The Ironic Catholic is close to completing the adoption of Alex, an Eastern European little boy with special needs. They used Reece’s Rainbow, an agency which facilitates international adoption of special needs kids. These children often live in horrifying conditions in orphanages, and are often in danger of being sent to adult mental institutions if they aren’t adopted. As the IC explains,
[T]he problem is not really how to afford to care for the kids once home: decent medical insurance and social security disability help a lot with this, and there are rules for what people need to earn to adopt
[…]
But the costs of international adoption—well, no one I know has that kind of money lying around. We are able to complete our adoption through the incredible generosity of friends and family. Look, God can do this. But He needs His people’s help.
The Ironic Catholic is asking our help for her friend Vera, who is determined to rescue 4-1/2-year-old Harper.
IC explains:
[Harper] has HIV and HepC…two diagnoses that are manageable on their own, but together, require very savvy medical care to keep in check. They’ve been told Harper is a sick little girl and needs better medical care asap. Vera and family are almost entirely ready to go paper-wise–the dossier is being sent this week–and they have paid thousands out of pocket for nearly all costs to this point. But they had expected to have a few months to fundraise and gather resources for travel and facilitation fees. To get Harper the medical care she needs as quickly as possible, they need to raise about $15,500 in…two months.
You might remember me from that time you read one of my jokes, and you thought it was funny, but you didn’t really get it, then you found yourself telling it to your sister at your Steubenville Almnui 12-step meeting, and as you were getting to the end of the joke but after it was too late to stop telling it, it suddenly occurs to you, “Hey, I think this is a dick joke.”
It was, lass.
Thanks, Sean.
If the above does not give you newish readers pause, let me be clear: It Gets Worse. For reasons best left unstated (the drugs) Simcha allows me to post movie reviews from time to time. These reviews tend to include crude jokes. When you take offense in the com boxes, I will insult you. Got it?
When last we met, I had promised to review Laberynth. Umm, no. Labiarynse? No. Oh, Labyrinth.
I wanted to review Highlander. Why, yes. that movies does star Sean Connery. Yes, I do have multiple photos on my hard drive of Connery in tight clothing. What of it?
Not a bloody thing.
Now that you’re throughouly skeeved out, it is time to discuss our movie. The only known collaboration between Jim Henson, George Lucas, and David Bowie.
It comes off about as well as you’d expect.
Look, there are some major concerns we need to get out of the way.
You remember how when you were a kid and you watched The Muppet Show, occasionally they would have some performer that was totally lame. It was hard to figure why they wanted to bore you, right?
I thought I was entertaining.
Leo Sayer, ladies and gentlemen.
The point is, Jim Henson was boring. Like visiting elderly relatives boring. He’s conversation with a Civil War buff boring. He’s even worse than late night out with an Opus Dei member boring.
The frog thinks I'm pretty cool.
And that’s why he lets you put your hand there.
George Lucas is a known quantity. He sucks.
My money doesn't suck.
No, but your fat face and crappy movies do.
I don’t need to get all angry fan boy here, but we all know what I’m talking about.
Meesa embodiment of all that is wrong with modern Hollywood.
But, you say, there are the guys who respectively came up with the brilliance of The Muppets and the original Star Wars, and first three Indiana Jones movies.
Right, making their suckitude harder to contemplate. Thing is, it was always there. Good luck, and the right collaberations, (Frank Oz for Henson, and Steven Spielberg for Lucas,) just managed to mask the poo with awesome.
The most difficult part about Labyrinth is Bowie. You can’t explain what on Earth he’s doing in it, but you know he had to be in this turkey.
Bowie was Ziggy Stardust, The Thin White Duke, he perfected plastic soul. Surely he’s better than this. What happened?
I was doing massive amounts of cocaine.
Still a better excuse than Lucas.
The movies also stars Jennifer Connelly as a young girl who magically wishes away her younger brother, then immediatley regrets having done so.
Wish away, or sell for meat? Wish away, or sell for meat? I can't make up my mind.
That fat little sucker would have netted at least $500, and she goes and gives him away for free.
That’s were Bowie steps in, playing the Goblin King named Jareth. Yes. Jareth.
His character is somewhat interesting. You’ve got this all powerful demi-god, lording over a kingdom full of deformed worshipers who he directs to ruin the life of a young girl.
Sounds like a solid plan to me.
Jareth makes the girl’s wish come true, and takes the baby back to goblin land. She can get the baby back, but she has to make it through the Labyrinth within, I dunno, 80 minutes, or else the baby stays there forever.
That sounds really hard.
She has many adventures, meets some magical friend that are not at all reminiscent of the friends Dorothy makes in the Wizard of Oz, and Bowie wears some tight, tight pants.
Check out my Major Tom.
Oh, and the movie is full of important life lessons, like “Whine enough and you’ll always get what you want.”
There is a good movie that could be made out of all of these parts, but it never happened. Everytime, they decided to go dull and then go home.
What about me? I'm interesting.
No. You’re creepy and annoying, just like the rest of this movie.
So there you have it, Labyrinth. I think I learned a very important life lesson, though. Stay away from voodo.
My mother says that my first word was “Amen.” Was I an especially devout child? No, I just thought it meant, “Let’s eat.” You can judge if I’ve made any progress in 37 years.
I am a freelance writer. This here is my personal blog. What appears here is my opinion and my responsibility, and is not the opinion or responsibility of the National Catholic Register, Our Sunday Visitor, Catholic Digest or any other publication that publishes my work.
Le sigh.
Leaving the house, little two-legs? Not without your PANTS PASS!
