I’ve figured out what bothers me most about the new Fantastic Four film: The Thing isn’t big enough.

For all its faults, The Hulk put things in proportion nicely. Even at minimum size, the Hulk was half again as tall as the average human male in that film. But The Thing, whose comic-book appearances are comparable to The Hulk’s when you’re trying to decide whether size matters, is basically just an actor in a rubber-suit.

I don’t mean to diminish the role of “actors” in the movies. After all, if special effects become paramount, you end up with more Star Wars prequels. But when you’re creating a monstrous, rock-skinned superhuman THING, a rubber suit is going to fall about three feet short.

–Howard

It’s been a week since I fell ill in California, and I’m still not completely hale. Last night I fell asleep at midnight, and woke up at 9:30am. This afternoon, after doing some shopping and playing a (really piss-poor) round of disc golf, I lay down for a nap, and was gone for two hours.

My brain feels like it’s full of cotton most of the time. I had a few lucid hours today, but not nearly so many as I’d like to have had.

It’s possible that I’m just overweight, under-exercised, overtired, and under-nourished. I mean, I KNOW I’m all of these things — it’s possible that the brain-o-cotton is a side-effect. I think that means I have to get meals back on schedule, and begin exercising daily.

Wasn’t I just here last year? *sigh*

–Howard

Apparently there’s a children’s museum in Utah that teaches kids grossology. It’s not a study of things that come in packages of 144, either.

From the article: “And kids like to say words like poop and fart. They get excited about saying those words.”

Sign me up.

–Howard

The good news… me and mine are safe at home right now, and I’m on my way to bed very shortly.

The bad news… the minivan is a hot zone.

The horror… 11 hours into what turned out to be a 14-hour trip, Patches barfed. This was his first experience with it (at least in his working memory), which meant concepts like “aim for the bucket,” and “no, you’re not dying” were completely alien. The only bright spot was that we were only 12 miles from West Wendover when it happened, so a Chevron with a garbage can, a bathroom, and a fresh supply of paper towels was just up ahead.

Well, we took almost an hour getting cleaned up. Then, 30 minutes from home, Link barfed. He’s seven, and he knew to ask for the bucket first… the only piece of good news since the “Wendover 12” sign.

*sigh*

I’ll spare you the TMI. Just thinking about providing you with more graphic descriptions of the ordeal makes me queasy.

We’ve been RELIGIOUS about not sharing food, about washing hands (we have some hand sanitizer gel for washing hands while on the road, even), and about wiping stuff down with Clorox wipes. See, “stomach flu” (as defined by the symptoms we’ve been experiencing) is also known as “viral gastroenteritis.” It’s norovirus, which is not airborne (unless you’re projectile vomiting, and then it’s better described as “ballistic”). You CAN stop the spread if you’re careful.

Well… we discovered that one of my sick-bed “Propel” bottles got re-used as a water-bottle on Tuesday by Link. And Patches, at 2 years old, can become a vector for a dozen different plagues within two minutes of being dipped in bleach. So… the two who were most likely to get sick got sick. That leaves only Sandra and Kiki untouched so far.

Pray that Sandra stays hale, because if SHE falls ill, the whole skein comes unraveled at the corner thread labeled “Mommy.”

–Howard