the bathroom without a team of social workers.
And so I have decided to up the ante with this post—philosophically speaking, that is. And also normally speaking. While my subject today still deserves a hefty dose of Thumb-style ridicule, he was actually kind of a Smart Guy. Arguably. But he was dastardly.
Robber: Immanuel Kant
Robbed: Western civilization
Oh, he played innocent. Look at old Immanuel, no harm to anybody. He just stares at a church steeple all day and then scribbles down some notes about Life, the Universe and Everything.** He’d never hurt a fly, let alone set humanity upon a downward spiral of philosophical inquiry that would hold us at a virtual standstill for at least several centuries and lead to widespread relativism and denial of the metaphysical and epistemological basis of the concept of truth in the human mind.
My purpose is not to delve into Immanuel’s actual philosophy. That would frankly bore readers, and would also require that I actually read his stuff. I have no intention of doing so in the near future, not because I don’t occasionally enjoy inhaling feces directly from the page, but because there are simply too many other good Books around. Like Asimov. But it might be good to show you readers the big picture, at least, and see why his influence has been so perfidious.
After and because of Immanuel, philosophers began to think you couldn’t talk about Truth anymore. It was merely a measure of subjective experience, they said, and not a statement about reality.
While I will not try here to refute Immanuel and his band of groupies in any philosophical sense,*** I will say that this is simply excrement. 2001 really is the greatest movie ever made, not just subjectively so. Millennium Force really is one step beneath heaven. This post really is about Immanuel Kant. Right Thumb really is smarter than you.
Now let’s take a look at a few quotes. Just for fun.
“Happiness is not an ideal of reason, but of imagination.”
If I can understand what he’s saying here (and if I can’t, it’s not a failing on my part but just that ol’ Immanuel liked to be ambiguous), he’s saying that when you actually think about it, happiness doesn’t really exist. Hah-hah! Immanuel clearly never watched Battlestar Galactica. Or Star Trek. Or read Two Thumbs Sideways. Then he would know happiness. (Possibly even ecstasy in the last case.) He must have led a bleak and dreary life. I’ll bet nobody ever gave him a kitten.
“I had therefore to remove knowledge, in order to make room for belief.”
No, you just believed you had to do this.
“Immaturity is the incapacity to use one's intelligence without the guidance of another.”
The other day I saw an elderly gentleman asking for help with his tax returns. I guffawed and said to Right Thumb, “Hehe, so immature!” (As a side-note, Right Thumb’s response was a veritable diarrhea-of-the-mouth concerning the economic theory behind senior citizens, taxes, policy-making, and The West Wing. He clearly felt strongly about many of the issues involved, although I could never quite make out his exact opinions.)
“In law a man is guilty when he violates the rights of others. In ethics he is guilty if he only thinks of doing so.”
I once thought of burning Critique of Pure Reason over Immanuel’s grave. Then I realized the fire might spread so I gave up on it. Oops, I’m unethical.
Now it’s time to finish up with Mr. Kant, simply because I cannot take any more of this. And remember, this post really did exist. Now, to see if our readers do.
> Left Thumb <
* Meaning a Google search.
** Although he was a Smart Guy, Immanuel was not quite smart enough to reach the conclusion of “42”.
*** I am certainly up to the task, but this would once again simply bore our readers to tears. That is, if tears exist other than in my subjective experience.
And so I have decided to up the ante with this post—philosophically speaking, that is. And also normally speaking. While my subject today still deserves a hefty dose of Thumb-style ridicule, he was actually kind of a Smart Guy. Arguably. But he was dastardly.
Robber: Immanuel Kant
Robbed: Western civilization
Oh, he played innocent. Look at old Immanuel, no harm to anybody. He just stares at a church steeple all day and then scribbles down some notes about Life, the Universe and Everything.** He’d never hurt a fly, let alone set humanity upon a downward spiral of philosophical inquiry that would hold us at a virtual standstill for at least several centuries and lead to widespread relativism and denial of the metaphysical and epistemological basis of the concept of truth in the human mind.
My purpose is not to delve into Immanuel’s actual philosophy. That would frankly bore readers, and would also require that I actually read his stuff. I have no intention of doing so in the near future, not because I don’t occasionally enjoy inhaling feces directly from the page, but because there are simply too many other good Books around. Like Asimov. But it might be good to show you readers the big picture, at least, and see why his influence has been so perfidious.
After and because of Immanuel, philosophers began to think you couldn’t talk about Truth anymore. It was merely a measure of subjective experience, they said, and not a statement about reality.
While I will not try here to refute Immanuel and his band of groupies in any philosophical sense,*** I will say that this is simply excrement. 2001 really is the greatest movie ever made, not just subjectively so. Millennium Force really is one step beneath heaven. This post really is about Immanuel Kant. Right Thumb really is smarter than you.
Now let’s take a look at a few quotes. Just for fun.
“Happiness is not an ideal of reason, but of imagination.”
If I can understand what he’s saying here (and if I can’t, it’s not a failing on my part but just that ol’ Immanuel liked to be ambiguous), he’s saying that when you actually think about it, happiness doesn’t really exist. Hah-hah! Immanuel clearly never watched Battlestar Galactica. Or Star Trek. Or read Two Thumbs Sideways. Then he would know happiness. (Possibly even ecstasy in the last case.) He must have led a bleak and dreary life. I’ll bet nobody ever gave him a kitten.
“I had therefore to remove knowledge, in order to make room for belief.”
No, you just believed you had to do this.
“Immaturity is the incapacity to use one's intelligence without the guidance of another.”
The other day I saw an elderly gentleman asking for help with his tax returns. I guffawed and said to Right Thumb, “Hehe, so immature!” (As a side-note, Right Thumb’s response was a veritable diarrhea-of-the-mouth concerning the economic theory behind senior citizens, taxes, policy-making, and The West Wing. He clearly felt strongly about many of the issues involved, although I could never quite make out his exact opinions.)
“In law a man is guilty when he violates the rights of others. In ethics he is guilty if he only thinks of doing so.”
I once thought of burning Critique of Pure Reason over Immanuel’s grave. Then I realized the fire might spread so I gave up on it. Oops, I’m unethical.
Now it’s time to finish up with Mr. Kant, simply because I cannot take any more of this. And remember, this post really did exist. Now, to see if our readers do.
> Left Thumb <
* Meaning a Google search.
** Although he was a Smart Guy, Immanuel was not quite smart enough to reach the conclusion of “42”.
*** I am certainly up to the task, but this would once again simply bore our readers to tears. That is, if tears exist other than in my subjective experience.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
The hackneyed, trite, confounded...
...cliche. So abominable, so undesirable, so destructive. No better way to kill a conversation than to pull one of these out of your derriere. While I maintain that it is the French pronunciation that kills them (just imagine how cool they would be if they were pronounced "clish" as opposed to "clee-SHAY"), it is still worth sorting through them. Some are useless, some are horrendous, some are almost forgiveable. Let's get to it.
"All's well that ends well."
Horrendous. First of all, this is simply untrue. The Cold War ended well. This doesn't make me want to have another one (although, Left Thumb still thinks we are in one...) Second, if all parties agree that something ended well, why is there a need to superficially state that fact? And if parties are not all agreed, then... the pointlessness, amazingly, is enhanced.
"Better late then never."
Useless. Being late is very often not better than never. For instance, coming to the Beanie Baby craze late was okay... never finding it at all would have been preferable. Or, finding your pitching talent after you have already been traded from the Yankees is worse than never finding it. For the rest of your life you will regret your tardiness. For the rest of your life.
"You say tomato, I saw tomawto."
No you don't. NO ONE says tomawto.
"Time heals all wounds."
Almost useful. The only problem is...
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
Leading to the first rule of cliches: you can always find another cliche that says the exact opposite thing.
"Cleanliness is next to godliness."
Excuse me, I need to have a chat with the Almighty. Let me grab my Jergens.
"The plural of anecdote isn't data."
This one is almost forgiveable. Even I have been known to employ it from time to time, in a totally non-sarcastic fashion.
"Defense wins championships."
So does offense.
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely."
We have absolutely no reason to believe this. The most powerful people in the history of the world were not absolutely powerful. And even then, most of them were just as evil/not evil before they took power as after. Genghis Khan didn't start ravaging villages once he conquered over 2/3 of the world. He ravaged villages in order to conquer 2/3 of the world.
"All's fair in love and war."
No it isn't. The reason we go to war is almost entirely because we are attempting to seek just retribution for some horrible wrong done to us by someone we thought loved us. Now that I think about it, I should go invade Belgrade.
"Water under the bridge, over the dam, etc."
I actually like this one. For instance, once I make this post, if anything offends you, which it surely will, I will apologize, and then you'll say "Oh don't worry, it's water under the bridge..."
People are always telling me that.
~Right Thumb~
"All's well that ends well."
Horrendous. First of all, this is simply untrue. The Cold War ended well. This doesn't make me want to have another one (although, Left Thumb still thinks we are in one...) Second, if all parties agree that something ended well, why is there a need to superficially state that fact? And if parties are not all agreed, then... the pointlessness, amazingly, is enhanced.
"Better late then never."
Useless. Being late is very often not better than never. For instance, coming to the Beanie Baby craze late was okay... never finding it at all would have been preferable. Or, finding your pitching talent after you have already been traded from the Yankees is worse than never finding it. For the rest of your life you will regret your tardiness. For the rest of your life.
"You say tomato, I saw tomawto."
No you don't. NO ONE says tomawto.
"Time heals all wounds."
Almost useful. The only problem is...
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
Leading to the first rule of cliches: you can always find another cliche that says the exact opposite thing.
"Cleanliness is next to godliness."
Excuse me, I need to have a chat with the Almighty. Let me grab my Jergens.
"The plural of anecdote isn't data."
This one is almost forgiveable. Even I have been known to employ it from time to time, in a totally non-sarcastic fashion.
"Defense wins championships."
So does offense.
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely."
We have absolutely no reason to believe this. The most powerful people in the history of the world were not absolutely powerful. And even then, most of them were just as evil/not evil before they took power as after. Genghis Khan didn't start ravaging villages once he conquered over 2/3 of the world. He ravaged villages in order to conquer 2/3 of the world.
"All's fair in love and war."
No it isn't. The reason we go to war is almost entirely because we are attempting to seek just retribution for some horrible wrong done to us by someone we thought loved us. Now that I think about it, I should go invade Belgrade.
"Water under the bridge, over the dam, etc."
I actually like this one. For instance, once I make this post, if anything offends you, which it surely will, I will apologize, and then you'll say "Oh don't worry, it's water under the bridge..."
People are always telling me that.
~Right Thumb~
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Gods Speak
Ah… this is what power feels like…
Okay, so this is the models’ turn to write (for non-faithful readers, check here to catch up on who the models are, and here to see why it is our turn to write.) We don’t get much of a chance to say things—for some reason as soon as people see us they just start blabbering about some fellow named Apollo—so we’re pretty excited to get our entire own post. We would have been more excited by money, but whatever.
So we thought we would give you our humble (we stress that word) thoughts on the literature of this web log’s creators. We’ll jump from post to post, picking representative samples of their thoughtfulness. Or lack thereof. We stress that we rarely disagree with what is said (particularly when they start talking about us). But they are still idiots. Here’s what we mean.
From The Supercilious Snicker and the Smug Smile:
"We here at Two Thumbs Sideways…"
They say this every time. What are these guys? Two owners of a Midwestern saloon?
"…are what you might call... elitists."
Hah. They wish they were!
"We feel bad about this. Really we do."
We bet they don’t.
"It isn't our fault we were born with such gargantuan brains."
Ah. Finally some humility!
"Blame our parents. Seriously. Blame them. We do."
Actually, here we must agree. Did their parents just take a vacation for the entire period of time when kids are supposed to develop self-awareness?
From Robber and Robbed: The Russians Are Coming:
"Most people don’t realize this, but it wasn’t the English-speaking world that first came up with the whole totalitarian, thought-suppressing, vaguely familiar and mildly repetitive dystopian book idea."
Most people also don’t realize that most of the salt in the ocean is Calcium Carbonate, not table salt. But they don’t seem to attach much importance to that…
"It was the Russkies."
The balance of the article will claim the U.S. is still waging a cold war against Russia. And yet Left Thumb is the one who just blamed them for inventing thought-suppressing dystopias. We don’t claim to be brilliant, so explain that one to us.
"Oh, we may smile and wave when a Russian bomber flies by. We might have redirected our nukes, we might be hobnobbing with their cosmonauts on the International Space Station, we might even invite Putin and Medvedev over for Iran-bashing and vodka—but beneath the pleasant handshakes and warm promises of continued cooperation, we have our collective, metaphorical fingers ever so defiantly crossed."
Actually, other than the ISS part… we do none of these things. Or at least, we personally cannot remember waving as a Russian bomber flew by. (What is it with Left Thumb and the Russians, anyway?)
From A Conversation with the Devil:
"In fact, do a Google search for Ayn Rand and you will be completely inundated by the inane."
We actually did this. Turns out, they were right. We were inundated by the inane!
From Robber and Robbed: Rubber Ducky Derivatives:
"But I'm not going to talk about that at any great length today. Frankly, encapsulating the sheer outrage (some might even say diabolical plot) that surrounds Oliver! winning the 1968 Academy Award for Best Picture would take the aid of Left Thumb. Not because I, Right Thumb, could not list the multifarious and multitudinous facets of this atrocity. No, Left Thumb and I are perfectly capable of doing that on our own. But neither of us could handle the psychological damage without the comfort of another human being who understands. So the Greatest Movie Atrocity of All Time will have to wait for a day when the Thumbs are united. Today the quarry is not quite so unspeakable."
We are seriously confused by what Right Thumb means when he says, “I’m not going to talk about that at any great length today.” Great length for him must be something like a 65 page research paper, and even then he might call that a brief intro to the topic at hand…
From Shameful Listing of Things:
"Sometimes, making a list of favorite films or books or rollercoasters is as opprobrious as allowing a pack of peasants and griffins to defeat your half dozen azure dragons. Other times it is only about as shameful as letting ancient BEE-moths defeat your azure dragons."
We doubt you have any clue what any of this means. This probably never occurs to the Thumbs. Ever.
From Counting Things:
"- Number of Isaac Asimov books that are worth reading: 10. Those being The End of Eternity, the three in the original Foundation trilogy, I, Robot, the first two in the Robot series, and the three in the Galactic Empire series. Go read them, they’re good. And I know good Books. Even if I don’t have a Ph. D."
God help the world if Left Thumb ever gets a Ph.D.
From the blog header:
"Between the two of us, we know everything."
They know everything…
…except how to pay their employees.
They know everything…
…except how to stop talking about Ayn Rand, Peter Jackson, and Battlestar Galactica over and over again. Because of course, heaven forbid, there might still be a few readers who aren’t sure about where they stand on Atlas Shrugged. We’d like to meet those readers and then enroll them in English language literacy courses. We also would like to enroll the Thumbs in finance courses, but—surprise!—they don’t have the funds to support such a venture.
From Movie Review: Into Great Silence:
"We expected a sort of visual meditation, a serene slice of art… but as it continued, the film degenerated into a celebration of racism, military supremacy, crassness, disrespect towards elders, and senseless propaganda."
When we were hired by Two Thumbs Sideways, we expected a blog of erudite musings, a sophisticated slice of commentary and criticism…but as our involvement continued, the blog degenerated into a celebration of…the Thumbs themselves.
Now, a word about that whole documentary fiasco—that was back when we still read each post thoroughly. (Now we just skim to get the gist and look for references to us.) And so, soon after we read that review, we went out and rented Into Great Silence and watched it. Perhaps we were feeling particularly depraved; perhaps we were simply curious—we watched it. And we didn’t see any disrespect towards elders. None at all. We’re not saying the Carthusians don’t hang an old guy out to dry every once in a while, but it’s not shown here. Yes, there was racism in the film. Yes, the charges of military supremacy, crassness and senseless propaganda are all well-founded—but no disrespect towards elders. None. Get it right, Thumbs. Here we are thinking these monks eat old people for brunch on camera, and there’s absolutely nothing of the sort. Shame on you.
From Counting Things:
"Hang in there, Right Thumb. In 2066 we’ll finally have someone to bring us the coffee."
Guess what? They don’t even drink coffee. Something about the effects of caffeine on over-sized brains. We're doubtful.
We spoke to Left Thumb soon after this post, and he clearly took special pleasure in the fact that 2066 is exactly 1000 years after William the Conqueror invaded England from his domain in Normandy. (Which, coincidentally, William’s Viking ancestors had been offered by France when they agreed to stop raiding French shores. Typical French. “Stop hurting us—we’ll give you half our land! Our chocolate and women, too!”) Now Left Thumb saw some significance in this, thinking that it meant that Two Thumbs Sideways was destined to become the cyber/neurological/telepathic equivalent of the British Empire or some other such nonsense. We tell you this so that if he starts to write in Old English (and, in characteristic fashion, doesn’t explain himself) you’ll have some inkling of a notion why.
But the truth is, there still won't be much hope for that.
[Apollo] + {Achilles}
Okay, so this is the models’ turn to write (for non-faithful readers, check here to catch up on who the models are, and here to see why it is our turn to write.) We don’t get much of a chance to say things—for some reason as soon as people see us they just start blabbering about some fellow named Apollo—so we’re pretty excited to get our entire own post. We would have been more excited by money, but whatever.
So we thought we would give you our humble (we stress that word) thoughts on the literature of this web log’s creators. We’ll jump from post to post, picking representative samples of their thoughtfulness. Or lack thereof. We stress that we rarely disagree with what is said (particularly when they start talking about us). But they are still idiots. Here’s what we mean.
From The Supercilious Snicker and the Smug Smile:
"We here at Two Thumbs Sideways…"
They say this every time. What are these guys? Two owners of a Midwestern saloon?
"…are what you might call... elitists."
Hah. They wish they were!
"We feel bad about this. Really we do."
We bet they don’t.
"It isn't our fault we were born with such gargantuan brains."
Ah. Finally some humility!
"Blame our parents. Seriously. Blame them. We do."
Actually, here we must agree. Did their parents just take a vacation for the entire period of time when kids are supposed to develop self-awareness?
From Robber and Robbed: The Russians Are Coming:
"Most people don’t realize this, but it wasn’t the English-speaking world that first came up with the whole totalitarian, thought-suppressing, vaguely familiar and mildly repetitive dystopian book idea."
Most people also don’t realize that most of the salt in the ocean is Calcium Carbonate, not table salt. But they don’t seem to attach much importance to that…
"It was the Russkies."
The balance of the article will claim the U.S. is still waging a cold war against Russia. And yet Left Thumb is the one who just blamed them for inventing thought-suppressing dystopias. We don’t claim to be brilliant, so explain that one to us.
"Oh, we may smile and wave when a Russian bomber flies by. We might have redirected our nukes, we might be hobnobbing with their cosmonauts on the International Space Station, we might even invite Putin and Medvedev over for Iran-bashing and vodka—but beneath the pleasant handshakes and warm promises of continued cooperation, we have our collective, metaphorical fingers ever so defiantly crossed."
Actually, other than the ISS part… we do none of these things. Or at least, we personally cannot remember waving as a Russian bomber flew by. (What is it with Left Thumb and the Russians, anyway?)
From A Conversation with the Devil:
"In fact, do a Google search for Ayn Rand and you will be completely inundated by the inane."
We actually did this. Turns out, they were right. We were inundated by the inane!
From Robber and Robbed: Rubber Ducky Derivatives:
"But I'm not going to talk about that at any great length today. Frankly, encapsulating the sheer outrage (some might even say diabolical plot) that surrounds Oliver! winning the 1968 Academy Award for Best Picture would take the aid of Left Thumb. Not because I, Right Thumb, could not list the multifarious and multitudinous facets of this atrocity. No, Left Thumb and I are perfectly capable of doing that on our own. But neither of us could handle the psychological damage without the comfort of another human being who understands. So the Greatest Movie Atrocity of All Time will have to wait for a day when the Thumbs are united. Today the quarry is not quite so unspeakable."
We are seriously confused by what Right Thumb means when he says, “I’m not going to talk about that at any great length today.” Great length for him must be something like a 65 page research paper, and even then he might call that a brief intro to the topic at hand…
From Shameful Listing of Things:
"Sometimes, making a list of favorite films or books or rollercoasters is as opprobrious as allowing a pack of peasants and griffins to defeat your half dozen azure dragons. Other times it is only about as shameful as letting ancient BEE-moths defeat your azure dragons."
We doubt you have any clue what any of this means. This probably never occurs to the Thumbs. Ever.
From Counting Things:
"- Number of Isaac Asimov books that are worth reading: 10. Those being The End of Eternity, the three in the original Foundation trilogy, I, Robot, the first two in the Robot series, and the three in the Galactic Empire series. Go read them, they’re good. And I know good Books. Even if I don’t have a Ph. D."
God help the world if Left Thumb ever gets a Ph.D.
From the blog header:
"Between the two of us, we know everything."
They know everything…
…except how to pay their employees.
They know everything…
…except how to stop talking about Ayn Rand, Peter Jackson, and Battlestar Galactica over and over again. Because of course, heaven forbid, there might still be a few readers who aren’t sure about where they stand on Atlas Shrugged. We’d like to meet those readers and then enroll them in English language literacy courses. We also would like to enroll the Thumbs in finance courses, but—surprise!—they don’t have the funds to support such a venture.
From Movie Review: Into Great Silence:
"We expected a sort of visual meditation, a serene slice of art… but as it continued, the film degenerated into a celebration of racism, military supremacy, crassness, disrespect towards elders, and senseless propaganda."
When we were hired by Two Thumbs Sideways, we expected a blog of erudite musings, a sophisticated slice of commentary and criticism…but as our involvement continued, the blog degenerated into a celebration of…the Thumbs themselves.
Now, a word about that whole documentary fiasco—that was back when we still read each post thoroughly. (Now we just skim to get the gist and look for references to us.) And so, soon after we read that review, we went out and rented Into Great Silence and watched it. Perhaps we were feeling particularly depraved; perhaps we were simply curious—we watched it. And we didn’t see any disrespect towards elders. None at all. We’re not saying the Carthusians don’t hang an old guy out to dry every once in a while, but it’s not shown here. Yes, there was racism in the film. Yes, the charges of military supremacy, crassness and senseless propaganda are all well-founded—but no disrespect towards elders. None. Get it right, Thumbs. Here we are thinking these monks eat old people for brunch on camera, and there’s absolutely nothing of the sort. Shame on you.
From Counting Things:
"Hang in there, Right Thumb. In 2066 we’ll finally have someone to bring us the coffee."
Guess what? They don’t even drink coffee. Something about the effects of caffeine on over-sized brains. We're doubtful.
We spoke to Left Thumb soon after this post, and he clearly took special pleasure in the fact that 2066 is exactly 1000 years after William the Conqueror invaded England from his domain in Normandy. (Which, coincidentally, William’s Viking ancestors had been offered by France when they agreed to stop raiding French shores. Typical French. “Stop hurting us—we’ll give you half our land! Our chocolate and women, too!”) Now Left Thumb saw some significance in this, thinking that it meant that Two Thumbs Sideways was destined to become the cyber/neurological/telepathic equivalent of the British Empire or some other such nonsense. We tell you this so that if he starts to write in Old English (and, in characteristic fashion, doesn’t explain himself) you’ll have some inkling of a notion why.
But the truth is, there still won't be much hope for that.
[Apollo] + {Achilles}
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Delayed
It turns out our models are tardy procrastinators with no sense of time. Their post--for which we do maintain high hopes--will be delayed until tomorrow.
Then again, if we had that hair, we doubt we'd care too much about the o'clock.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
Then again, if we had that hair, we doubt we'd care too much about the o'clock.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
A Coming Storm
It turns out that Two Thumbs Sideways is insolvent. Not because of the global mega-recession/deflationary depression. No, if anything, people have lost jobs and have nothing to do but read our blog. The reason we are insolvent has something to do with our blog making no money at all. We aren't sure how this happened. Our finance division said something about how just writing stuff and sticking it online doesn't make any money. This explains why the New York Times is hemmoraging money, but we must have gotten bad financial advice prior to creating this here web log because money was sort of the whole idea. So we blew that one.
This has created a problem, because our high priced models desire to be paid. (Of course they have a high price. LOOK AT THEM. They are more sparklingly stunning than the Hope Diamond, and that is a very expensive rock.) We can't pay them because we have no funds. So they demanded that they be allowed to write a post. We agreed, and so on Sunday, they shall have their own say. (What choice did we have? Besides, we find it difficult to say no to their seraphim-like beauty.) We have no idea what it will be about. That was one of their conditions. We were worried they would have something very, very stupid to say. But then we overheard them mentioning something about quoting our very own posts. So clearly they are on the right track to enlightenment.
So that is what is coming up. What is behind? Shame on you for asking such a lewd question, but we did leave a certain topic up in the air--namely, why and how Battlestar Galactica could possibly recieve a supercilious snicker. The Capes are why.
Until Next Week,
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
This has created a problem, because our high priced models desire to be paid. (Of course they have a high price. LOOK AT THEM. They are more sparklingly stunning than the Hope Diamond, and that is a very expensive rock.) We can't pay them because we have no funds. So they demanded that they be allowed to write a post. We agreed, and so on Sunday, they shall have their own say. (What choice did we have? Besides, we find it difficult to say no to their seraphim-like beauty.) We have no idea what it will be about. That was one of their conditions. We were worried they would have something very, very stupid to say. But then we overheard them mentioning something about quoting our very own posts. So clearly they are on the right track to enlightenment.
So that is what is coming up. What is behind? Shame on you for asking such a lewd question, but we did leave a certain topic up in the air--namely, why and how Battlestar Galactica could possibly recieve a supercilious snicker. The Capes are why.
Until Next Week,
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
Sunday, October 4, 2009
The Supercilious Snicker and the Smug Smile
We here at Two Thumbs Sideways are what you might call... elitists.* We feel bad about this. Really we do. It isn't our fault we were born with such gargantuan brains. Blame our parents. Seriously. Blame them. We do.
But every once in a while, something comes along which we do not at feel bad about Superciliously Snickering upon or Smugly Smiling upon. Here's a list of a few.
Italians: Smug Smile.
- Sorry, but Italians are the coolest immigrants. They talk the coolest, they start really cool illegal organizations, and without them we wouldn't have The Godfather. (And without The Godfather we wouldn't have American Graffiti, Star Wars, Apocalypse Now, and goodness knows how many other masterpieces.) Sure, the German rocket scientists who came over here post-WWII were pretty awesome, but they also cooperated in the deaths of millions before they came here. Not cool. And don't even get us started on the Irish. Sure, we like potatoes as much as the next guy, but the Irish landed in Boston, and Boston spawned the Red Sox. That alone is enough to taint their candidacy.
The Chronicles of Narnia Score: Supercilious Snicker.
- This was, admittedly, a bone thrown to Left Thumb to make up for Right Thumb's little joke a while ago. But all involved agree that this music is absolutely terrible. Just awful. It makes John Williams look like Mozart in comparison.
Modern "Science Fiction" novels: Supercilious Snicker.
- Asimov, Clark, Dick, etc. are so far superior to anything written today that we haven't really had new sci-fi material in thirty years. Even the good sci-fi movies of that period (Blade Runner, War of the Worlds, etc.) were based on material from past writers. The only exception that immediately comes to mind is A.I. Artificial Intelligence, and Stanley Kubrick was involved with that. Stanley makes up for just about anything. Speaking of which…
Stanley Kubrick: Smug Smile.
- This guy is unbelievable. He is better than other filmmakers. Period. Say otherwise and you reveal yourself as a cretinous simpleton.
Ingmar Bergman: Smug Smile.
- See note on Stanley Kubrick.
Battlestar Galactica: Smug Smile.
- Needs no explanation.
Agatha Christie: Supercilious Snicker.
- We know ahead of time that this will undoubtedly result in a storm of angry comments from our readers. We do hope that you are not so attached to this sentimentalist charlatan of a mystery writer that you cannot see through her cheap tricks. Christie’s novels are exactly the sort of material that Sherlock Holmes would never mentally imbibe for fear of clogging his mental pathways with unhelpful baggage. **
James Cameron’s animated films: Supercilious Snicker.
- We were unaware until recently that this titan of undeserved acclaim (Titan—get it? Get it?) was making a foray into cartoon-land. But then we saw the newly-unveiled trailer for Avatar. If Smurfs had nightmares, this is what they’d look like.
The Inheritance Cycle (formerly known as The Inheritance Trilogy): Supercilious Snicker.
- What’s the first thing you would expect a young, inexperienced, hopelessly juvenile, shamelessly derivative but wildly successful fantasy author to do? Well, naturally, write a conclusion to his three-part series that drags on so long that it must be broken up into two books, thereby ruining the faint bit of symmetry and cohesion that the sequence might have had. And oh yes, that faint bit of symmetry and cohesion only existed due to its blatant, unmistakable, thoroughly laughable retelling of the plot of Star Wars. Yes, occasionally we Thumbs just whisper “Inheritance” to each other, and then share a Colonel Tigh Chortle. ***
Battlestar Galactica: Supercilious Snicker.
- We suppose this deserves some explanation. But unlike Agatha Christie, we positively refuse to indulge the lowest passions of man by wrapping everything up nicely with a Grand Reveal—and so this will just have to wait until later.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
* We have been called much worse.
** Emphatically not the upcoming Robert Downey Jr. abomination. He might read Agatha Christie. (He’d probably even listen to the Narnia score while reading it.)
*** Vaguely similar to the Grad Student Guffaw. Due to recent experiences, however, we Thumbs also look down upon said Guffaw.
But every once in a while, something comes along which we do not at feel bad about Superciliously Snickering upon or Smugly Smiling upon. Here's a list of a few.
Italians: Smug Smile.
- Sorry, but Italians are the coolest immigrants. They talk the coolest, they start really cool illegal organizations, and without them we wouldn't have The Godfather. (And without The Godfather we wouldn't have American Graffiti, Star Wars, Apocalypse Now, and goodness knows how many other masterpieces.) Sure, the German rocket scientists who came over here post-WWII were pretty awesome, but they also cooperated in the deaths of millions before they came here. Not cool. And don't even get us started on the Irish. Sure, we like potatoes as much as the next guy, but the Irish landed in Boston, and Boston spawned the Red Sox. That alone is enough to taint their candidacy.
The Chronicles of Narnia Score: Supercilious Snicker.
- This was, admittedly, a bone thrown to Left Thumb to make up for Right Thumb's little joke a while ago. But all involved agree that this music is absolutely terrible. Just awful. It makes John Williams look like Mozart in comparison.
Modern "Science Fiction" novels: Supercilious Snicker.
- Asimov, Clark, Dick, etc. are so far superior to anything written today that we haven't really had new sci-fi material in thirty years. Even the good sci-fi movies of that period (Blade Runner, War of the Worlds, etc.) were based on material from past writers. The only exception that immediately comes to mind is A.I. Artificial Intelligence, and Stanley Kubrick was involved with that. Stanley makes up for just about anything. Speaking of which…
Stanley Kubrick: Smug Smile.
- This guy is unbelievable. He is better than other filmmakers. Period. Say otherwise and you reveal yourself as a cretinous simpleton.
Ingmar Bergman: Smug Smile.
- See note on Stanley Kubrick.
Battlestar Galactica: Smug Smile.
- Needs no explanation.
Agatha Christie: Supercilious Snicker.
- We know ahead of time that this will undoubtedly result in a storm of angry comments from our readers. We do hope that you are not so attached to this sentimentalist charlatan of a mystery writer that you cannot see through her cheap tricks. Christie’s novels are exactly the sort of material that Sherlock Holmes would never mentally imbibe for fear of clogging his mental pathways with unhelpful baggage. **
James Cameron’s animated films: Supercilious Snicker.
- We were unaware until recently that this titan of undeserved acclaim (Titan—get it? Get it?) was making a foray into cartoon-land. But then we saw the newly-unveiled trailer for Avatar. If Smurfs had nightmares, this is what they’d look like.
The Inheritance Cycle (formerly known as The Inheritance Trilogy): Supercilious Snicker.
- What’s the first thing you would expect a young, inexperienced, hopelessly juvenile, shamelessly derivative but wildly successful fantasy author to do? Well, naturally, write a conclusion to his three-part series that drags on so long that it must be broken up into two books, thereby ruining the faint bit of symmetry and cohesion that the sequence might have had. And oh yes, that faint bit of symmetry and cohesion only existed due to its blatant, unmistakable, thoroughly laughable retelling of the plot of Star Wars. Yes, occasionally we Thumbs just whisper “Inheritance” to each other, and then share a Colonel Tigh Chortle. ***
Battlestar Galactica: Supercilious Snicker.
- We suppose this deserves some explanation. But unlike Agatha Christie, we positively refuse to indulge the lowest passions of man by wrapping everything up nicely with a Grand Reveal—and so this will just have to wait until later.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
* We have been called much worse.
** Emphatically not the upcoming Robert Downey Jr. abomination. He might read Agatha Christie. (He’d probably even listen to the Narnia score while reading it.)
*** Vaguely similar to the Grad Student Guffaw. Due to recent experiences, however, we Thumbs also look down upon said Guffaw.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Robber and Robbed: The Russians Are Coming
The following post will not be humorous in the least. If you laugh at it, you are either glaringly ignorant or simply evil. I do not wish to alarm my readers, but I feel it is my duty to interrupt the typical Two Thumbs Sideways formula of witticisms, insights and banter to call a matter of pressing concern to your attention. I present it in Right Thumb’s format of Robber and Robbed because it is necessary to properly convey the facts.
Robbers: Brave New World, 1984, Anthem
Robbed: We
Most people don’t realize this, but it wasn’t the English-speaking world that first came up with the whole totalitarian, thought-suppressing, vaguely familiar and mildly repetitive dystopian book idea.
It was the Russkies.
Which is mildly ironic, because of all the nations on this here planet, the Russians are the only ones who have, in the past, kind of resembled a totalitarian, thought-suppressing dystopia. Nevertheless, in 1921, Yvegeny Zamyatin’s We first appeared. And it’s been appearing again ever since. See, in 1931 Aldous Huxley changed the proper names, mixed up the plot and called it Brave New World. Then in 1949 George Orwell changed Aldous’ proper names, mixed up his plot and called it 1984. And Ayn Rand didn’t even bother to mix up the plot with Anthem. (Apparently her naked soul isn’t so original after all. Or maybe she was too busy talking to those Mystics of Spirit™.)
Now which of these are required reading for impressionable, wildly hormonal teenagers everywhere*?
This just serves to demonstrate the unimpeachable validity of a theory I have long held: the Cold War never ended.
Oh, we may smile and wave when a Russian bomber flies by. We might have redirected our nukes, we might be hobnobbing with their cosmonauts on the International Space Station, we might even invite Putin and Medvedev over for Iran-bashing and vodka—but beneath the pleasant handshakes and warm promises of continued cooperation, we have our collective, metaphorical fingers ever so defiantly crossed.
Oh, we aren’t open about it. No threats, no direct infiltrations. It is much more insidious. It’s through culture and the arts. Instead of space races and nuclear fallout preparation, we do it through high school reading lists—and elsewhere. Haven’t you ever noticed that:
- Even in Star Trek of 2009, Chekov is still the lowest-ranking officer on the bridge. Shameful. I bet they’d make him brew the coffee if they didn’t have replicators. The nerve.
- Dickens has a whole shelf in Borders while Tolstoy has a sprinkling of copies. Ayn Rand also has her own shelf, complete with several editions of Anthem, while Zamyatin isn’t there at all.**
- It remains a proven technique in American film that, if one needs to make a character sound devious, they are immediately given a Russian accent, regardless of true nationality or plot circumstances.
This is just a sampling, I do assure you. I trust you will be on the lookout for similar signs now that you are aware. I also advise that you follow my lead and immediately stock up on batteries, bottled water, short-wave radios, Battlestar Galactica DVDs, canned food, the complete works of Plato, and warm clothing. Then dig a bomb-shelter at least ninety-feet deep in your backyard. (Or another suitable location. Graveyards and oil fields are not recommended.)
After all, you never know. Mr. Putin might visit a bookstore after his dinner-date here in America, and he might not like what he sees.
> Left Thumb <
* Meaning the United States, obviously.
** Leaving Emile Zola as the only “Z” author, which I find to be appalling.
Robbers: Brave New World, 1984, Anthem
Robbed: We
Most people don’t realize this, but it wasn’t the English-speaking world that first came up with the whole totalitarian, thought-suppressing, vaguely familiar and mildly repetitive dystopian book idea.
It was the Russkies.
Which is mildly ironic, because of all the nations on this here planet, the Russians are the only ones who have, in the past, kind of resembled a totalitarian, thought-suppressing dystopia. Nevertheless, in 1921, Yvegeny Zamyatin’s We first appeared. And it’s been appearing again ever since. See, in 1931 Aldous Huxley changed the proper names, mixed up the plot and called it Brave New World. Then in 1949 George Orwell changed Aldous’ proper names, mixed up his plot and called it 1984. And Ayn Rand didn’t even bother to mix up the plot with Anthem. (Apparently her naked soul isn’t so original after all. Or maybe she was too busy talking to those Mystics of Spirit™.)
Now which of these are required reading for impressionable, wildly hormonal teenagers everywhere*?
This just serves to demonstrate the unimpeachable validity of a theory I have long held: the Cold War never ended.
Oh, we may smile and wave when a Russian bomber flies by. We might have redirected our nukes, we might be hobnobbing with their cosmonauts on the International Space Station, we might even invite Putin and Medvedev over for Iran-bashing and vodka—but beneath the pleasant handshakes and warm promises of continued cooperation, we have our collective, metaphorical fingers ever so defiantly crossed.
Oh, we aren’t open about it. No threats, no direct infiltrations. It is much more insidious. It’s through culture and the arts. Instead of space races and nuclear fallout preparation, we do it through high school reading lists—and elsewhere. Haven’t you ever noticed that:
- Even in Star Trek of 2009, Chekov is still the lowest-ranking officer on the bridge. Shameful. I bet they’d make him brew the coffee if they didn’t have replicators. The nerve.
- Dickens has a whole shelf in Borders while Tolstoy has a sprinkling of copies. Ayn Rand also has her own shelf, complete with several editions of Anthem, while Zamyatin isn’t there at all.**
- It remains a proven technique in American film that, if one needs to make a character sound devious, they are immediately given a Russian accent, regardless of true nationality or plot circumstances.
This is just a sampling, I do assure you. I trust you will be on the lookout for similar signs now that you are aware. I also advise that you follow my lead and immediately stock up on batteries, bottled water, short-wave radios, Battlestar Galactica DVDs, canned food, the complete works of Plato, and warm clothing. Then dig a bomb-shelter at least ninety-feet deep in your backyard. (Or another suitable location. Graveyards and oil fields are not recommended.)
After all, you never know. Mr. Putin might visit a bookstore after his dinner-date here in America, and he might not like what he sees.
> Left Thumb <
* Meaning the United States, obviously.
** Leaving Emile Zola as the only “Z” author, which I find to be appalling.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
A Conversation with the Devil
We here at Two Thumbs Sideways have been fielding questions via the comments as regards a certain Ayn Rand. (Speaking of which, we are aware that many more people read than comment. This is highly annoying. It takes two seconds to comment, and it need not be lengthy.) Anyway, people want to know who she is and why we detest her so. So we figured we could have a conversation with her to show why she deserves every bit of vitriol ever aimed in her direction. She is dead, of course, but we managed to find a few harebrained quotes. More than a few. In fact, do a Google search for Ayn Rand and you will be completely inundated by the inane. These are actual quotes of hers. Seriously. They are. You won’t believe us, but they are. There was indeed a person this stupid at one point in history.
Ayn Rand: Evil requires the sanction of the victim.
LT: Tell that to hurricane victims.
RT: Unassuming viewers of any Peter Jackson movie.
LT: Trappist monks.
Ayn Rand: I can say — not as a patriotic bromide, but with full knowledge of the necessary metaphysical, epistemological, ethical, political, and aesthetic roots — that the United States of America is the greatest, the noblest and, in its original founding principles, the only moral country in the history of the world.
LT: Hey look! Little Ayn just learned the meaning of the words “metaphysical,” “epistemological,” “ethical,” “political” and “aesthetic”!
RT: See, Sean Hannity once said this (minus the large words). Actually, he said it about a hundred times. But regardless, that’s a problem.
LT: A big one.
Ayn Rand: I am not primarily an advocate of capitalism, but of egoism; and I am not primarily an advocate of egoism, but of reason. If one recognizes the supremacy of reason and applies it consistently, all the rest follows.
RT: Using my reason, I question this premise as unfounded.
LT: Wait, what’s that? A deafening silence in response to our reasonable question?
Ayn Rand: The good, say the mystics of spirit, is God, a being whose only definition is that he is beyond man's power to conceive- a definition that invalidates man's consciousness and nullifies his concepts of existence. Man's mind, say the mystics of spirit, must be subordinated to the will of God. Man's standard of value, say the mystics of spirit, is the pleasure of God, whose standards are beyond man's power of comprehension and must be accepted on faith. The purpose of man's life is to become an abject zombie who serves a purpose he does not know, for reasons he is not to question.
LT: This quote just made me a Catholic.
RT: Ayn, you are an idiot. I’m just going to repeat that in case there was any question.
Ayn Rand: It is not advisable, James, to venture unsolicited opinions. You should spare yourself the embarrassing discovery of their exact value to your listener.
RT: It is not advisable, Ayn, to venture asinine opinions. You should spare yourself the embarrassing discovery of their raucous humor to your reader.
Ayn Rand: All work is an act of philosophy.
LT: The other day as I existentially folded the epistemological laundry, I realized that the conclusions I had reached based on my rational premises concerning the proper rolling of socks were logically flawed, and the moral ramifications therein were threatening to capitalism. Oh crap.
RT: Wait, hold on, my toast just got burned. DAMN YOU, SOCIALISM!
Ayn Rand: An artist reveals his naked soul in his work.
LT: We could have done without seeing your naked soul, Ayn.
RT: Wait, Ayn Rand thinks we have souls?!
Ayn Rand: I swear by my life, and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.
RT: Thank God. Asking another man to live for your sake would have been worse than asking him to take up permanent residence in Sheol.
LT: Yeah, and any guy who you were trying to "live for" would probably end up in Sheol by the time you were through with him, Ayn.
Ayn Rand: Thanksgiving is a typically American holiday... The lavish meal is a symbol of the fact that abundant consumption is the result and reward of production.
RT: I was once denied mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving.
LT: The horror!
RT: I know. By Ayn’s calculus I should have shriveled up or something. Yet I still managed to give thanks on that seemingly deprived Thanksgiving.
Ayn Rand: If any civilization is to survive, it is the morality of altruism that men have to reject.
RT: Absolutely every civilization in history put this to the test.
LT: And none of them are here any more.
Ayn Rand: Every form of happiness is private. Our greatest moments are personal, self-motivated, not to be touched.
RT: Every happy moment I have ever had was had with and partially because of someone(s) else. Like for instance, this terrific blog is terrific because I do it with Left Thumb and it is read by others. If that weren’t true, I would not enjoy it at all.
LT: Well, I just enjoy it because we make fun of Ayn Rand, but yeah, your answer was good too.
Ayn Rand: Do you believe in God, Andrei? No. Neither do I. But that's a favorite question of mine. An upside-down question, you know. What do you mean? Well, if I asked people whether they believed in life, they'd never understand what I meant. It's a bad question. It can mean so much that it really means nothing. So I ask them if they believe in God. And if they say they do—then, I know they don't believe in life. Why? Because, you see, God—whatever anyone chooses to call God—is one's highest conception of the highest possible. And whoever places his highest conception above his own possibility thinks very little of himself and his life. It's a rare gift, you know, to feel reverence for your own life and to want the best, the greatest, the highest possible, here, now, for your very own.
RT: Do you believe in God, Left Thumb?
LT: Yes.
RT: Do you believe it is impossible to ever meet God?
LT: No.
RT: Well using my reason which Ayn loves so much, I have determined that you believe in both God and life. I guess she was a bit off there.
LT: You have to be patient with her. Her reason is not quite up to par with her highest conception of the highest possible.
Ayn Rand: Government "help" to business is just as disastrous as government persecution... the only way a government can be of service to national prosperity is by keeping its hands off.
RT: Hey you know that country of anarchists?
LT: What country of anarchists?
RT: Oh that’s right. There isn’t one!
Ayn Rand: Reason is not automatic. Those who deny it cannot be conquered by it. Do not count on them. Leave them alone.
LT: No, Ayn. We shall not leave you alone.
Ayn Rand: Money is the barometer of a society's virtue.
RT: Actually, money is a nominal measure which has very little to do with even a society’s economic value, much less its virtue. Real factors like production, labor demand and supply, natural resources, land, capital, etc. are much more important.
LT: Well, thanks for the economic geek speak, but technically, “virtue” means manliness, and why Ayn Rand cares about a country’s manliness is beyond me.
Ayn Rand: There are two sides to every issue: one side is right and the other is wrong, but the middle is always evil.
RT: The only time this applies is when one is referring to an opinion of Ayn Rand.
LT: If you think she’s a crackpot, you’re right.
RT: And if you think she isn’t, you’re wrong.
LT: And if you can’t make up your mind, you're eeevvvviiillll!
Ayn Rand: Wealth is the product of man's capacity to think.
LT: Hah! Finally, the reason that sports athletes are wealthy and professors are practically paupers is revealed!
RT: You read that backwards.
LT: I did? Oh. Yeah. Well I think that is an unavoidable byproduct of staring at Ayn Rand quotes for a half hour. It’s like sitting next to radioactive material, except it is mentally radioactive.
RT: Yeah. I’m fairly certain that I am stupider now than I was a little bit ago.
LT: Me, too. Let’s never do this again.
RT: Ever.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
Ayn Rand: Evil requires the sanction of the victim.
LT: Tell that to hurricane victims.
RT: Unassuming viewers of any Peter Jackson movie.
LT: Trappist monks.
Ayn Rand: I can say — not as a patriotic bromide, but with full knowledge of the necessary metaphysical, epistemological, ethical, political, and aesthetic roots — that the United States of America is the greatest, the noblest and, in its original founding principles, the only moral country in the history of the world.
LT: Hey look! Little Ayn just learned the meaning of the words “metaphysical,” “epistemological,” “ethical,” “political” and “aesthetic”!
RT: See, Sean Hannity once said this (minus the large words). Actually, he said it about a hundred times. But regardless, that’s a problem.
LT: A big one.
Ayn Rand: I am not primarily an advocate of capitalism, but of egoism; and I am not primarily an advocate of egoism, but of reason. If one recognizes the supremacy of reason and applies it consistently, all the rest follows.
RT: Using my reason, I question this premise as unfounded.
LT: Wait, what’s that? A deafening silence in response to our reasonable question?
Ayn Rand: The good, say the mystics of spirit, is God, a being whose only definition is that he is beyond man's power to conceive- a definition that invalidates man's consciousness and nullifies his concepts of existence. Man's mind, say the mystics of spirit, must be subordinated to the will of God. Man's standard of value, say the mystics of spirit, is the pleasure of God, whose standards are beyond man's power of comprehension and must be accepted on faith. The purpose of man's life is to become an abject zombie who serves a purpose he does not know, for reasons he is not to question.
LT: This quote just made me a Catholic.
RT: Ayn, you are an idiot. I’m just going to repeat that in case there was any question.
Ayn Rand: It is not advisable, James, to venture unsolicited opinions. You should spare yourself the embarrassing discovery of their exact value to your listener.
RT: It is not advisable, Ayn, to venture asinine opinions. You should spare yourself the embarrassing discovery of their raucous humor to your reader.
Ayn Rand: All work is an act of philosophy.
LT: The other day as I existentially folded the epistemological laundry, I realized that the conclusions I had reached based on my rational premises concerning the proper rolling of socks were logically flawed, and the moral ramifications therein were threatening to capitalism. Oh crap.
RT: Wait, hold on, my toast just got burned. DAMN YOU, SOCIALISM!
Ayn Rand: An artist reveals his naked soul in his work.
LT: We could have done without seeing your naked soul, Ayn.
RT: Wait, Ayn Rand thinks we have souls?!
Ayn Rand: I swear by my life, and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.
RT: Thank God. Asking another man to live for your sake would have been worse than asking him to take up permanent residence in Sheol.
LT: Yeah, and any guy who you were trying to "live for" would probably end up in Sheol by the time you were through with him, Ayn.
Ayn Rand: Thanksgiving is a typically American holiday... The lavish meal is a symbol of the fact that abundant consumption is the result and reward of production.
RT: I was once denied mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving.
LT: The horror!
RT: I know. By Ayn’s calculus I should have shriveled up or something. Yet I still managed to give thanks on that seemingly deprived Thanksgiving.
Ayn Rand: If any civilization is to survive, it is the morality of altruism that men have to reject.
RT: Absolutely every civilization in history put this to the test.
LT: And none of them are here any more.
Ayn Rand: Every form of happiness is private. Our greatest moments are personal, self-motivated, not to be touched.
RT: Every happy moment I have ever had was had with and partially because of someone(s) else. Like for instance, this terrific blog is terrific because I do it with Left Thumb and it is read by others. If that weren’t true, I would not enjoy it at all.
LT: Well, I just enjoy it because we make fun of Ayn Rand, but yeah, your answer was good too.
Ayn Rand: Do you believe in God, Andrei? No. Neither do I. But that's a favorite question of mine. An upside-down question, you know. What do you mean? Well, if I asked people whether they believed in life, they'd never understand what I meant. It's a bad question. It can mean so much that it really means nothing. So I ask them if they believe in God. And if they say they do—then, I know they don't believe in life. Why? Because, you see, God—whatever anyone chooses to call God—is one's highest conception of the highest possible. And whoever places his highest conception above his own possibility thinks very little of himself and his life. It's a rare gift, you know, to feel reverence for your own life and to want the best, the greatest, the highest possible, here, now, for your very own.
RT: Do you believe in God, Left Thumb?
LT: Yes.
RT: Do you believe it is impossible to ever meet God?
LT: No.
RT: Well using my reason which Ayn loves so much, I have determined that you believe in both God and life. I guess she was a bit off there.
LT: You have to be patient with her. Her reason is not quite up to par with her highest conception of the highest possible.
Ayn Rand: Government "help" to business is just as disastrous as government persecution... the only way a government can be of service to national prosperity is by keeping its hands off.
RT: Hey you know that country of anarchists?
LT: What country of anarchists?
RT: Oh that’s right. There isn’t one!
Ayn Rand: Reason is not automatic. Those who deny it cannot be conquered by it. Do not count on them. Leave them alone.
LT: No, Ayn. We shall not leave you alone.
Ayn Rand: Money is the barometer of a society's virtue.
RT: Actually, money is a nominal measure which has very little to do with even a society’s economic value, much less its virtue. Real factors like production, labor demand and supply, natural resources, land, capital, etc. are much more important.
LT: Well, thanks for the economic geek speak, but technically, “virtue” means manliness, and why Ayn Rand cares about a country’s manliness is beyond me.
Ayn Rand: There are two sides to every issue: one side is right and the other is wrong, but the middle is always evil.
RT: The only time this applies is when one is referring to an opinion of Ayn Rand.
LT: If you think she’s a crackpot, you’re right.
RT: And if you think she isn’t, you’re wrong.
LT: And if you can’t make up your mind, you're eeevvvviiillll!
Ayn Rand: Wealth is the product of man's capacity to think.
LT: Hah! Finally, the reason that sports athletes are wealthy and professors are practically paupers is revealed!
RT: You read that backwards.
LT: I did? Oh. Yeah. Well I think that is an unavoidable byproduct of staring at Ayn Rand quotes for a half hour. It’s like sitting next to radioactive material, except it is mentally radioactive.
RT: Yeah. I’m fairly certain that I am stupider now than I was a little bit ago.
LT: Me, too. Let’s never do this again.
RT: Ever.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
Friday, September 25, 2009
Robber and Robbed: Rubber Ducky Derivatives
I woke up today in a cold sweat, enraged by all the robbers and sympathizing with all those robbed by such nefarious pilferers.
Okay, not actually. But I do occasionally fly into fits of rage when someone mentions certain things to me, like, say Oliver! Not that there is anything particularly wrong with Oliver! (Well, actually, there is, but nothing that would induce my waking up in cold sweats, even fictionally.) It just happens to be a greater thief than Thomas Edison (who will have his own post soon enough, the dastardly punk).
But I'm not going to talk about that at any great length today. Frankly, encapsulating the sheer outrage (some might even say diabolical plot) that surrounds Oliver! winning the 1968 Academy Award for Best Picture would take the aid of Left Thumb. Not because I, Right Thumb, could not list the multifarious and multitudinous facets of this atrocity. No, Left Thumb and I are perfectly capable of doing that on our own. But neither of us could handle the psychological damage without the comfort of another human being who understands. So the Greatest Movie Atrocity of All Time will have to wait for a day when the Thumbs are united. Today the quarry is not quite so unspeakable.
Robber: Sir Isaac Newton
Robbed: Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz
I'm sure you have heard of Sir Isaac Newton. Everyone has, thanks to his legendary, likely apocryphal incident with that apple. But if you aren't 1) a math major/minor (or have taken calculus in the past five years) or 2) in some way related to Right Thumb, odds are you have not heard of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, despite the fact that he invented calculus.
Oh sure, Newton did too. "Independently" they claim, although Newton probably surreptitiously leafed through Leibniz's work on at least one occasion. But even if they did invent it independently, it doesn't matter. Newton's calculus is abominable. Leibniz's calculus is smoother than I Can't Believe It's Not Butter (heck, it's smoother than Fabio's hair).
What makes this particular theft so hideous? Because this is like the King of the land—who has a billion rubber duckies in his bathtub—stealing the only rubber ducky of some poor soul who loved that rubber ducky far more than the King ever will.* Only in this case, the rubber duckies are scientific and mathematical discoveries, the King is Newton, and the rubber ducky he stole from Leibniz is calculus.
Newton was pretty much guaranteed fame. He figured out, you know, gravity, thermodynamics, classical physics and a few other somewhat important things. He didn't need the credit for calculus. Not to mention his bloody f '(x) notation is horrifically difficult to use compared to Leibniz's dy/dx. That isn't even the point. Leibniz had this one rubber ducky. Let him keep it, you jealous, greedy curmudgeon.
~Right Thumb~
* If you have never watched Veggietales or read the Bible, I suppose this analogy doesn't make much sense.
Okay, not actually. But I do occasionally fly into fits of rage when someone mentions certain things to me, like, say Oliver! Not that there is anything particularly wrong with Oliver! (Well, actually, there is, but nothing that would induce my waking up in cold sweats, even fictionally.) It just happens to be a greater thief than Thomas Edison (who will have his own post soon enough, the dastardly punk).
But I'm not going to talk about that at any great length today. Frankly, encapsulating the sheer outrage (some might even say diabolical plot) that surrounds Oliver! winning the 1968 Academy Award for Best Picture would take the aid of Left Thumb. Not because I, Right Thumb, could not list the multifarious and multitudinous facets of this atrocity. No, Left Thumb and I are perfectly capable of doing that on our own. But neither of us could handle the psychological damage without the comfort of another human being who understands. So the Greatest Movie Atrocity of All Time will have to wait for a day when the Thumbs are united. Today the quarry is not quite so unspeakable.
Robber: Sir Isaac Newton
Robbed: Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz
I'm sure you have heard of Sir Isaac Newton. Everyone has, thanks to his legendary, likely apocryphal incident with that apple. But if you aren't 1) a math major/minor (or have taken calculus in the past five years) or 2) in some way related to Right Thumb, odds are you have not heard of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, despite the fact that he invented calculus.
Oh sure, Newton did too. "Independently" they claim, although Newton probably surreptitiously leafed through Leibniz's work on at least one occasion. But even if they did invent it independently, it doesn't matter. Newton's calculus is abominable. Leibniz's calculus is smoother than I Can't Believe It's Not Butter (heck, it's smoother than Fabio's hair).
What makes this particular theft so hideous? Because this is like the King of the land—who has a billion rubber duckies in his bathtub—stealing the only rubber ducky of some poor soul who loved that rubber ducky far more than the King ever will.* Only in this case, the rubber duckies are scientific and mathematical discoveries, the King is Newton, and the rubber ducky he stole from Leibniz is calculus.
Newton was pretty much guaranteed fame. He figured out, you know, gravity, thermodynamics, classical physics and a few other somewhat important things. He didn't need the credit for calculus. Not to mention his bloody f '(x) notation is horrifically difficult to use compared to Leibniz's dy/dx. That isn't even the point. Leibniz had this one rubber ducky. Let him keep it, you jealous, greedy curmudgeon.
~Right Thumb~
* If you have never watched Veggietales or read the Bible, I suppose this analogy doesn't make much sense.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Shameful Listing of Things
We here at Two Thumbs Sideways don't necessarily approve of shameful listmaking. Sometimes, making a list of favorite films or books or rollercoasters is as opprobrious as allowing a pack of peasants and griffins to defeat your half dozen azure dragons.* Other times it is only about as shameful as letting ancient BEE-moths defeat your azure dragons.**
Hopefully, this post will be closer to the latter, although why Two Thumbs Sideways is letting any azure dragons die, we aren't sure. Might be the lack of sleep. Might be the laziness. But it's definitely not because we couldn't think of anything better to do this week. Definitely Not.***
Still, it could be worse. Most of the time, lists are the last gasp of a failing venture, the most famous example of which is the time when "The Best Damn Sports Show Period" was flailing as far as ratings, and so they began to count down lists of fifty things for no apparent reason at all. Clearly, their show was not aptly named.
No, our reason for making a list is much more reasonable. First off, our ratings are definitely not flailing. (Thrashing, maybe. Screaming, perhaps. Making a general nuisance of themselves, but not flailing.) Second, this is not our last swan song a la Socrates before we go off the air. And finally, most importantly, our lists are better than other lists. Why, you ask? Silly question. There is no why.****
So without further ado, a quick list of an arbitrary number that will probably end with neither a zero nor a five.
Movies with Left Thumb Approved Soundtracks, Right Thumb approved Screenplays, and Two Thumbs Approved Visuals which would be enjoyable to watch whilst riding a rollercoaster.
2001: A Space Odyssey. Like you didn't know this one was coming. Perfection deserves its place on every list.
Vertigo. Right Thumb hates Hitchcock and finds Jimmy Stewart overrated. Yet, as a recent Counting Things revealed, Vertigo was one of only seven films to conclude with Right Thumb experiencing an adrenaline induced hysteria that was so euphoric it nearly led to many unspeakable disasters. Left Thumb does not hate Hitchcock nor does he find Jimmy Stewart overrated, so clearly, he liked it. And seriously, could any movie be better to watch whilst on a rollercoaster than one that has "Vertigo" right there in the title? We think not.
Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. This particular entry into the Star Wars saga has the odd distinction of being the only John Williams score Left Thumb has ever truly enjoyed. He has tolerated other John Williams scores. But this is the only one that doesn't cause a highly amusing twitch in his face as he listens.
This is Spinal Tap: The soundtrack is clearly brilliant, what with Spinal Tap's classic riffs and soul searching lyrics with such depth you could drown in them ("Sex Farm", in particular, could have philosophers arguing for decades). And the screenplay... well, there is technically no "screenplay" for a documentary but we think you would agree the dialogue is more Oscar-worthy than most of the scripts people are paid to write. And if you don't agree... well, you clearly don't know how to count to eleven.
The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. Hah! Joke. We just wanted to see if you were paying attention.
Citizen Kane. We don't know about you, but riding rollercoasters while watching Citizen Kane just makes perfect sense. He loved his sled a lot, after all, and what is a sled but an attempt at a rollercoaster on a low budget in a cold climate? Indeed, for those of you interested in thrill ride history and/or the culture of Russia (Left Thumb happens to be quite fascinated by both of these), it is worth noting that the great-granddaddies of rollercoasters were in fact ice slides in the snowy hills of Siberia. The idea quickly disseminated throughout the world, faster than anything else Russia ever produced. (Admittedly, communism gave it a run for its money.)
Battlestar Galactica. Yes, we know it isn't a movie. Doesn't matter. If it is a list that involves the "best" anything, Galactica will be on it or the list shall be declared void.
Barry Lyndon. We talk about this one a lot. It's partly due to its jaw-dropping beauty and soul-staggering direction, but it's also because hardly anyone else ever mentions it. (Except Scorsese, and he doesn't count. Why he doesn't count, Right Thumb isn't sure, but Left Thumb assures him that he most certainly does not.) Besides, the soundtrack is golden. Left Thumb is always partial to Kubrick's choices, but that's because Kubrick is so reliable: more often than not, he smartly decided to bypass the treacherous world of film-composer Philistines and use Real Music instead. Meaning the kind of music that isn't a) composed by John Williams, or b) strangely similar to something composed by John Williams. (Which, in turn, is strangely similar to the Real Music he routinely rips off.)
Hopefully, this post will be closer to the latter, although why Two Thumbs Sideways is letting any azure dragons die, we aren't sure. Might be the lack of sleep. Might be the laziness. But it's definitely not because we couldn't think of anything better to do this week. Definitely Not.***
Still, it could be worse. Most of the time, lists are the last gasp of a failing venture, the most famous example of which is the time when "The Best Damn Sports Show Period" was flailing as far as ratings, and so they began to count down lists of fifty things for no apparent reason at all. Clearly, their show was not aptly named.
No, our reason for making a list is much more reasonable. First off, our ratings are definitely not flailing. (Thrashing, maybe. Screaming, perhaps. Making a general nuisance of themselves, but not flailing.) Second, this is not our last swan song a la Socrates before we go off the air. And finally, most importantly, our lists are better than other lists. Why, you ask? Silly question. There is no why.****
So without further ado, a quick list of an arbitrary number that will probably end with neither a zero nor a five.
Movies with Left Thumb Approved Soundtracks, Right Thumb approved Screenplays, and Two Thumbs Approved Visuals which would be enjoyable to watch whilst riding a rollercoaster.
2001: A Space Odyssey. Like you didn't know this one was coming. Perfection deserves its place on every list.
Vertigo. Right Thumb hates Hitchcock and finds Jimmy Stewart overrated. Yet, as a recent Counting Things revealed, Vertigo was one of only seven films to conclude with Right Thumb experiencing an adrenaline induced hysteria that was so euphoric it nearly led to many unspeakable disasters. Left Thumb does not hate Hitchcock nor does he find Jimmy Stewart overrated, so clearly, he liked it. And seriously, could any movie be better to watch whilst on a rollercoaster than one that has "Vertigo" right there in the title? We think not.
Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. This particular entry into the Star Wars saga has the odd distinction of being the only John Williams score Left Thumb has ever truly enjoyed. He has tolerated other John Williams scores. But this is the only one that doesn't cause a highly amusing twitch in his face as he listens.
This is Spinal Tap: The soundtrack is clearly brilliant, what with Spinal Tap's classic riffs and soul searching lyrics with such depth you could drown in them ("Sex Farm", in particular, could have philosophers arguing for decades). And the screenplay... well, there is technically no "screenplay" for a documentary but we think you would agree the dialogue is more Oscar-worthy than most of the scripts people are paid to write. And if you don't agree... well, you clearly don't know how to count to eleven.
The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. Hah! Joke. We just wanted to see if you were paying attention.
Citizen Kane. We don't know about you, but riding rollercoasters while watching Citizen Kane just makes perfect sense. He loved his sled a lot, after all, and what is a sled but an attempt at a rollercoaster on a low budget in a cold climate? Indeed, for those of you interested in thrill ride history and/or the culture of Russia (Left Thumb happens to be quite fascinated by both of these), it is worth noting that the great-granddaddies of rollercoasters were in fact ice slides in the snowy hills of Siberia. The idea quickly disseminated throughout the world, faster than anything else Russia ever produced. (Admittedly, communism gave it a run for its money.)
Battlestar Galactica. Yes, we know it isn't a movie. Doesn't matter. If it is a list that involves the "best" anything, Galactica will be on it or the list shall be declared void.
Barry Lyndon. We talk about this one a lot. It's partly due to its jaw-dropping beauty and soul-staggering direction, but it's also because hardly anyone else ever mentions it. (Except Scorsese, and he doesn't count. Why he doesn't count, Right Thumb isn't sure, but Left Thumb assures him that he most certainly does not.) Besides, the soundtrack is golden. Left Thumb is always partial to Kubrick's choices, but that's because Kubrick is so reliable: more often than not, he smartly decided to bypass the treacherous world of film-composer Philistines and use Real Music instead. Meaning the kind of music that isn't a) composed by John Williams, or b) strangely similar to something composed by John Williams. (Which, in turn, is strangely similar to the Real Music he routinely rips off.)
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. Captain Kirk. Time travel. Whale song. What more needs to be said? (Well, a little more needs to be said. This movie perfectly fits our final criterion: it's rollercoaster fare. Particularly Star Trek-themed rollercoaster fare. Oh wait, Paramount sold out and there no longer is a Star Trek-themed rollercoaster in existence, and all of this before a certain pair of digits ever happened to visit this particular attraction. Excuse us while we loudly ululate.)
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Right Thumb: Haha, another joke. Left Thumb and I just -
Editors note: What follows was violent and clearly beyond the level of vulgarity that Two Thumbs Sideways allows to be published. Left Thumb did not appreciate this entry, even as a joke, and proceeded to commit unspeakable acts focused in Right Thumb's direction. Right Thumb pleaded that it was obviously a joke, as the script and acting and visuals of the offending film were all terrible, but Left Thumb was not appeased. Something about "worst soundtrack ever composed, if we even want to use that term" and "bashing my own head in with a gold brick" followed something that sounded like @#$#@$%!
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
* This might be a physical impossibility.
** This is barely shameful at all.
*** It might have been.
**** Strangely enough, while almost everyone is aware of Yoda's maxim that "There is no try," almost everyone forgets he also stated that "There is no why."
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Counting Things
We Thumbs like counting things. Whether it be a running tally of fan letters we receive on behalf of our models, forming a list of transcendent/off-the-walls/absolutely breathtaking Battlestar Galactica episodes, or counting the number of Orlando Bloom’s birdbrain lines in the cinematic abominations that are Peter Jackson films—honestly, even I lose count on that last one—we like to do it.
And so I, Left Thumb, would like to share some of this numerical joy with you readers.
- Number of gag-worthy words in Atlas Shrugged: Approximately 650,000. In a remarkable coincidence, 650,000 happens to be the total word count of said book. Several bookstores have actually reported incidents involving regurgitated clam chowder in the “literature section”,* right around the letter “R”.
- Number of times Right Thumb has shrieked in ecstasy following a movie viewing: 7. Those seven happen to be Casino Royale, Barry Lyndon, Vertigo, The Insider, and three episodes of Battlestar Galactica.** It’s a sight to behold. After finishing each of these movies, he erupted into a number of high-pitched squeals of cinematic glee, accompanied by erratic pacing and strange, seemingly random motions of the arms. Observers have likened this behavior to the mating rituals of duck-billed platypuses, or the joyful antics of an intelligent high-school student who just discovered that Margaret Atwood was taken off the required reading list.
- Number of times I was present when Right Thumb shrieked his shriek: 3. Yes, not even half, sadly enough. Moreover, I have yet to see The Insider at all, although I do have it on hold at the library.***
- Number of times I can listen to Hey Jude without getting sick of it: 0.473. You feel the same way, whether you care to admit it or not.
- Number of pet duck-billed platypuses that I own: 0. It’s still a bone of contention with the powers that be. Protected species my left foot.
- Number of Isaac Asimov books that are worth reading: 10. Those being The End of Eternity, the three in the original Foundation trilogy, I, Robot, the first two in the Robot series, and the three in the Galactic Empire series. Go read them, they’re good. And I know good Books. Even if I don’t have a Ph. D.
- Number of Oscars that Titanic received: 11.
- Number of Oscars that Titanic should never have received in five million years, even under threat of nuclear attack, even if the only other film in the running was Babe: Pig in the City, even if a gunman hired by James Cameron stormed the Academy deliberations and said “You give Titanic awards, me no kill you!”: 11.
- Standard number of washbasins in a Trappist monastery: 6. Shameful. (According to their Carthusian neighbors, at least.)
- Number of heinous sins committed by the aforementioned Carthusians, captured forever and for all posterity on camera: Innumerable. Appalling. (Hypocrites.)
- Number of megabytes of information that a normal human brain can contain: 300. Yes, that’s right. Your USB flash drive is smarter than you.
- Number of megabytes Right Thumb’s brain can contain: ????. Estimates differ, but all agree that it is most certainly more than some scrawny USB flash drive.
-Number of megabytes contained in this post/document: .037. Meaning that I, Left Thumb, have successfully taken control of 1/8100 of your consciousness. At our current posting rate, this indicates that in approximately 57 years, Two Thumbs Sideways will have completely consumed the brains of its readers. It remains uncertain what exactly the consequences of this will be, but all analyses seem to predict that certain individuals who are particularly receptive will be neurologically compelled to do our every bidding.
Hang in there, Right Thumb. In 2066 we’ll finally have someone to bring us the coffee.
> Left Thumb <
* This label is even more ironic than a typical Two Thumbs Sideways post.
** Yes, Battlestar Galactica isn’t technically a film. But seeing as its direction, casting, acting, writing, production, special effects, art direction, costuming, lighting and cinematography are all better than any film out there, it most certainly belongs here in this case.
*** Yes, unbeknownst to the masses, libraries do stock good movies. Blockbuster executives (and, bafflingly, the federal government) do their utmost to keep this factoid under wraps.
And so I, Left Thumb, would like to share some of this numerical joy with you readers.
- Number of gag-worthy words in Atlas Shrugged: Approximately 650,000. In a remarkable coincidence, 650,000 happens to be the total word count of said book. Several bookstores have actually reported incidents involving regurgitated clam chowder in the “literature section”,* right around the letter “R”.
- Number of times Right Thumb has shrieked in ecstasy following a movie viewing: 7. Those seven happen to be Casino Royale, Barry Lyndon, Vertigo, The Insider, and three episodes of Battlestar Galactica.** It’s a sight to behold. After finishing each of these movies, he erupted into a number of high-pitched squeals of cinematic glee, accompanied by erratic pacing and strange, seemingly random motions of the arms. Observers have likened this behavior to the mating rituals of duck-billed platypuses, or the joyful antics of an intelligent high-school student who just discovered that Margaret Atwood was taken off the required reading list.
- Number of times I was present when Right Thumb shrieked his shriek: 3. Yes, not even half, sadly enough. Moreover, I have yet to see The Insider at all, although I do have it on hold at the library.***
- Number of times I can listen to Hey Jude without getting sick of it: 0.473. You feel the same way, whether you care to admit it or not.
- Number of pet duck-billed platypuses that I own: 0. It’s still a bone of contention with the powers that be. Protected species my left foot.
- Number of Isaac Asimov books that are worth reading: 10. Those being The End of Eternity, the three in the original Foundation trilogy, I, Robot, the first two in the Robot series, and the three in the Galactic Empire series. Go read them, they’re good. And I know good Books. Even if I don’t have a Ph. D.
- Number of Oscars that Titanic received: 11.
- Number of Oscars that Titanic should never have received in five million years, even under threat of nuclear attack, even if the only other film in the running was Babe: Pig in the City, even if a gunman hired by James Cameron stormed the Academy deliberations and said “You give Titanic awards, me no kill you!”: 11.
- Standard number of washbasins in a Trappist monastery: 6. Shameful. (According to their Carthusian neighbors, at least.)
- Number of heinous sins committed by the aforementioned Carthusians, captured forever and for all posterity on camera: Innumerable. Appalling. (Hypocrites.)
- Number of megabytes of information that a normal human brain can contain: 300. Yes, that’s right. Your USB flash drive is smarter than you.
- Number of megabytes Right Thumb’s brain can contain: ????. Estimates differ, but all agree that it is most certainly more than some scrawny USB flash drive.
-Number of megabytes contained in this post/document: .037. Meaning that I, Left Thumb, have successfully taken control of 1/8100 of your consciousness. At our current posting rate, this indicates that in approximately 57 years, Two Thumbs Sideways will have completely consumed the brains of its readers. It remains uncertain what exactly the consequences of this will be, but all analyses seem to predict that certain individuals who are particularly receptive will be neurologically compelled to do our every bidding.
Hang in there, Right Thumb. In 2066 we’ll finally have someone to bring us the coffee.
> Left Thumb <
* This label is even more ironic than a typical Two Thumbs Sideways post.
** Yes, Battlestar Galactica isn’t technically a film. But seeing as its direction, casting, acting, writing, production, special effects, art direction, costuming, lighting and cinematography are all better than any film out there, it most certainly belongs here in this case.
*** Yes, unbeknownst to the masses, libraries do stock good movies. Blockbuster executives (and, bafflingly, the federal government) do their utmost to keep this factoid under wraps.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Rollercoasters for Dummies
We here at Two Thumbs sideways have made two joint statements since we introduced you to this virtual abode. One discussed a film. The next concerned Books. What is left? Rollercoasters. For those of you who are not fortunate enough to have ridden nearly every important roller coaster in the United States of America, we decided to create an introductory pastiche of useful tidbits by comparing famous, awesome, important rollercoasters with other things from everyday life which the rollercoaster neophyte might better understand. In other words, here is a guide to four of the world’s most outstanding rides—for total rollercoaster dummies.
Millennium Force:
Huge, awe-inspiring and powerful, yet elegant, smooth and entirely enjoyable. The rollercoaster neophyte might not appreciate its every brilliant stroke, but no one could come off believing they had wasted their time.
Millennium Force Analogy for Dummies: 2001: A Space Odyssey.
The analogy is almost too perfect. The only reason I know it isn’t perfect is because I have seen perfection (just take a look at the photo of the Two Thumbs Sideways’ models again!) and it isn’t quite that. But excepting the glorious countenances of those madly gorgeous young men, this is as close to perfection as you can find. Both rollercoaster and film were even named regarding the turn of the millennium, which is a little too serendipitous. More serendipitous than Gary Sinise being Catholic (although granted, not as serendipitous as Gary Sinise being the spokesman for Epcot’s Mission Space). I almost expect to find Dave Bowman in the seat next to me when I ride Millennium Force. Heck, maybe he is and I don’t even know it. Being a super evolved being, maybe he can ride roller coasters while invisible. I mean, why else be super evolved if not to take in thrills such as Millennium Force? It sure isn’t for the platinum card.
Moving on: huge? Well, 2001 is brobdingnagian. It spans millions of years and roughly a half billion miles. I’m not sure if a movie has ever been bigger. Awe-inspiring is the first adjective one would use to describe 2001. Powerful, elegant, all of these things define Kubrick’s greatest endeavor. But possibly the most felicitous comparison is in their revolutionary nature. Both changed the direction of their craft forever, yet were never again matched (Millennium Force spawned several other 300+ feet rollercoasters, most of which forgot that the whole point of going really high is so that you can use that verticality to make a good ride. 2001 spawned a ton of movies in space, most of which forgot that space is a vacuum. That’s right. A vacuum). And, both film and rollercoaster spawned weird foreign cousins often compared to them but clearly not as profound, with 2001’s counterpart being the Russian Solyaris, and Millenium Force’s being the Japanese Steel Dragon 2000. Worth noting also is that these weird foreign cousins have terrible names. Awful names. Almost as bad as “Kingda Ka” names. Really putrid names. Just terrible names. Learn how to name things, people from Russia and Japan.
Alpengeist:
You’re at a park which everyone seems to love but after four days is grating on you like this. It has more hills than Pittsburgh and is thus tiring. It’s got rides only in the sense that not everything is a flower. The… “atmosphere”… is great. (Relying on an amusement park’s “atmosphere” is like picking an au pair based on her looks. She’s supposed to take care of your kid, not seduce your husband. What were you thinking?!)
But then afterwards you look back on this escapade fondly, and there is one reason why: Alpengeist. The most beautiful, majestic inverted rollercoaster you have ever ridden. You can’t exactly figure out why it so far outstrips the other inverted rollercoasters you have enjoyed. You can barely even figure out how it is different, for that matter. But how different it is.
Alpengeist Analogy for Dummies: Getting a Frosty Dairy Dessert from Wendy’s.
Wendy’s isn’t very good. But a Frosty Dairy Dessert? That makes the trip worth it. And how is a frosty different from other similar milkshake/ice cream concoctions? Who the heck knows. I doubt even Dave Bowman knows. But it is. It’s glorious. (Disclaimer: When referring to Frosty Dairy Desserts, the authors are referring to the one and only, the original, the real McCoy. They are most certainly not referring to any of those newfangled charlatans that pretend to be Frosties, yet have the audacity to blatantly flaunt their deception by not even being chocolate. We here at Two Thumbs Sideways are very bitter about this. Give us a moment.)
Kingda Ka:
Despite its hideously malformed moniker* and its status as little more than a gimmicky, gigantic, ridiculously fast rollercoaster, Kingda Ka is worth riding. Why? It is gigantic and ridiculously fast. It is a unique experience, if nothing else.
Kingda Ka Analogy for Dummies: Top Thrill Dragster.
Hmmm. Turns out Kingda Ka isn't a particularly unique experience. It does have shoulder straps though, so if you like to see your shoulders bleed, you should opt for the ugly green beast as opposed to the stylish hot rod that is Top Thrill Dragster.
Maverick:
No, not the 50s TV western with James Garner. No, not the 90s movie western with Mel Gibson based on the aforementioned 50s TV western with James Garner. And no, not John McCain.** What then, is this elusive Maverick?
It’s the one ride in the world that can actually live up to its unfortunate location: right next to Millennium Force. Maverick is red to Millennium Force’s blue. It is cleverness and unpredictability to Millennium Force’s raw power and, well, force.
Maverick Analogy for Dummies: Left Thumb.
Yes, the relationship of Maverick and Millennium Force is much like that of the Thumbs Themselves. Nary a digit could stand to be juxtaposed with the towering intellect of Right Thumb—his unapproachable powers of reasoning, his heightened sense of awareness regarding all things interesting, and his insight which sights so far in, even Quentin Tarantino’s madhouses of postmodern film-history horror are exposed for what they truly are. And yet Left Thumb succeeds in holding his own as the ultimate complement to Right Thumb’s brilliance, the dazzling yang to the dizzying yin. Where Left Thumb demonstrates an astonishingly quick mind, a quirky charm and a spicy sense of spontaneity, Maverick excels in sharp turns, a twisted layout and an overall continuity of unpredictability. Together, Millennium Force and Maverick are the great duo, embodying all that is excellent, all that is possible with rollercoasters—just as Right Thumb and Left Thumb together know absolutely everything, and represent all that is admirable about the human race.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
* Two Thumbs Sideways does not endorse the usage of profanity, and so we were limited to this rather mediocre bit of alliteration. The rough draft of this post read “lazy-ass label”.
** And certainly not Sarah Palin.
Millennium Force:
Huge, awe-inspiring and powerful, yet elegant, smooth and entirely enjoyable. The rollercoaster neophyte might not appreciate its every brilliant stroke, but no one could come off believing they had wasted their time.
Millennium Force Analogy for Dummies: 2001: A Space Odyssey.
The analogy is almost too perfect. The only reason I know it isn’t perfect is because I have seen perfection (just take a look at the photo of the Two Thumbs Sideways’ models again!) and it isn’t quite that. But excepting the glorious countenances of those madly gorgeous young men, this is as close to perfection as you can find. Both rollercoaster and film were even named regarding the turn of the millennium, which is a little too serendipitous. More serendipitous than Gary Sinise being Catholic (although granted, not as serendipitous as Gary Sinise being the spokesman for Epcot’s Mission Space). I almost expect to find Dave Bowman in the seat next to me when I ride Millennium Force. Heck, maybe he is and I don’t even know it. Being a super evolved being, maybe he can ride roller coasters while invisible. I mean, why else be super evolved if not to take in thrills such as Millennium Force? It sure isn’t for the platinum card.
Moving on: huge? Well, 2001 is brobdingnagian. It spans millions of years and roughly a half billion miles. I’m not sure if a movie has ever been bigger. Awe-inspiring is the first adjective one would use to describe 2001. Powerful, elegant, all of these things define Kubrick’s greatest endeavor. But possibly the most felicitous comparison is in their revolutionary nature. Both changed the direction of their craft forever, yet were never again matched (Millennium Force spawned several other 300+ feet rollercoasters, most of which forgot that the whole point of going really high is so that you can use that verticality to make a good ride. 2001 spawned a ton of movies in space, most of which forgot that space is a vacuum. That’s right. A vacuum). And, both film and rollercoaster spawned weird foreign cousins often compared to them but clearly not as profound, with 2001’s counterpart being the Russian Solyaris, and Millenium Force’s being the Japanese Steel Dragon 2000. Worth noting also is that these weird foreign cousins have terrible names. Awful names. Almost as bad as “Kingda Ka” names. Really putrid names. Just terrible names. Learn how to name things, people from Russia and Japan.
Alpengeist:
You’re at a park which everyone seems to love but after four days is grating on you like this. It has more hills than Pittsburgh and is thus tiring. It’s got rides only in the sense that not everything is a flower. The… “atmosphere”… is great. (Relying on an amusement park’s “atmosphere” is like picking an au pair based on her looks. She’s supposed to take care of your kid, not seduce your husband. What were you thinking?!)
But then afterwards you look back on this escapade fondly, and there is one reason why: Alpengeist. The most beautiful, majestic inverted rollercoaster you have ever ridden. You can’t exactly figure out why it so far outstrips the other inverted rollercoasters you have enjoyed. You can barely even figure out how it is different, for that matter. But how different it is.
Alpengeist Analogy for Dummies: Getting a Frosty Dairy Dessert from Wendy’s.
Wendy’s isn’t very good. But a Frosty Dairy Dessert? That makes the trip worth it. And how is a frosty different from other similar milkshake/ice cream concoctions? Who the heck knows. I doubt even Dave Bowman knows. But it is. It’s glorious. (Disclaimer: When referring to Frosty Dairy Desserts, the authors are referring to the one and only, the original, the real McCoy. They are most certainly not referring to any of those newfangled charlatans that pretend to be Frosties, yet have the audacity to blatantly flaunt their deception by not even being chocolate. We here at Two Thumbs Sideways are very bitter about this. Give us a moment.)
Kingda Ka:
Despite its hideously malformed moniker* and its status as little more than a gimmicky, gigantic, ridiculously fast rollercoaster, Kingda Ka is worth riding. Why? It is gigantic and ridiculously fast. It is a unique experience, if nothing else.
Kingda Ka Analogy for Dummies: Top Thrill Dragster.
Hmmm. Turns out Kingda Ka isn't a particularly unique experience. It does have shoulder straps though, so if you like to see your shoulders bleed, you should opt for the ugly green beast as opposed to the stylish hot rod that is Top Thrill Dragster.
Maverick:
No, not the 50s TV western with James Garner. No, not the 90s movie western with Mel Gibson based on the aforementioned 50s TV western with James Garner. And no, not John McCain.** What then, is this elusive Maverick?
It’s the one ride in the world that can actually live up to its unfortunate location: right next to Millennium Force. Maverick is red to Millennium Force’s blue. It is cleverness and unpredictability to Millennium Force’s raw power and, well, force.
Maverick Analogy for Dummies: Left Thumb.
Yes, the relationship of Maverick and Millennium Force is much like that of the Thumbs Themselves. Nary a digit could stand to be juxtaposed with the towering intellect of Right Thumb—his unapproachable powers of reasoning, his heightened sense of awareness regarding all things interesting, and his insight which sights so far in, even Quentin Tarantino’s madhouses of postmodern film-history horror are exposed for what they truly are. And yet Left Thumb succeeds in holding his own as the ultimate complement to Right Thumb’s brilliance, the dazzling yang to the dizzying yin. Where Left Thumb demonstrates an astonishingly quick mind, a quirky charm and a spicy sense of spontaneity, Maverick excels in sharp turns, a twisted layout and an overall continuity of unpredictability. Together, Millennium Force and Maverick are the great duo, embodying all that is excellent, all that is possible with rollercoasters—just as Right Thumb and Left Thumb together know absolutely everything, and represent all that is admirable about the human race.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
* Two Thumbs Sideways does not endorse the usage of profanity, and so we were limited to this rather mediocre bit of alliteration. The rough draft of this post read “lazy-ass label”.
** And certainly not Sarah Palin.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Movie Review: Inglourious Basterds
Editors Note: This review was not initially meant to run on Two Thumbs Sideways. Or at the very least, not immediately. This review smacks of seriousness, which is mildly repugnant to Two Thumbs Sideways. Unfortunately, Left Thumb, in addition to being an Above Average Intellectual, is also an Above Average Lazy Bum, and wrote nothing for us to run tonight. On a more personal note, if you see Left Thumb anywhere around these days, tell him to get his act together. Ayn Rand probably didn’t even miss deadlines like this. Oh yeah, I went there. Anyway, without further ado, here is Right Thumb’s review of Inglourious Basterds.
I don’t know where to start, because like all Tarantino films, Inglourious Basterds has no true beginning, middle or end. It is all one tightly wound, postmodern circle set in a cinematic reality where nothing except the movies dare enter. This film certainly isn’t about World War II. It’s about films. Of course, that’s what one expects when walking into a theater showing a Tarantino film.
Basterds is also something I certainly didn’t expect. It’s boring. I don’t mean all of the time or even most of the time. But at numerous points in the 150-minute-long soliloquy that is a Quentin Tarantino script, I was staring at my watch. It seems that Tarantino is not only in love with movies. He is also deeply in love with Quentin Tarantino’s movies, and he proves it here with a level of self-indulgence you rarely see in films—which is saying something. This film isn’t even truly about films—a Dirty Dozen homage would have been more interesting. Inglourious Basterds is about Inglourious Basterds.
It starts off, however, with quite the effective scene. A Really Bad Nazi Guy (Christopher Waltz as Colonel Hans Landa) comes upon a Frenchmen hiding Jews under the floorboards. This is Tarantino at his best. Quiet and plodding, no music, delightfully tense dialogue as both men dance around the obvious issue. The Frenchmen knows how this is going to end, but he plays along with the charade as long as possible, hoping against hope he might be wrong. The German also knows how it is going to end, but he plays along because he is the sadistic, Really Bad Nazi Guy. Then, when the tension is about as taut as it is going to get, the scene erupts into quite the visceral display.
But the reasons for Tarantino at his best are the reasons for Tarantino at his worst, and sadly, that happens more often than one would like to see. We all know this film (along with nearly every Tarantino film, Pulp Fiction possibly excluded) has been pegged with the tired label that it talks more about doing things than actually doing them. Unfortunately, just because the label is tired does not mean it can’t be apt. Tarantino likes to hear himself speak, and most of the time we give him a pass because his dialogue is good enough to carry unreasonable weights. At many times in this film, this simply is not the case.
For one thing, he underplays his best character. Brad Pitt as Lieutenant Aldo Raine is phenomenal. “Bonjourno”. Those of you who have seen the film are probably laughing, remembering the ultra-American Al, pretending to be an Italian, speaking French. But where is he? He gets a great opening monologue as he explains to his crew of Nazi killers that their mission is to scalp a hundred Nazis. Each. He gets some funny lines here and there. But he isn’t around enough because this movie, of course, isn’t about Lieutenant Aldo Raine.
Most of the narrative—and I use that term loosely—revolves around a movie theater in France where the Nazi high command will be attending the premiere of a new propaganda film. The Basterds want to blow the theater up. The theater owner wants to burn it down. Nice synergy, and since it is Tarantino, you can imagine what happens. But before any of that comes to pass, we endure several scenes of not-so-brilliant dialogue, including a tortuously long sequence in a basement bar. There, a German officer attempts to determine whether or not the impostors pretending to be German officers are, in fact, imposters. A scene in a film is supposed to last as long as it has to last, and no longer. This scene lasts about three times as long as it needs to last.
But then, that is the ultimate problem with critiquing a Tarantino film. None of it has to happen. It is all there for its own sake. Think about how many times the name “Tarantino” has already appeared in this and every other Basterds review. His movies inevitably lead back to him, and he leads to his movies, and back again. Inglourious Basterds is so maddeningly self-aware that I was shocked when a young German soldier named Wilhelm did not utter a Wilhelm scream at some point. What was the plan to burn down the theater with all of the Germans in it? Ignite reels of celluloid film into a blazing fire. Covered in silver nitrate, the stuff “burns three times faster than paper”. The idea of killing Nazis in a Nazi movie with movies is almost irresistible. Tarantino doesn’t even try to resist. It makes no sense. But then, why should it?
My problem with this film isn’t that it lacks any sense. Go into a Tarantino film expecting that and you deserve what you get. The problem isn’t even with the somewhat frightening notion of Jews torturing and scalping Germans. You get the sense that the revenge going on here isn’t a real revenge. It is movie revenge. The violence isn’t for violence’s sake. It’s for movie violence’s sake. Tarantino doesn’t parody gunshots; he parodies other people parodying himself parodying other people parodying gunshots. And that is where the film lost me. To be that self-referential—to depend on one’s own legend, even—is to invite disaster. If the film is constantly hilarious, brilliant or exciting, you can get away with such shenanigans. But it isn’t, so it doesn’t. Great moments? Of course. Tarantino always has great moments. Great film? Tall task for a film about itself.
~Right Thumb~
I don’t know where to start, because like all Tarantino films, Inglourious Basterds has no true beginning, middle or end. It is all one tightly wound, postmodern circle set in a cinematic reality where nothing except the movies dare enter. This film certainly isn’t about World War II. It’s about films. Of course, that’s what one expects when walking into a theater showing a Tarantino film.
Basterds is also something I certainly didn’t expect. It’s boring. I don’t mean all of the time or even most of the time. But at numerous points in the 150-minute-long soliloquy that is a Quentin Tarantino script, I was staring at my watch. It seems that Tarantino is not only in love with movies. He is also deeply in love with Quentin Tarantino’s movies, and he proves it here with a level of self-indulgence you rarely see in films—which is saying something. This film isn’t even truly about films—a Dirty Dozen homage would have been more interesting. Inglourious Basterds is about Inglourious Basterds.
It starts off, however, with quite the effective scene. A Really Bad Nazi Guy (Christopher Waltz as Colonel Hans Landa) comes upon a Frenchmen hiding Jews under the floorboards. This is Tarantino at his best. Quiet and plodding, no music, delightfully tense dialogue as both men dance around the obvious issue. The Frenchmen knows how this is going to end, but he plays along with the charade as long as possible, hoping against hope he might be wrong. The German also knows how it is going to end, but he plays along because he is the sadistic, Really Bad Nazi Guy. Then, when the tension is about as taut as it is going to get, the scene erupts into quite the visceral display.
But the reasons for Tarantino at his best are the reasons for Tarantino at his worst, and sadly, that happens more often than one would like to see. We all know this film (along with nearly every Tarantino film, Pulp Fiction possibly excluded) has been pegged with the tired label that it talks more about doing things than actually doing them. Unfortunately, just because the label is tired does not mean it can’t be apt. Tarantino likes to hear himself speak, and most of the time we give him a pass because his dialogue is good enough to carry unreasonable weights. At many times in this film, this simply is not the case.
For one thing, he underplays his best character. Brad Pitt as Lieutenant Aldo Raine is phenomenal. “Bonjourno”. Those of you who have seen the film are probably laughing, remembering the ultra-American Al, pretending to be an Italian, speaking French. But where is he? He gets a great opening monologue as he explains to his crew of Nazi killers that their mission is to scalp a hundred Nazis. Each. He gets some funny lines here and there. But he isn’t around enough because this movie, of course, isn’t about Lieutenant Aldo Raine.
Most of the narrative—and I use that term loosely—revolves around a movie theater in France where the Nazi high command will be attending the premiere of a new propaganda film. The Basterds want to blow the theater up. The theater owner wants to burn it down. Nice synergy, and since it is Tarantino, you can imagine what happens. But before any of that comes to pass, we endure several scenes of not-so-brilliant dialogue, including a tortuously long sequence in a basement bar. There, a German officer attempts to determine whether or not the impostors pretending to be German officers are, in fact, imposters. A scene in a film is supposed to last as long as it has to last, and no longer. This scene lasts about three times as long as it needs to last.
But then, that is the ultimate problem with critiquing a Tarantino film. None of it has to happen. It is all there for its own sake. Think about how many times the name “Tarantino” has already appeared in this and every other Basterds review. His movies inevitably lead back to him, and he leads to his movies, and back again. Inglourious Basterds is so maddeningly self-aware that I was shocked when a young German soldier named Wilhelm did not utter a Wilhelm scream at some point. What was the plan to burn down the theater with all of the Germans in it? Ignite reels of celluloid film into a blazing fire. Covered in silver nitrate, the stuff “burns three times faster than paper”. The idea of killing Nazis in a Nazi movie with movies is almost irresistible. Tarantino doesn’t even try to resist. It makes no sense. But then, why should it?
My problem with this film isn’t that it lacks any sense. Go into a Tarantino film expecting that and you deserve what you get. The problem isn’t even with the somewhat frightening notion of Jews torturing and scalping Germans. You get the sense that the revenge going on here isn’t a real revenge. It is movie revenge. The violence isn’t for violence’s sake. It’s for movie violence’s sake. Tarantino doesn’t parody gunshots; he parodies other people parodying himself parodying other people parodying gunshots. And that is where the film lost me. To be that self-referential—to depend on one’s own legend, even—is to invite disaster. If the film is constantly hilarious, brilliant or exciting, you can get away with such shenanigans. But it isn’t, so it doesn’t. Great moments? Of course. Tarantino always has great moments. Great film? Tall task for a film about itself.
~Right Thumb~
Monday, September 7, 2009
Interview: As Regards Books
In celebration of the recent opening of this soon to be wildly popular web log, Two Thumbs Sideways wanted to give a broad overview of something Very Important. Like, you know, Books. We wanted to give you a broad overview of Books. We figured that maybe, just maybe, we should find someone to talk about Books. Someone who, unlike ourselves, has actual credibility. Someone like… A Ph. D. Student at Fordham University! Here is the transcript of the interview. (Yes, we forgot to videotape the bloody interview. You’ll find we forget that often.)
Right Thumb: Hello, and welcome to the inaugural—
Left Thumb: Not exactly inaugural.
RT: You didn’t even know what I was going to say.
LT: …
RT: Anyway, we’d like to thank our Ph. D. Student at Fordham University for joining us... for our inaugural interview with aforementioned Ph. D. Student at Fordham University.
LT: Yeah thank her so we can get on to the good stuff.
RT: Yes. So thanks.
LT: Yeah thanks.
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: I appreciate the chance to converse with such big minds.
LT: She didn’t actually say that did she?
RT: You want to transcribe the whole interview, do you?
LT: No.
RT: Then we’ll be going with my recollection of events.
LT: Well hurry up. We’re half a page in and all you have mentioned is hello and thanks.
RT: Alright, let’s skip ahead.
(Here we skip a few pages about cats, dogs, rain that comes down like cats and dogs, Isaac Asimov, the language of Bantu, Peruvian-born Americans, Golden Toilet Seats, Ballplayers™, Bogie and Boba Fett).
RT: So what are your thoughts on 1984?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: It sucked.
LT: Interesting.
RT: Well put, Left Thumb.
LT: What are your thoughts on The Sound and The Fury?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: It sucked.
RT: Hmm.
LT: Grapes of Wrath?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
LT: Crime and Punishment?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
RT: Anna Karenina?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
LT: Brave New World?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
RT: Absolutely.
LT: Definitely.
RT: Slaughter-House five?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
LT: Catch-22?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
(Here, both thumbs muttered “interesting” before somberly writing something on their notepads. They did this at regular intervals throughout the interview. In all likelihood Right Thumb was writing down new adjectives to describe himself and Left Thumb was writing down his favorite ice cream flavors).
LT: How about Ulysses?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
RT: What about—
LT: —Heart of Darkness?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Worst thing ever created.
RT: Whoa!
LT: Slow down there, Miss Know-It-All.
RT: Sitting in those ivory towers all day must have dulled your wits, because that is ridiculous. Absolutely inane.
LT: Completely inane.
RT: Many worse things have been created.
LT: Right you are.
RT: The da Vinci Code.
LT: Batman and Robin.
RT: Cat’s Cradle.
LT: Any book by Ayn Rand.
RT: Any movie by Peter Jackson.
LT: Spider-Man 3.
RT: Anything by Michael Bay.
LT: Twilight.
RT: Oooh, good one.
LT: Thank you.
RT: We could go on.
LT: And on.
RT: And on.
LT: For a really long time.
RT: Exceedingly lengthy period of time.
LT: We could go on for longer than Peter Jackson’s self indulgent fantasy cartoons go on.
RT: But we think you get the point.
LT: We would hope you get the point.
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Alright. I misspoke.
LT: *gasp!*
RT: Shock! Shock!
LT: Do Ph.D. Students at Fordham University do that?
RT: I thought we had gotten an expert! Not someone who regularly misspeaks!
LT: You thought wrong, apparently!
RT: Shock!
LT: Horror!
RT: Horror!
LT: Shock!
RT: This must end—
(Editors’ note: We apologize for the disappointing quality of this interview. We were under the impression that Ph. D. Students at Fordham University were sapient intellectuals much like ourselves, but as the above transcript clearly indicates, this sadly does not appear to be the case. Unfortunately, we do not have the resources or the connections to conduct another session with a more deserving interlocutor. If you would like to see better interviews in the future, you might be interested to hear that we welcome donations. Just be sure to put "Search for the True Academician" in the memo of any checks.)
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
Right Thumb: Hello, and welcome to the inaugural—
Left Thumb: Not exactly inaugural.
RT: You didn’t even know what I was going to say.
LT: …
RT: Anyway, we’d like to thank our Ph. D. Student at Fordham University for joining us... for our inaugural interview with aforementioned Ph. D. Student at Fordham University.
LT: Yeah thank her so we can get on to the good stuff.
RT: Yes. So thanks.
LT: Yeah thanks.
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: I appreciate the chance to converse with such big minds.
LT: She didn’t actually say that did she?
RT: You want to transcribe the whole interview, do you?
LT: No.
RT: Then we’ll be going with my recollection of events.
LT: Well hurry up. We’re half a page in and all you have mentioned is hello and thanks.
RT: Alright, let’s skip ahead.
(Here we skip a few pages about cats, dogs, rain that comes down like cats and dogs, Isaac Asimov, the language of Bantu, Peruvian-born Americans, Golden Toilet Seats, Ballplayers™, Bogie and Boba Fett).
RT: So what are your thoughts on 1984?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: It sucked.
LT: Interesting.
RT: Well put, Left Thumb.
LT: What are your thoughts on The Sound and The Fury?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: It sucked.
RT: Hmm.
LT: Grapes of Wrath?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
LT: Crime and Punishment?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
RT: Anna Karenina?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
LT: Brave New World?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
RT: Absolutely.
LT: Definitely.
RT: Slaughter-House five?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
LT: Catch-22?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
(Here, both thumbs muttered “interesting” before somberly writing something on their notepads. They did this at regular intervals throughout the interview. In all likelihood Right Thumb was writing down new adjectives to describe himself and Left Thumb was writing down his favorite ice cream flavors).
LT: How about Ulysses?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Sucked.
RT: What about—
LT: —Heart of Darkness?
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Worst thing ever created.
RT: Whoa!
LT: Slow down there, Miss Know-It-All.
RT: Sitting in those ivory towers all day must have dulled your wits, because that is ridiculous. Absolutely inane.
LT: Completely inane.
RT: Many worse things have been created.
LT: Right you are.
RT: The da Vinci Code.
LT: Batman and Robin.
RT: Cat’s Cradle.
LT: Any book by Ayn Rand.
RT: Any movie by Peter Jackson.
LT: Spider-Man 3.
RT: Anything by Michael Bay.
LT: Twilight.
RT: Oooh, good one.
LT: Thank you.
RT: We could go on.
LT: And on.
RT: And on.
LT: For a really long time.
RT: Exceedingly lengthy period of time.
LT: We could go on for longer than Peter Jackson’s self indulgent fantasy cartoons go on.
RT: But we think you get the point.
LT: We would hope you get the point.
Ph. D. Student at Fordham University: Alright. I misspoke.
LT: *gasp!*
RT: Shock! Shock!
LT: Do Ph.D. Students at Fordham University do that?
RT: I thought we had gotten an expert! Not someone who regularly misspeaks!
LT: You thought wrong, apparently!
RT: Shock!
LT: Horror!
RT: Horror!
LT: Shock!
RT: This must end—
(Editors’ note: We apologize for the disappointing quality of this interview. We were under the impression that Ph. D. Students at Fordham University were sapient intellectuals much like ourselves, but as the above transcript clearly indicates, this sadly does not appear to be the case. Unfortunately, we do not have the resources or the connections to conduct another session with a more deserving interlocutor. If you would like to see better interviews in the future, you might be interested to hear that we welcome donations. Just be sure to put "Search for the True Academician" in the memo of any checks.)
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Robber And Robbed
We here at Two Thumbs Sideways very much dislike credit going where it is not deserved. Sure, every once in a while we are probably a bit too reserved in our condemnations of “authors” like Ayn Rand or “directors” like Michael Bay. Maybe here and there we also undersell Battlestar Galactica’s true greatness or Barry Lyndon’s pulchritude.
But mostly, we keep things on the level. A spirit level. Clearly, aided by beings from beyond the mere material world, we are very good at giving credit where it is due.
So I introduce a new segment on our blog: Robber and Robbed. As much as I would like to include the unfortunate problem of high school basketball statistics in this category, I will restrain myself and talk about, well, movies and books and rollercoasters.
Robber: Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King
Robbed: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
Master and Commander was probably the best movie of 2003. I don’t know if it actually was, since I haven’t seen every single movie of 2003. But one thing I know for sure. Master and Commander’s worst moment was better then ROTK’s best. And it isn’t even close. One was a lazily made fantasy “epic” from a horrible director where the mantra on set seemed to be “how many badass bad guys can our badass good guys kill in a single scene?!!?!!” The other was a meticulously crafted motion picture that managed to entertain the viewer while still realistically depicting life on a warship back when warships still had sails.
So which one got all the Oscars? Yeah. I don’t think I need to answer that. You see, life on a warship in the early 19th century didn’t involve forced love triangles, dragons (fell beasts, my left foot), ghosts, swords that have names, eighteen different endings or such award-worthy lines as “…a diversion”.
Turns out, life on a warship involved shooting a few cannons here and there, and a whole lot of normal stuff in between. Like being screwed when the wind just stops blowing, or people actually dying from the wounds they received when the cannons were going off. And no, they didn’t rise from the dead somehow. They stayed dead.
The audacity.
They used phrases that people didn’t easily understand, like “main’mst” and “weather-gauge” and they didn’t say things like “The Dark Lord Sauron has yet to unveil his deadliest servant: The Witch-King of Angmar.”
The temerity.
Instead of endlessly explaining how important this and that was, they let you figure out for yourself what was going on. In other words, they treated their audience with respect.
The gall.
So of course, such a preposterously pretentious film (how dare they assume I am intelligent! How dare they!) got the snot beaten out of it by the Lord of the Rings: Return of the King when Oscar time came around. If I were Sheriff-in-Chief, I would arrest Peter Jackson for armed robbery. I suppose it is a good thing that I have no such title to make reparations for this and similar atrocities.
It gets worse of course. After all, L.A. Confidential debuted the same year as Titanic. But I can’t go delivering all of the big guns on a new segment’s first day, can I?
~Right Thumb~
But mostly, we keep things on the level. A spirit level. Clearly, aided by beings from beyond the mere material world, we are very good at giving credit where it is due.
So I introduce a new segment on our blog: Robber and Robbed. As much as I would like to include the unfortunate problem of high school basketball statistics in this category, I will restrain myself and talk about, well, movies and books and rollercoasters.
Robber: Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King
Robbed: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
Master and Commander was probably the best movie of 2003. I don’t know if it actually was, since I haven’t seen every single movie of 2003. But one thing I know for sure. Master and Commander’s worst moment was better then ROTK’s best. And it isn’t even close. One was a lazily made fantasy “epic” from a horrible director where the mantra on set seemed to be “how many badass bad guys can our badass good guys kill in a single scene?!!?!!” The other was a meticulously crafted motion picture that managed to entertain the viewer while still realistically depicting life on a warship back when warships still had sails.
So which one got all the Oscars? Yeah. I don’t think I need to answer that. You see, life on a warship in the early 19th century didn’t involve forced love triangles, dragons (fell beasts, my left foot), ghosts, swords that have names, eighteen different endings or such award-worthy lines as “…a diversion”.
Turns out, life on a warship involved shooting a few cannons here and there, and a whole lot of normal stuff in between. Like being screwed when the wind just stops blowing, or people actually dying from the wounds they received when the cannons were going off. And no, they didn’t rise from the dead somehow. They stayed dead.
The audacity.
They used phrases that people didn’t easily understand, like “main’mst” and “weather-gauge” and they didn’t say things like “The Dark Lord Sauron has yet to unveil his deadliest servant: The Witch-King of Angmar.”
The temerity.
Instead of endlessly explaining how important this and that was, they let you figure out for yourself what was going on. In other words, they treated their audience with respect.
The gall.
So of course, such a preposterously pretentious film (how dare they assume I am intelligent! How dare they!) got the snot beaten out of it by the Lord of the Rings: Return of the King when Oscar time came around. If I were Sheriff-in-Chief, I would arrest Peter Jackson for armed robbery. I suppose it is a good thing that I have no such title to make reparations for this and similar atrocities.
It gets worse of course. After all, L.A. Confidential debuted the same year as Titanic. But I can’t go delivering all of the big guns on a new segment’s first day, can I?
~Right Thumb~
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Movie Review: Into Great Silence
This inaugural movie review shall begin with a disclaimer: We hardly ever stop a film, book or similar piece of media before it’s finished. It’s incredibly rare. It’s “good part of an Ayn Rand novel” rare. You might catch trichinosis it’s so rare.
But a recent movie-viewing proves that it is not in fact a philosophical impossibility (unlike the Ayn Rand bit). Some movies, we now realize, are so offensive, so lewd, so implacably irreverent, so disrespectful and smearing and destructive and corrupting and filthy that it’s simply a moral imperative that you press Stop—before Satan steals the remote and leaves you powerless to end the madness.
We refer to Philip Groning’s documentary Die GroBe Stille (Into Great Silence)*. It is a two-hour-forty-minute expose of what really goes on inside a Carthusian monastery in France. We expected a sort of visual meditation, a serene slice of art. And for the first fifty-odd minutes, this is indeed what we received. But as it continued, the film degenerated into a celebration of racism, military supremacy, crassness, disrespect towards elders, and senseless propaganda.
The spiraling descent into debauchery is sparked by none other than the abbot of the monastery himself, Dom Marie Pierre. For those of you who, like us, lack European sophistication, this translates roughly as “Bossman Mary Peter”. Now despite his position of leadership and respect within a community that supposedly endorses virtue, asceticism and Roman Catholic morals, he is filmed while feverishly at work on an IBM laptop.
That’s right. A monk on a computer.
Clearly not supposed to happen. IBM might as well stand for Internet Baptist Machine—it wouldn’t change how little such a device belongs in a Carthusian monastery.
From here on, the entire direction of the film shifts. We begin to discover the vicious racial politics that infest the monastery. The sole African-American** monk, clearly one of the few remaining sincere brothers, is forced to read aloud, singled out from the others. We also see that the abbey is not the peaceful, quiescent place we thought it to be. No, these monks have decided to use fancy technology, beyond mere Internet Baptist Machines. Microphones and… amplifiers… are used to further promote the nefarious schemes of Bossman Mary Peter.
Whereas the monks had in the first hour been diligently toiling in the garden, the kitchen, or devoutly praying, they now start talking. And not just talking, but talking about things that monks should not talk about. They complain about the sparse number of washbasins in their sanctuary. They castigate the members of a nearby Trappist monastery for their owning the apparently unreasonable total of six washbasins. They begin to plot a hostile takeover.
And then, as if we were not already onto these monks’ plans to land in Gehenna, one of the monks discusses his airplane flight! This alone is clearly enough to result in the wailing and gnashing of teeth, but the destination reveals yet greater devilry. The monk has booked a flight to a place the subtitles labeled “Seoul”, clearly a misspelling of Sheol, Lucifer’s own lair***.
At this juncture, Two Thumbs Sideways could not handle the smut that was being displayed on the screen. As we frantically attempted to stop the movie (in spite of the devil’s own attempts to thwart us), we were once again visually assaulted with a horrifying scene. A forest (that undoubtedly stood between the Carthusians and Trappists) was framed. We knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that these charlatans for monks were hiding a regiment of tanks. This regiment would soon go Fern Gully on this woodland tableau before razing the Trappist monastery to the ground in search of the five extra washbasins they so jealously desired.
If nothing else, after reaching their eternal hellfire, these conniving Carthusians will have very clean hands.
Small recompense for forcing two unassuming viewers to experience such a satanic, diabolical, fiendish vision.
-Two Thumbs Sideways-
* We at Two Thumbs Sideways apologize for the typographical inaccuracies in this sentence, which are due to our lack of a German keyboard and an all-around dearth of European sophistication.
** What an African-American is doing in France, we were never able to ascertain.
*** This is yet another incident that brings attention to the great paucity of qualified closed captioning professionals in modern society.
But a recent movie-viewing proves that it is not in fact a philosophical impossibility (unlike the Ayn Rand bit). Some movies, we now realize, are so offensive, so lewd, so implacably irreverent, so disrespectful and smearing and destructive and corrupting and filthy that it’s simply a moral imperative that you press Stop—before Satan steals the remote and leaves you powerless to end the madness.
We refer to Philip Groning’s documentary Die GroBe Stille (Into Great Silence)*. It is a two-hour-forty-minute expose of what really goes on inside a Carthusian monastery in France. We expected a sort of visual meditation, a serene slice of art. And for the first fifty-odd minutes, this is indeed what we received. But as it continued, the film degenerated into a celebration of racism, military supremacy, crassness, disrespect towards elders, and senseless propaganda.
The spiraling descent into debauchery is sparked by none other than the abbot of the monastery himself, Dom Marie Pierre. For those of you who, like us, lack European sophistication, this translates roughly as “Bossman Mary Peter”. Now despite his position of leadership and respect within a community that supposedly endorses virtue, asceticism and Roman Catholic morals, he is filmed while feverishly at work on an IBM laptop.
That’s right. A monk on a computer.
Clearly not supposed to happen. IBM might as well stand for Internet Baptist Machine—it wouldn’t change how little such a device belongs in a Carthusian monastery.
From here on, the entire direction of the film shifts. We begin to discover the vicious racial politics that infest the monastery. The sole African-American** monk, clearly one of the few remaining sincere brothers, is forced to read aloud, singled out from the others. We also see that the abbey is not the peaceful, quiescent place we thought it to be. No, these monks have decided to use fancy technology, beyond mere Internet Baptist Machines. Microphones and… amplifiers… are used to further promote the nefarious schemes of Bossman Mary Peter.
Whereas the monks had in the first hour been diligently toiling in the garden, the kitchen, or devoutly praying, they now start talking. And not just talking, but talking about things that monks should not talk about. They complain about the sparse number of washbasins in their sanctuary. They castigate the members of a nearby Trappist monastery for their owning the apparently unreasonable total of six washbasins. They begin to plot a hostile takeover.
And then, as if we were not already onto these monks’ plans to land in Gehenna, one of the monks discusses his airplane flight! This alone is clearly enough to result in the wailing and gnashing of teeth, but the destination reveals yet greater devilry. The monk has booked a flight to a place the subtitles labeled “Seoul”, clearly a misspelling of Sheol, Lucifer’s own lair***.
At this juncture, Two Thumbs Sideways could not handle the smut that was being displayed on the screen. As we frantically attempted to stop the movie (in spite of the devil’s own attempts to thwart us), we were once again visually assaulted with a horrifying scene. A forest (that undoubtedly stood between the Carthusians and Trappists) was framed. We knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that these charlatans for monks were hiding a regiment of tanks. This regiment would soon go Fern Gully on this woodland tableau before razing the Trappist monastery to the ground in search of the five extra washbasins they so jealously desired.
If nothing else, after reaching their eternal hellfire, these conniving Carthusians will have very clean hands.
Small recompense for forcing two unassuming viewers to experience such a satanic, diabolical, fiendish vision.
-Two Thumbs Sideways-
* We at Two Thumbs Sideways apologize for the typographical inaccuracies in this sentence, which are due to our lack of a German keyboard and an all-around dearth of European sophistication.
** What an African-American is doing in France, we were never able to ascertain.
*** This is yet another incident that brings attention to the great paucity of qualified closed captioning professionals in modern society.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
A Glorious Welcome To You!
We here at Two Thumbs Sideways are absolutely elated to be welcoming you into our humble, virtual abode. Although as will probably become evident very shortly, while the abode is humble and virtual, the occupants are not particularly humble. We are somewhat virtual, though, which will also be evinced shortly.
This here web log (or “blog” for you hipsters out there) will feature anything and everything, so don’t get mad at us if we review the mating habits of duck-billed platypuses at some time in the near future. We said “anything and everything” (seriously, you can look it up!). But, in all actuality, most posts will probably be about movies and books and rollercoasters.
There isn’t much else.
Now, as the “blog” (wink wink) description gravely states, we are two above-average intellects. But what else are we? Unfortunately, we cannot reveal this yet. While we cannot go further than to say that possible college/job/grad school/government position/election/alien abduction applications are looming in the near future, we can tell you that the anonymity will no longer be required after April 1st, 2010, the day when, coincidentally, college admissions decisions are due (we stress, coincidentally).
So then, you might ask, who are those dashing young men in the “blog” profile picture? Well, to be entirely honest, we are ugly. We did not desire to alienate our soon-to-be large fanbase (or overly thorough admissions committees) by repulsing them with our repugnant visages. So, we hired some of the best models we could find to pretend to be us. Seriously. Look at those guys. They ooze good-looks. Find us a woman who can walk by one of them without dropping her jaw and you’ll have found us a guy dressed up as a woman. You could write “sexy” on their foreheads and it would be redundant. Here at Two Thumbs Sideways, we are constantly amazed by how lucky we were to have found models that might be mistaken for Greek gods. In fact, we have it from reliable sources that they have been mistaken for Achilles and Apollo on occasion.
But enough about them (although, whether one could ever say enough about their startlingly thick hair and strong, broad shoulders is an open question). Soon enough, this “blog” will be inundated with witty, know-it-all, informative stuff. If you were to imagine an Ayn Rand novel, and then imagine the exact opposite of that—you’d get this blog.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
This here web log (or “blog” for you hipsters out there) will feature anything and everything, so don’t get mad at us if we review the mating habits of duck-billed platypuses at some time in the near future. We said “anything and everything” (seriously, you can look it up!). But, in all actuality, most posts will probably be about movies and books and rollercoasters.
There isn’t much else.
Now, as the “blog” (wink wink) description gravely states, we are two above-average intellects. But what else are we? Unfortunately, we cannot reveal this yet. While we cannot go further than to say that possible college/job/grad school/government position/election/alien abduction applications are looming in the near future, we can tell you that the anonymity will no longer be required after April 1st, 2010, the day when, coincidentally, college admissions decisions are due (we stress, coincidentally).
So then, you might ask, who are those dashing young men in the “blog” profile picture? Well, to be entirely honest, we are ugly. We did not desire to alienate our soon-to-be large fanbase (or overly thorough admissions committees) by repulsing them with our repugnant visages. So, we hired some of the best models we could find to pretend to be us. Seriously. Look at those guys. They ooze good-looks. Find us a woman who can walk by one of them without dropping her jaw and you’ll have found us a guy dressed up as a woman. You could write “sexy” on their foreheads and it would be redundant. Here at Two Thumbs Sideways, we are constantly amazed by how lucky we were to have found models that might be mistaken for Greek gods. In fact, we have it from reliable sources that they have been mistaken for Achilles and Apollo on occasion.
But enough about them (although, whether one could ever say enough about their startlingly thick hair and strong, broad shoulders is an open question). Soon enough, this “blog” will be inundated with witty, know-it-all, informative stuff. If you were to imagine an Ayn Rand novel, and then imagine the exact opposite of that—you’d get this blog.
~Two Thumbs Sideways~
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