A brief review of last year’s “Mrs. Henderson Presents.” Contains, duh, spoilers.

In 1930’s England, Judi Dench is a recent widow (and the mother of a son killed in the trenches during the Great War), struggling to find something to do with her time. A friend suggests lovers. “But … I’m nearly seventy!” to which her wise friend replies, “Yes, but you’re also rich. The one cancels out the other.” Eventually, Dench finds a property she’s interested in — a closed theater.

She enlists Bob Hoskins to run the place for her — his character’s name is Van Damm, and once the War starts, I was expecting him to climb to the top of the theater and jump off and work some Van Dammage on the Nazi bombers. Alas. Actually, thinking about it in more depth, this not happening probably helped the film.

Anyway, after an initial success, sales start dropping at the theater, so Dench decides to copy the “thing” in Paris — “Let’s have naked girls!” This goes, not against law, but against English culture — y’know, that “stiff upper lip” shit. But she gets the requisite permissions, convinces Van Damm to go along with her vision, and voila! Naked girls! (My grandmother would probably, also, inquire if this film was to be considered pornography).

Right off the bat? Yes, it’s certainly a chick flick. But it’s got enough to keep the male audience interested — a good story, Nazi bombers, and lots — and lots (wait for it!) — of bouncing boobies (well, for that matter, full frontal female nudity — and hot British female nudity at that*). Okay, so the last one is more of a draw for the male heterosexual audience.

Mrs. Henderson Presents is a decent flick, if, y’know, you’re into well-written, well-acted, and well-produced British productions (albeit one watered down from their usual over-the-top dry sarcasm). Oh, yes, also if you like boobies. Straight men and lesbians, watch this film!

*I feel I should reassure any male readers I might have that the full frontal nudity does not include Judi Dench.

However …

There is full frontal nudity of Bob Hoskins. I screamed!

I got asked this yesterday.

“Is there tax on this?”

Yes. There’s tax on everything, honey.

Well, if you’ve been waiting to buy Friends, it looks like NBC has double-dipped the show — apparently, this is the second time they’ve done a “Complete Series” release for Friends. The MSRP is $300, which means Amazon should have it for under two-hundred when it’s released in November … provided you a.) have the money and b.) like the show that much.

I do, but I didn’t, so I won’t be picking this up. Now, if the rumors of the Complete West Wing due this winter are true, that might be another story …

… I wonder how long it will be until Paramount realizes they can make more cash by doing complete series sets of the Star Trek shows. And I don’t mean just collecting all of the season box sets together, but the nice packaging as seen above. I doubt it’ll be long, but I won’t be buying, as all the Trek shows I enjoy are already on my shelf.

(Because, as mentioned just shortly ago, I = Dorkimus Maximus).

Pictured here are both versions of Hasbro’s Titanium die-cast starship line’s Battlestar Galactica, the 3″ and the 6″ Ultra version. The Ultra, which I haven’t yet seen in stores, arrived Monday courtesy of UPS and BigBadToyStore’s preorder feature.

As one might imagine, I spent much of the last two days flying the Ultra Galactica around making engine and gun and explosion noises. “Voom voom! Bang bang! Booooom, shakalaka!”

Seriously.

I’m a dork. (Like you didn’t know).

I don’t quite know how our shouting match devolved into it, but it ended with Old Man Frank blocking me from getting to the soda cooler (I needed two 2-liters for my order) and me finally heading out the door shouting into the store, “Hey, OMF! Don’t matter if we do this on age or beauty, I got you beat on both!” He followed me out of the store yelling that he was going to kick my ass. I should’ve phrased it, “I’m half as old as you and twice as beautiful.” But I didn’t think of that until I’d already left.

It had all started about fifteen minutes earlier when he asked me if I thought Democrats were going to win in the upcoming Congressional elections. I told him that, yes, I’m pretty sure Congress is going to be blue. The way he phrased his follow-up clued me in that OMF just wanted a fight: “So you think Nanci Pelosi will be speaker of the house in November?”

Actually, I don’t think it would take effect until January, but whatever. Yes, I do believe that the Democrats are going to take control of both the House and Senate in the upcoming elections. This, of course, is a belief brought about not only by my own political convictions, but what I’ve been reading on the internet from fed-up “state’s rights” conservatives and irritated Reagan-moderates. What it boils down to, and what I told Frank as the basis for my belief, is this:

1. The War in Iraq is highly unpopular. Bush is untouchable for another two years, so the voting public will instead target Republican Congressmen and Senators. Strike One.

2. With the Democrats out of power, Republicans in Congress can’t point the finger at them for the current levels of spending and debt. Strike Two.

3. The Republican Party’s slow merge into the “Socialist Christian” party has angered many Conservatives and Libertarians who feel outcast, and aren’t shy about expressing their disdain for this unholy of alliances. Actually, I think the way I said this was, “If you don’t have a political boner for Jesus, the Repubs’ don’t want you.” Strike Three.

OMF it was who challenged my convinctions and offered a bet. At first, I didn’t want to take his money, but then I smelled blood in the water and offered to bet a cool $100 that post-election the Republicans would lose control of the Legislative Branch. OMF declined, suddenly coming up with the excuse that he doubted I had a hundred bucks to give him, should I lose.

(What a smokescreen. I think I persuaded him after the fact, and he just wouldn’t fess to it).

Okay, so $100 was too much — more for him than me, I suspect — so I offered to knock down the size of the wager for a solid George Washington, one single dollar bill.

He still refused — the pussy — and our shouting at each other (as it now was) about the bet, the politics, et al, eventually led into the confrontation, the last time we saw each other last night (his shift over, he was sent on his way before I got back from my deliveries).

I don’t know what got into him yesterday. Usually, he’s content to sit in the back and loudly grumble about what a crap job this is. (He’s right about that, at any rate).

Mechanized Brick.

Leading you to successful playroom Blitzkrieging.

Like eight years ago or so — when I first moved to Towson — I bought a PC game called Birth of the Federation, which allowed players to lead one of five civilizations through their development stages following interstellar travel. I always enjoyed playing as the Klingon Empire, largely because it was so easy to boost the morale of the citizenry — when it dropped, a quick war against a helpless opponent (like the Trill) would send morale through the ceiling. Prolonged wars against other developing opponents would put that morale through the ceiling, the roof, and whatever else was up there. Also? The Klingon economy was structured so that it could sustain a larger-than-average military, which was kickass.

Okay, so I have this military fetish. It’s a guy thing, I guess — I like to blow shit up. My fascination is with the large scale stuff, though — not just tiny little skirmishes or house-fighting (which is cool in its own right), but large military campaigns, with all the required logistics and the right amount of luck and the unknowingness of the “fog of war” or the preparation of the enemy. It’s fascinating, and I love simulators that allow you to plan for that.

I recently purchased an anthology of games called “Blitzkrieg“, which allows you to replay key World War II battles. The tag on the box reads, “Launch your attack — swiftly and intensely! Blitzkrieg is the fine art of strategy combined with intelligence and finesse! Dissect your enemy with surgical precision, halt the enemy’s advance with strategic tank and air assaults, and maintain your offensive momentum.” It sounds pretty cool, but I haven’t been able to dive into it — truthfully, it almost looks like Starcraft with WWII tanks and aircraft.

And I’m looking for something a little deeper, something a little more BotF like. I was at Tahrjay the other day when, walking out, I stopped briefly by the video game section. A box caught my eye, and I remembered my high school friend Sam Alcaine talking about this kick ass game he was playing called “Civilization.” The box I was looking at was marked “Sid Meier’s Civilization III: Complete”, and at $19.99, was I think exactly what I’ve been looking for.

Here’s what I know about CIV III:

1. It’s a legendary experience.
2. I build a civilization from humble beginnings.
3. I explore uncharted territories.
4. I can conquer enemies through brute force or culutral finesse.
5. I will lead my civilization to greatness!

I learned all of this from the back of the box the game came in. I haven’t opened it yet, either, but I’m hoping to dig into it soon — probably once I’ve gotten through The Adventures of Brisco County, jr.

E.G.’s played the game before. He said it was really hard — that it was like “Sim City” but more complex and detailed. My focus, of course, on the future military I’ll build, and the type of government I’ll use to rule. I’m waivering between fascism and imperialism, leaning towards the latter. It’s the fault of that Winston Churchill biography I’ve been reading — I want an Empire to defend!

Here’s what I want — I want to devote my time and energy to building up a fictional gaming civilization. I want to build a civilization I would be pleased to live in, with progressive notions of the arts and public care and education. And I want to build a mighty powerful military and to one day confront conflicting civilizations and devote all of my time and energy to the destruction of those who would seek that against mine.

Firing because of employee blogs are apparently picking up, this time in Paris.

Unmarried mother Catherine Sanderson — “La Petite Anglaise” to 3,000 regular readers of her Internet diary — is launching legal action in France, claiming unfair dismissal against accountancy firm Dixon Wilson, British media reports say.

The “old fashioned” firm was never named in her blog. Sanderson, 33, also remained anonymous — except for her photograph on her Web site.

Now Sanderson claims to have been “dooced” — the New Media term for getting fired for what you write in a blog after a Web designer lost her job for writing about her job and colleagues on her site, Dooce.com.

The rise and fall of “La Petite Anglaise” has added a new dimension to her tales of life with “Mr Frog”, the French father of her three-year-old daughter “Tadpole” and office life with her “old school type” boss in the firm and other senior partners with “plummy Oxbridge accents,” the UK’s Press Association says.

Blogging about work is one of those fine lines people must be careful about. I, as you may have noticed, blog a lot about work, but the secret is that I am both indesensible from my jobs (or egotistical enough to believe that), and, were I to get fired, it would take an hour of being lazy to find a new (at least as good) job.

In any case, the lesson here is: “Be Careful About What You Blog, And Also, Those Who Know You Blog.”

And, I hope this comes as not a surprise, but this time next year, when I’ve finally got my degree, and I get a real job, I will never ever ever put my cubicle-dwelling, tie-wearing self in harm’s way by mentioning, in any shape or form, this blog.

I hate when I’m doing laundry and the guy using both dryers hasn’t come down to collect his laundry. He had ‘em running when I got home, and I even let mine alone in the washer for an hour in the hopes he’d move his stuff, but no doing. So I unloaded one of the dryers and I’ve got mine drying now. I’m possibly slightly afraid he’s going to pick sometime in the next fifty minutes to come down and find his clothes atop the dryer.

On one hand, fuck, courtesy to your fellow neighbors, right? I’d be okay with it if I found someone doing that to my stuff, my fault and all. Still, ‘ll feel better when I unload the dryer and dump all his stuff back in.