Category Archives: Jay & Silent Bob

Hey, I always notice that bored look in their eyes, alright?

I’m having a very lazy day. I probably should be doing a million billion things, but mostly what I decided was a good use of my time today was to watch Chasing Amy and blog. And play with the internet. I feel like a sloth. A super-slothful slothy sloth. I will have you know that I did change out of my pajamas about an hour ago. It was kind of the biggest thing I did today and utterly exhausted me.

Also, can I just say that I could watch this movie a billion times and never get tired of it? There are a lot of reasons for this, but let’s be honest. The main reason is young Jason Lee. Oh, young Jason Lee, before he got all puffy and weird and Scientology-obsessed and named his child Pilot Inspektor; so, so Amy’s perfect movie-boyfriend.

All damagey and potty-mouthed and insanely loyal and beardy and artsy and those EYES. Sigh. (I also love Mallrats Jason Lee, but the movie’s not as good. It’s fine, I like it just fine, but there aren’t enough serious bits. I like the serious bits the most, you see.)

ALSO, can I just say, I refuse to accept that Kevin Smith decided that Banky was gay all along in Chasing Amy and announced that to the world in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back? No, thanks. It was better when it was up for interpretation. I don’t think Banky in Chasing Amy was gay; I think at the end of the movie, when he agrees to the threesome, he’s doing it because he’s staying true to the character he spent the movie creating; he’s a loyal friend, he loves Holden, he’s been Holden’s best friend for twenty years, and he sees that his best friend is close to breaking. When someone you love that much is close to the edge, you’ll do pretty much anything to pull them back, even if it’s not in your own best interest, because your own best interests need to take a backseat right then. Especially if you’re one of my tribe: my loyal-to-a-fault tribe. So, sure, Kevin Smith, if you say Banky was gay and that was the impetus for his actions in the movie, I guess I have to believe you, but I don’t think that was the character that Jason Lee was playing, and I think it’s unfair to the fans to decide that for them.

Retcon it if you want, but I've seen this movie a billion times, and this is a friendship to me. Pure & simple.

Retcon it if you want, but I’ve seen this movie a billion times, and this is a friendship to me. Pure & simple.

I may have spent a bit of time thinking about this.

Oh, shush, I have other plans today. I’m going to actually leave the house at some point and head on over to the library to get some books and return some books; I actually read a whole play this morning (I have like 25 of them to read this month; we’re in the middle of play selection for next season at the theater, so when I’m not doing one of my million other things, I’m reading reading READING all the plays, some of which are more successful than others) and at some point I have to make some food, or order some food. That’s still up in the air. You know what’s nice? Having money so I can make this decision. It’s the nicest. This is a very nice day off of laziness.



The cat is still under the tree. This is ok as long as he doesn’t decide he needs to groom himself. When THAT happens, the whole tree starts bopping around like it’s possessed and I have to say “DUMBCAT STOP DUMBCAT STOP GET OUT FROM UNDER THE TREE TO LICK.” And he doesn’t. He doesn’t take direction well, my boy. So I have to shoo him when that happens.

Here is a Dumbcat story. Did I tell you this? Over the fridge there is a little cabinet. It’s where I keep things I don’t use often. I think there are some vases in there. And maybe the popcorn popper, and the mixer. So one day a couple weeks ago I came home from work and that little cabinet door was standing open. I never open that door, so either I have a ghost, or…DUMBCAT!

It's kind of like this cabinet, only a lot less fancy. I don't live in a nice place, you see.

It’s kind of like this cabinet, only a lot less fancy. I don’t live in a nice place, you see.

So in order to get there, he’d have had to jump up on the kitchen counter (that’s probably…4 feet up? maybe a little more? I’m terrible at estimating height, I assume all women are 5’5 and all men are 6′ tall, it just makes things easier. I also can’t guess weight. I guess I’d make a terrible carny) and then hop up on the fridge (another couple of feet) and then move things out of the way (there’s a bag of cat toys and treats on top of the fridge, plus a box of napkins and a bottle of this vanilla coffee flavoring stuff Mom bought me once I have never used) and open the cabinet (it’s not so easy to open – but he has his polydactyl thumbs, you see. He can get into all kinds of cupboards. How do you think he gets into the pots and pans cupboard? He levers it open with his little thumbs. I’m not even kidding. When I lived with roommate C., the other cats used to look to him to get them into things. He’s like the more evolved version of a cat. Well, thumbs-wise, anyway. Brain-wise, he’s on the low-end of the spectrum. BUT HE IS BELOVED DAMMIT.

You could open cabinets, too, if you had boss thumbs like this. (NO, this isn't Dumbcat. But he has thumbs much like this.)

You could open cabinets, too, if you had boss thumbs like this. (NO, this isn’t Dumbcat. But he has thumbs much like this.)

So the first time, I was all “Aw! Dumbcat! Did you jump up like 6 feet and for some reason get into the teeny cupboard over the fridge? That’s…weird. Adorable, but weird. You’re so fat, how did you even fit in there?”

Dumbcat wants you to all know he’s not fat, he’s big-boned, and he resents that implication.

Then the next day the door was open again. And again the next day. And again and again. And a few days later, he’d apparently fallen off the fridge, because everything was knocked off the top of the fridge and every single thing I have on the fridge – magnets, things I’ve hung up there, all my fridge-crap – was on the floor.

“DUMBCAT! This is ENOUGH!” I said. He looked at me with wide Dumbcat-eyes. So I blocked off his pathway to the cupboard of his obsession with more things and strategically-placed items and it seems to have worked because nothing’s been moved since.

This is a weird cat. Do you think he was this weird when I got him, or it was the living with the weird human that made him weird? What came first, the weird-chicken or the weird-egg?

Chasing Amy is still happening. Things like “If this is a crush, I don’t think I could take it if the real thing ever happened” kind of still get to me. Dammit, Kevin Smith, this movie makes me all squishy. Is this really only fifteen years old? Good grief. Everyone in this looks about 14 years old and everyone’s smoking in public. I feel like maybe I’m super-old. I was just barely legally able to buy LIQUOR when this movie came out, I mean, seriously.

I know it's sappy. Shush. I'm a fan of movie-sap, sometimes. It's a thing about me.

I know it’s sappy. Shush. I’m a fan of movie-sap, sometimes. It’s a thing about me.

(Also, I know it was became very trendy to hate Ben Affleck for a while, and then now we’re all tentatively liking him again now that he’s legitimate and directing excellent intelligent movies. However, I never hated Ben Affleck, even when he was embroiled in that Bennifer nonsense. The reason was his collaboration with Kevin Smith. I could never hate Ben Affleck because of his work in this movie and Dogma. He won me for life with those two movies. Apparently my weirdo loyalty extends to celebrities as well. Although I have to say, his hair looks RIDICULOUS in this movie. IT IS SO TALL! It’s a PUFF of man-hair. It’s ARCHITECTURAL, this hairdo!)

OK, this is short, and very random, but it’s library-time and also I’d like to do some other things today, like maybe write something else, and send email to some people I love, and call Dad and see what’s up in Dad-land, and do some food-related preparation, and think about work next week, and start working on my top-secret Christmas plan that I want to have done for a week from Monday (shh, SECRET PLANS AND SCHEMES! My favorite kind!) and also maybe at some point I might want to start thinking about doing Christmas cards, maybe. SO MANY THINGS.

So this is what lazy days are like, right? Huh. I could get used to this. Easily. EASILY. Maybe Ken is onto something with this idling-being-awesome thing. Hmm. I should probably heed him more often, right? Shh, don’t tell him, though, he’ll get all full of himself. We wouldn’t want THAT, now, would we?

What’s that? He’s probably going to read this?

Ooh, crap, whoops.

Remind me to renew that restraining order, because I’m going to blast that flick on the internet tonight.

I have a lot of opinions about things. I know, I know, you can feign innocence, with your big doe-eyes and your “whaaaaat? Not YOU!” Be quiet. I have very strong opinions, and I’m not shy about them. It’s not something I’m apologetic about. Why should I be? People make LIVINGS out of blasting the world with their opinions. And you know what they say about opinions. Opinions are ubiquitous and a common, shared trait we all hold dear. What, you thought I was going to go scatological with that?

Well, I am going to be talking about Kevin Smith today. I thought probably I should just ease you into the dick and fart jokes. I didn’t need put the word asshole in the first paragraph. That’s just vulgar.

(Side note: – Conversation with my [very conservative] dad when I told him about the topic of today’s post:

Dad: Why would you write about him? Don’t get me started on him. I hate him.

Me: What? Why? You never hated him before.

Dad: He keeps going to Occupy Wall Street.

Me: Kevin Smith? I think you’re talking about someone else.

Dad: Oh, ho, ho. Nope. He’s all OVER Occupy Wall Street. And it’s ironic because he’s one of the 1%.

Me: Kevin SMITH? Is one of the 1%? I don’t think so, Dad. I mean, I think he’s doing OK, but I don’t think he’s swimming in money. And he Tweets everything. Like, I think he’d Tweet from the BATHROOM. I find it hard to believe that if he was at Occupy Wall Street he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

Dad: He IS. I SAW HIM. On the NEWS today. And people were talking to him about that movie he made, bashing the president, and that anti-gun movie, and…

Me: Are you talking about Michael Moore?

Dad:…yes. Michael Moore. That’s who I’m talking about. You’re not blogging about Michael Moore, are you.

Me: No.

Dad: I like Kevin Smith, don’t I.

Me: Yes. You liked Zack and Miri Make a Porno.

Dad: I did like that. Yes. I like Kevin Smith. That’s a good idea for a blog post.)

I’ve talked about this before – most in-depth, probably, here, and also a little here, but Kevin Smith is (well, was, as it’s a done deal, thanks, Woodstock Film Festival!) on my short list of idols I want to meet in person. I know he has his detractors. I’m not completely innocent to the ways of the world. I know there are people who’ve never liked his films, who think he’s too self-promotional, who think he’s loud and crude and 0bnoxious and untalented and doesn’t deserve a place among auteurs. I get it. I hear you.

Thing is? I love him.

I loved Clerks the minute I watched it in 1995, on VHS in a friend’s living room. I loved Mallrats, also on VHS, in my apartment, the following year. I loved Chasing Amy (my name! In a movie title! Aw!) with its little baby Affleck and its lifelong beginnings of my Jason Lee crush. I ADORED Dogma. Still one of my favorite movies of all time. Still moves me to tears. Clerks The Animated Series? One of the funniest moments on television in my entire life (more on this below.) Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back? Stupid as hell. Loved every minute of it. Jersey Girl? Not his finest moment, but appreciated what he was attempting. Clerks II? Enjoyable, foolish, dorky, fun. Zack and Miri Make a Porno? I loved it. Sorry, I know this kind of got drubbed in the press but I really enjoyed. Red State? Crazy-ass departure for Smith. So proud to see how far he’d grown.

I know. I omitted Cop Out. Haven’t seen it. I know. He directed it. He didn’t write it, and from what I’ve read, it sounds like his heart wasn’t in it. I kind of don’t want to believe it exists, so as long as I ignore it, maybe it doesn’t. I live in a fantasy world. Leave me alone.

(The Clerks The Animated Series scene that still makes me laugh, years later? And BTW, this was cancelled too soon, it was AWESOME.  All you have to say is “Who is driving?” and I am GONE. Here. All for you, Damien!)

OK, so here’s the thing. Kevin Smith has brought me a hell of a lot of enjoyment over the years. And he’s just a geek. He loves geeky things, like comics and video games and, yes, scatological humor. He’s never put himself out there as more than he is. He’s very self-deprecating. He’s a good guy, who loves his friends, who works his ass off, who really, really loves what he does. And he makes me laugh. Like, tears in my eyes. And sometimes he makes me cry. And I love him for it. Yeah, sure, they’re probably supposed to be guy movies. Whatever. I like dick and fart jokes as much as I like something dark and moody. I’m allowed. And when I love someone, and they’ve been there for me for years (and since Kevin Smith movies have been there for me since 1995, I’d say he’s stuck around through some pretty serious shit, so good on you, Kev), I get very momma-bear. Like, claws and teeth and BACK THE EFF OFF MY CUB, YOU.

So this happened this week, and you know what?

You can just totally bite me, Sam Adams.  (Really? Sam Adams? That’s…um…a beer or something? Isn’t it? I think I’d probably change that. Just my opinion, that’s all. Opinions. You know how it goes.)

OK, first off, “Kevin Smith’s Army: How his loyal fans prop up a stunningly mediocre career?” Yeah. That’s nice. Are we in a war? I’ll fight for Kevin Smith. I’ll do it with words, right now, Sam Adams, you hoppy mofo. Also, wow. OK, like I said, opinions, assholes, we all have them, blah blah blah. Or is it some people ARE assholes? I always get these things wrong. My apologies.

Now, on Twitter, Sam Adams said that he didn’t write the header/subbheader. So I guess that’s The Slate’s work. Which, BTW, The Slate, I honestly didn’t know you still existed until someone pointed out this article to me. So that’s nice. Good for you, still hangin’ in there! Like a lil’ ol’ kitteh in a treeeeeee! Also, your site sucks and keeps crashing my computer. NOTHING like a kitteh in a tree. Kittehs in trees NEVER crash my computer, Slate. FAIL.

No, now, hold on. That’s not how this war’s going to be won, with mean, mean insults against Sam and his penis size and his talents as a writer and such, and apparently I’ve been drafted. I mean, I guess I have. That’s how the draft works, though, isn’t it? You wake up one day and BAM you’ve totally got your draft card in your mailbox and it’s go to Canada and live with the moose or fight in the war, or maybe protest or something. I guess I’ll fight. I would totally rock camo. Although in Kevin Smith’s army, I’m pretty sure we’re not wearing camo, right, Sam? We’re all “tubby, unshaven guys in long coats and baseball caps who could…work…as Smith’s stand-in.” AWESOME! Well, I’m sort of tubby but that’s a rude thing to call me, I really would prefer zaftig, RUDE. And listen, it’s cold out, so I totally I don’t shave my legs as much as I should. Unshaven FTW. I don’t have a trenchcoat. I have a wool coat that’s pretty long, can I use that? And I totally have a baseball cap. MULTIPLE baseball caps. DEAD RINGER BABY!

So listen. Sam Adams, who is described on one website as being “nice and firm, with a malty backbone, slightly sassy, with a nice smack of hoppy bitterness” (you go, Sam! I am ALSO SLIGHTLY SASSY WANNA FRENCH) really doesn’t dig Kevin Smith. Like, REALLY not. Smith is an “asshole” whose “influence has shrunk,” his movies are “maudlin” (Jersey Girl), ” hollow and impersonal,” (Cop Out), “flat-footed and painfully inept” (Mallrats – also, LIES LIES LIES) and “eccentric” (Dogma). His fans are a horde of hollow soulless geek-people, following Smith’s every move blindly (one of Smith’s appearances is actually referred to as a “circle jerk” – nice, Sam! Classy with a capital K!) and Smith exploits them (or, let’s be honest, I’m one of the hollow [wo]men, “us”) by “raking in the big bucks from his most ardent fans.”

And then there are the final two paragraphs of Sam’s article:

“What’s at issue, of course, is not the $10 cost of a movie ticket, but Smith’s ego and a post-hoc self-righteousness that conveniently followed the bottoming-out of his critical stock. Where, you have to ask, was this hostility to critics when they were hailing the freshness of Clerks, or praising Smith’s grab for maturity with Chasing Amy? The ‘you can’t fire me because I quit’ undertone to Smith’s posturing is so transparent it’s almost sad. He’s become the suburban stoner equivalent of Charles Foster Kane, his faculties dulled by the nattering of yes-men and the uncritical embrace of eager acolytes.

“By Smith’s own token, his career is almost over. He’s said that his next film, the story of an up-and-coming hockey player called Hit Somebody, will be his last—or rather, his last two, since a few months later he said the story had grown too big to fit in a single film. Of course, there’s no one to hold him to that promise. At least no one he’d listen to.”

OK, Sam Adams, we get it. You’re SO OVER Kevin Smith. Point taken, right between my beady little “eager acolyte”‘s eyes.

Now, listen. I know, when I go about attacking people on the internet sometimes they totally vanity Google themselves and then comment in the comments section and I kind of feel like a massive tool. (Because I am VERY IMPORTANT YO.) Which Sam Adams wouldn’t know anything about. Massive tools, I mean. I’M KIDDING SAM ADAMS LIGHTEN UP. So here’s the thing.

I get that Sam Adams doesn’t dig Smith’s movies (or “flicks” as he’s so eager to point out that Smith calls them.) That’s fine. I mean, I don’t get it? But there are a lot of things I don’t get in the world. Like why Silly String needs to exist, or how someone can say “I demand an apology” and assume you’re actually going to go through with it, I mean, that’s like a challenge to NOT apologize, am I right? That’s fine, Sam Adams. It’s even fine to write about not liking them. I mean, journalists and film critics and even (I know! I’m as surprised as you!) things like The Slate exist and people write for them. That’s cool. Good for you, Sam Adams. I’m glad you’re living the dream. And I only found one odd and egregious typo in your article, so that’s nice, thanks, good job with the copyediting, whoever’s in charge of that at The Slate which totally still exists, like a narwhal.

But here’s what I take offense with. I know you say you didn’t write the header and subheader? Which is interesting, because I didn’t realize that when you hit The Slate bigtime someone writes your titles FOR you. That is AWESOME. I want someone to outsource tasks to someday, too. To dream…the impossible dream…ahem. AHEM I SAID DAMMIT. But it’s not just the title. It’s the characterization of Smith as a master puppeteer, controlling his empty-headed (and male) fans to follow his bidding, to watch his (bad) movies, to be his little minions of evil. He is our Bad Horse, Sam Adams, and we are his Evil League of Evil.

See, I have a brain, Sam Adams. And it is a totally awesome thing, and here’s one of the things it does. It chooses, among the millions and billions of things that are available for me to love and like and loathe and what-have-you, what I’m going to enjoy the most of all. What’s going to make me laugh, and what’s going to make me want to come back for more, and what’s going to make my chest get all fluttery and proud and happy. And one of those things? Is Kevin Smith. Kevin Smith, and his movies, and his books, and his comics, and his podcasts. He doesn’t have me drugged with a weird geek roofie (why isn’t this a thing? SOMEONE MAKE THIS A THING) or anything. I found him, with the help of a friend who is no longer in my life, and he stayed. He won me over with “I wasn’t even supposed to BE here today!” and kept me with “That kid is back on the escalator again!” and “Your mother’s a tracer!” and “I have issues with anyone who treats God as a burden instead of a blessing. You people don’t celebrate your faith; you mourn it.”

Am I a geeked-out fangirl? Yes. But do I follow blindly? No. My eyes are open, Sam Adams. I can see what works and what doesn’t. But here’s the thing, and I think I sensed almost a bit of…oh, I don’t know, call it sour grapes with you? A little “why HIM, why the FAT ASSHOLE, why so many FRIENDS” in your article? Kevin Smith, whether it’s a very, very good act (although I met him, and acted like a complete weirdo, as described in all its gory detail in the link above, so I don’t think so) or it’s genuine, is one of us. One of his so-called geek army. But he moved to the head of the class, while retaining his geeky qualities and his personable demeanor and his attitude of “I really can’t believe I get to DO this” and it’s for this, just as much for the movies he’s given us over the years, the comics, the podcasts, the books, the shows, that we love him. He’s a geek success story. He remains humble. I mean, the guy got asked to leave a plane because he was too fat to fly, Sam. This is one of us. We’re a fat country. Maybe not in your eyes; you seem to see him – and I’m quoting your Twitter feed directly, not putting uninvited words in your mouth – as ” hunkering down in his basement Xanadu and living off (his fans) uncritical adulation.” He’s your Mr. Potter, your scurvy little spider spinning his webs the empty-headed geeks are all scurrying to wrap themselves in, even as they are being poisoned by them. But we know what we’ve got, and we still like him. Does me make mistakes? Sure. But you know what? So do my best friends. Yet I still love them. Do I worry about his weight and that he’s smoking too much pot and that he says he’s leaving directing? Sure I do. Again, I worry about people I care about. He wins, Sam Adams. He’s got people who care about his well-being who don’t even know him personally. So where does that leave your article?

Well, you don’t think he’s grown as a filmmaker. I see his progression, but here’s the thing; he’s gotten more polished and more skilled with the filmmaking aspect of it, but he still goes to the same well for the ideas. Well, (no pun intended), don’t a lot of people do this? I mean, Stephen King’s been going to that same well full of supernatural fish for decades, and it’s serving him well enough, I think. No complaints from me, or, I think, from him. People have their comfort zone. I am not ever going to write the great American novel. You know why? Adult onset ADD oh look shiny. But I like television, and movies, and books, and sometimes I make people laugh. So that’s my well. And that’s cool, because look, people come and see what I’ve done, and that jazzes the hell out of me. You’ve probably got your thing, I mean, you, I don’t know, criticize things? All I see on The Slate are a couple of articles, but you’re a critic, I guess. That’s YOUR well. Smith’s well is potty humor, intelligent rapid-fire phrasing, and geek culture. And he’s GOOD at it. Why would he go to another well when he’s got this one to draw water from?

Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam. We’re going to have to agree to disagree, I guess. Much like Holden and Banky in their fight over Alyssa; much like Randall and Dante in their fight that trashed the Quick Stop; much like the fight that drove apart Brodie and Rene, only there will be no reconciliation on a dating game show for us.

I’ve been here long enough, Sam, and must go, or I will be declared AWOL from my post in Smith’s Army. They don’t like that. You have to sing “Berzerker” as your penance, and if you miss one word, EVEN ONE, they take away your Kevin Smith fan club card. IT IS THE WORST, Sam. They don’t just give those AWAY, Sam.

Opinions, Sam. Assholes. We all have them. Just don’t use yours to shit on other’s happy, ok? Because that’s really a flagrant disuse of it.

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