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I’m practically beholden to Disney for at least until the boy’s old enough not to be horrified by the imagery, but that doesn’t make them any less the copyright hypocrites, and this merchandising just proves it. (As effective as they may sometimes seem on their own, I did vow to refrain from mortal links—wtf, after all, was this one about—but the Tumblr-style headliners will do.)

Even 8 hours of sleep isn’t enough to get over a comedy feature film like this one, which followed the mishaps of an apartment shared by one too many characters. Reminds me of that hotel room in Dallas, Ninja Gaiden and waterpark. There was at least a wedding between two of us, and an inevitable party at the end, where it didn’t dawn on the crowd that Keanu Reeves himself had been in the corner all along, making pancakes. Couldn’t hurt, so we asked him if he wanted to stay with us, and he walked out, only to return with a bag.

That’s what I might call a photoblog site, if I were to host one, though it took me this long to realize I could just create this single post and maintain it indefinitely by editing the “Published on:” date with each addition.

2012: no singularity for civilization, yet, but a new season of Sherlock. Irene Adler as a dominatrix reminds me of Lady Heather from CSI, but I suppose the character stays true to her Machiavellian origin rather than to cater to prurient network television audiences. While Guy Ritchie overuses the fight-by-numbers routine in his second movie (with little else), here are wonderful new depictions of the analytical process, including a Smallville-like slow-mo sequence of it at work.