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Yesterday (read: two hours ago) was Halloween, but since it was Sunday, yesteryesterday was Halloween. Being the Wife-dubbed Holiday Grinch that I am, I partook in none of the traditional Halloween activities, unless you count stealing candy from children and watching Ernest Scared Stupid. Of note is the fact that the film doesn’t really live up to its name, as it’s hard to scare Ernest any stupider than he already is.

But stupid though he may be, I love Ernest. I’d say I can’t get enough of him, but I can, which is why I only watch Ernest Scared Stupid on Halloween. Also, I can only watch a total of 6.001 of his 9 feature films. The .001 is credited to the line in Ernest Goes to Africa, “It’s always good, Rene, to have the monkeys on your side.” Otherwise, the movie makes me cringe at every step. Ernest Goes to School and Slam Dunk Ernest are the other two offenders. I could live with them if they included lightsabers, however.

I could watch Ernest Goes to Camp any day of the year, though, because that rain song just gets to me every time. When I see the pain on Ernest’s face as he croons away, I want to step into my TV, storm the camp and thrash every single person who ever thought about making Ernest cry.

I’ve also noticed that Ernest himself is what makes the movies watchable. If he wasn’t in them, I’d feel like I was seeing Master of Disguise or (shudder) Notting Hill. It’s just his wonderful goofiness that makes him lovable.

I’m really sad he died, because I was sure looking forward to Ernest the Pirate.

To clarify in advance, I loved the movies The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy. I also greatly enjoyed the novels by the same name, even though the movie Bourne was so much cooler, and the movie Marie was so much less annoying. I just finished reading The Bourne Ultimatum, and I feel I must ask, most emphatically, “What in the name of Zeus’ butt happened between books two and three that caused so much suckiness to invade the pen of Robert Ludlum?” Allow me to illustrate:

Cast of Characters

David Webb: In what is referred to as the “prologue,” but the events of which actually occur after the beginning of the story, I employ wire cutters while realizing that I am now 50 years old, and really feeling it.

Jason Bourne: David, you’re 50. What a pathetic loser wimp you are!

Marie Webb: David, I’m a woman, and therefore genetically predisposed to extreme fits of irrational and irritating behavior, but I will be carrying it to the extreme and beyond during the next 1700 pages of your life. After all, you’re 50 years old now, and really feeling it.

Carlos the Jackal: Despite being a complete stupid character, I will hunt you down, Jason Bourne, you 50-year-old second-rate assassin. It only took me 13 years to figure out you are really David Webb, despite my supposed possession of a great network of spies, who will turn on me and drive me crazier than I already am. Muwahahahahaha!

Italian Mafia: Though we are completely unnecessary to the actual plot, we will devote numerous pages to talking like retarded goons and providing not-so-clever subplots that will make Jason Bourne think Carlos is after him, despite our never having heard of Carlos. After all, Jason Bourne is 50, and we owe it to him.

Alex Conklin: I only have one foot, but at least I’m not 50. Oh wait, I’m even older? Crap. Also, it will be conveniently revealed that I’m actually Russian.

Morris Panov: I’m a psychiatrist. David Webb is 50, which makes Jason Bourne 50, too, I guess, but if Jason Bourne shows up, it is your responsibility, Marie, to make him go away by using awkward seduction techniques.

Dimitri Krupkin: I’m Russian, and so I’m in with the KGB and call everyone “comrade.” Did you know that David Webb is 50?

Various other characters: We’re unnecessary and David Webb is 50. Like the rest of the cast, we will speak in a fashion alien to that of any normal human speech–punctuated with much unnecessary and silly, um, punctuation, and… stuff.

The Story

David Webb: I’m 50 years old? Oh yeah, I am. Despite having already noted that fact, I will surely do it again and again, as will every other character with a minor role, including my infant daughter.

Allison Webb: Goo goo ga ga daddy 50.

David Webb: Oh no, people have been shot, so Carlos the Jackal, my archnemesis must be after Jason Bourne, my alter ego, after all these years!

Jason Bourne: I must send your family to an island in the Caribbean where it would never occur to me that Carlos may have agents! Also, you make me sick, David Webb, you pathetic 50-year-old weakling.

THE FAMILY goes to the CARIBBEAN.

Jason Bourne: Okay, they’re on the island. Time to make a series of stupid decisions and mistakes that should rightfully cost me and everyone I know our lives, but inexplicably won’t.

Marie Webb: I will also make an insufferable amount of stupid decisions–as aforementioned more even than my being a woman genetically predisposed to irrational behavior can account for.

Others: We’ll play some parts, too, rather stupidly.

THEY go to the ISLAND, then FRANCE, then back to THE UNITED STATES again, I think, then probably ICELAND or AUSTRALIA in the 7000 pages I skipped because this novel is so freakin’ convolutedly–and may I add pointlessly?–long, then BOURNE ends up in RUSSIA and someone else kills CARLOS, because after all, he’s 50 now. You didn’t really expect him to do it, did you?

And so, in the final three words of the book, “it’s really over.”

Until The Bourne Legacy. Admittedly, I find it to be better written and more engaging than Ultimatum; the characters at least talk like normal people and Marie hasn’t shown up at all except by way of text message. But all is not well: the plot seems to be set up by absurd circumstance and idiotic decision making on the part of the author.

By chapter two I already wanted to slap Bourne. Someone shoots at him, so he goes to talk to his friend Conklin to talk about it. Upon arrival at Conklin’s place, he finds Conklin and Panov dead. Then he hears sirens. “Oh no, I’ve been set up,” he thinks. “I must inexplicably run because it would be silly to actually tell the police that I was shot at and then found my friends shot, too. Never mind that I’m leaving my car in the driveway and left fingerprints everywhere.” Now I’m about a quarter of the way through the book and I think I’ve already guessed the ending. It’s kind of sad, really, but I can put up with it because I haven’t been reminded even once that Bourne is over 50.

I just went to Amazon.com and read the reviews of The Bourne Ultimatum. It astonishes me that the majority of the people gave it four or five stars. Did they read the same book that I did? Go read Ender’s Game or something by Terry Pratchett. Those are good books, people.

So says the original teaser for Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, which I watched last night with great glee, as a got my hands on the new Star Wars Trilogy DVD set.

I gotta say, the picture quality is freakin’ amazing. I watched all the trailers and TV spots on the bonus disc last night after watching Episode IV, and I can’t believe how much the movies have been cleaned up for this release.

And because I can’t completely stay out of the Original/Special Edition debate, here’s my take: get over it. Stop your whining and enjoy the movies. Stop complaining that Greedo shoots first or that Jar Jar has been added to Jedi for .02 milliseconds. Move out of your parents’ basement, find a girlfriend, and do some smooching to get a fresh perspective on life.

It is okay, however, to complain that the lightsaber battles aren’t long enough, because they’re not. I watched the Episode III sneak peak on the bonus disc and I am drooling to see that lightsaber fight between Obi-Wan and Anakin. It’s gonna be sweet. In the mean time, I’m going to imagine lightsabers everywhere I go, especially one cutting off the wossnames of the kid who won’t pay me for hitting my car.

With fairly little to say, at the moment. Of note (or not so much, maybe?) are several things, which I may or may not detail later on–I commit, at this point, to nothing, save long sentences punctuated by an unsightly, if rather amusing, amount of commas.

I finished Final Fantasy X-2, aka Yuna Raider, a couple of nights ago. Actually, I can safely say it’s not actually Yuna Raider, as I attempted to play Tomb Raider 3 soon after and could not stomach the controls for more than 2.73 seconds. (Yes, I know that comparison is completely retarded.) Anyway, I was rather disappointed to only receive the Mascot dressphere 65 hours into the game, as I would have loved to play through the entire game dressed as a moogle, a Tonberry, and a Cait Sith, using a chocobo, a Cactrot (I refuse to call them Cactuars), and a PuPu (a what?!) as weapons, respectively. I will admit to abusing the Speed Bracer/Cat Nip Gunner trick, though. Man, that’s a beautiful thing, much like the Master Tonberry -> Massive AP trick in Final Fantasy X.

Anyway, I really enjoyed FFX-2, though not nearly as much as FFX or FF7.

Speaking of FF7, I recently discovered a program called StepMania, a Dance Dance Revolution clone for the PC (and Mac, I guess). I got so into it that I ordered a Playstation controller -> USB adapter to hook up my dance pads to my computer to play. (This really is leading to FF7, I promise.) So I started getting way better at playing DDR on the keyboard than on my feet, especially because my friend Adam has some Cobalt Fluxes and I don’t. I do, however, have a new receiver that does DTS-ES and Dolby Digital EX decoding, if only I had that sixth speaker to take advantage of it.

So back to FF7. Because I got that Playstation/USB adapter, I decided to download a Playstation emulator last night and try to play some of my games on it. I popped in Chocobo Racing, which features Chocobos and Moogles as does FF7, and was dismayed by how much better it looks on my GeForce4 than on my actual Playstation. Now every time I play a PSOne game on my new 27″ TV that my beautiful wife let me buy to play video games on I will be reminded of something… I forget what, exactly, because as I ramble my train of thought goes bye-bye rather quickly.

Did I mention I got a new TV? Yeah, my wife is so nice–she even tried to talk me into buying a bigger one than I did. I know that no one will actually believe it, but it happened, I swear.

Oh yes, I remember why I actually started writing this in the first place. I was looking at some Final Fantasy artwork over at the RPGamer when I came across the same moogle that graces this site. I was looking at images of other moogles and I noticed that my moogle is missing the puffy ball thing on his head. I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before, and I call myself a Final Fantasy fan.

I guess one of these days I’ll need to play Final Fantasies 1-3 and see what all the fuss was about back then. All I know was FF4 got me hooked.

As a last note for now, I have also updated the links various and sundry, removing some links and adding a few more. Of especial note is Bebo Norman. My dad sent me his first CD when I was an LDS missionary in France. I was a bit put off by the music at first but quickly came to love it. Since returning home I’ve bought each of his three subsequent albums, all of which I wholeheartedly recommend. I can’t get enough of the Bebo. I’m still kicking myself for missing his Utah stop in July. I think I’d rather see him than BNL, R.E.M., and TMBG combined.

Well, maybe not combined, as such, but the point is Bebo is the new hotness.

I think that’s enough for now, mostly because I think it’s probably time I went to bed, even though I’m sure I’ll find some excuse to stay up even later, because I always do.

So the other night I’m dreaming again, right? Right. I’m in the middle of some city, in an old abandoned building that just happens to be guarded by elite guards and stuff. Somehow, I make my escape, and as I’m running out the door of the building, I see a shriveled-up CGI Hulk laying outside one of the cells. I know at this point that something weird is going to happen.

So I get out of the building and start running, only to round a corner and spot two guards running at me. What do I do? Dreaming, and thus somewhat lacking in the common sense department, I run back into the building, thinking, “Aha! They’ll never expect me to run back into the building. I’m a genius!”

I’m hiding back inside my cell when the building starts to shake. I have half a second to think, “What the…?” when the wall explodes. The shriveled-up Hulk is no longer shriveled, and is now actively throwing boulders at the building, I guess in some sort of rabid attempt to destory things, like Hulk seems to enjoy doing.

Somehow, I think I’m safe for the time being, but just to make sure, I crawl under the cot occupying my cell. Another few boulders crash through the wall, none of which strike me, and so I just think I can wait it out.

But no. My Spidey Sense chose that moment to kick in.

The camera pans out and time slows way down, just like when some cool martial arts thing is about to happen in the Matrix. I see the Hulk’s face contort with rage as he flings yet another boulder at the building. It hits the wall with excrutiating slowness and explodes, shards spraying everywhere in an attempt to eradicate every form of life in the building, including me.

That’s when I see myself, and I turn out to be none other than Mario himself, jumping and spinning through the air, dodging the rock shards with the greatest of ease.

As the rubble begins to subside, time kicks back into full speed and I regain my first person point of view. I run from the building, shaking my fist at the Hulk (but secretly delighted at my amazing ability not to get hit by sharp, flying objects), and I notice an elite guard has somehow survived the attack on his homestead. He spots me and begins to give chase. I duck around the corner into a near by restaurant, where I shed Luigi’s jacket–yep, I’d been Spidey Mario disguised as Luigi all along–in an attempt to foil my pursuer, like Harrison Ford did in The Fugitive. (He wasn’t wearing Luigi’s jacket, but it was St. Patrick’s Day, which are both green.)

Unfortunately, the elite guard wasn’t fooled, because the restaurant owner flagged him down and tattled on me. On the lam once again, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and speed dial my trusty friend Ben for a ride out of this place. Turns out trusty ol’ Ben is at home with the kids and can’t be bothered to come rescue me. So, out of escape options, I promptly woke up, and groggily wondered what was the matter with me (secretly delighted to have such cool dreams, of course).