The other night I had a dream that Barack Obama and I were hanging out in my hometown library. It was really casual, because Obama had rolled up his shirtsleeves. When a President rolls up his shirtsleeves you know he’s getting ready for casual fun, like throwing a basketball or buying an ice cream cone or just kneeling down in the dirt and planting a tree for the nation’s farmers.
We talked about our favorite books and he recommended a Stephen King book that doesn’t actually exist called The Palisades. Thanks a lot, dream Barack Obama. Guess I’ll just pop on over to whatever alternate dimension that book was written in. Obama told me how important libraries were to his childhood, then we played video games sitting Indian style and watched a movie where John F. Kennedy held up a flaming sword.
Afterward, Obama insisted talking socks should not get American citizenship just because they can magically speak English and I have to say I agree with the man. You can’t be a tube of cloth covering our feet one day and then expect to vote in our elections the next just because you can recite the alphabet with your googly eyes waving all around. Though I have to say anyone who is passionate about participating in our democracy should be given a fair shake. I guess there are a lot of shades of grey in the talking-sock-citizenship-debate.
In The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Nicolas Cage plays a sorcerer named Balthazar Blake. Despite his magical nature, his socks are the ordinary non-talking type, though every other inanimate object around him gets a turn to come to life and clean the floor or fly him around or choke a rival sorcerer. If you’re a barrel or a broomstick or a metal eagle statue, your ass is going to be doing chores for Nic Cage’s wizard. “Doing chores for Nic Cage’s wizard” sounds like a euphemism for giving Nicolas Cage a lapdance. When I was a kid the first existential crisis I ever had was whether or not our dining room chairs had thoughts. So I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a chair but all I could think about was being a dead piece of wood all cold and silent forever. I must have been a real ray of sunshine as a child.
So Balthazar finds Jay Baruchel with a dragon ring and says, “You’re the next Top Merlin!” and then some bad sorcerers get out of a magic doll and try to kill both of them. Pew pew zzzap magic! Lightning bolt! Believe in yourself! How many wizard movies or books have there been where a wizard is training his apprentice and he says to clear your mind or focus or think of nothing or remain calm and relax? I’d like to see somebody learn to do magic by throwing a hissy fit or getting into a tizzy. “That’s it. Get worked up. Think of someone defriending you on Facebook. Your waiter refuses to split the check even though you’ve been to this place before and you know they can do it. The line is long at Trader Joe’s.” Then a fussy little fire comes out of the wizard’s fingertips.
Turns out Jay Baruchel is a Prime Merlinian. Sure, that sounds like a thing that could mean the boss of all wizards. They should call CEOs “Prime Businessians”. Does that make prime rib steaks the boss of all other steaks? Or just the boss of all ribs? Could a prime rib steak tell my ribs what to do? I hope they don’t tell them to jump out of my body. One of the other characters tells Jay Baruchel the reason he’s the Prime Merlinian is because he’s also a scientist. Are you happy now, scientists?! He’s one of you. Now can you admit humans rode dinosaurs?
Then he defeats Morgana le Fay on his third day on the job as a wizard, even though she was able to kill Merlin despite his centuries of sorcery experience. Guess Merlin didn’t science hard enough. Shoulda put down the Harry Potter books and picked up a flask of bubbling green liquid. Jay Baruchel wraps it all up by flying his girlfriend to France, even though she’s just a regular girl who plays indie rock at a college radio station and he’s the most powerful wizard the world has ever known. You do know that cute girls at indie rock stations are not exactly the rarest creature, right? I think the FCC requires every college radio station to have at least three cute girls who like indie rock in the studio at all times.
Thinking a god-like sorcerer and an unremarkable kinda-hipster girl will stay together is like thinking you’ll stay with your high school girlfriend when you go to college times a million. She better hope he isn’t interested in lady wizard’s vaginas, because that’s her only hope of keeping him. I’m interested in lady wizard’s vaginas and I don’t even like Magic: The Gathering, much less have the ability to perform actual magic.
I’m sure you’ll do fine in the relationship, regular human girl with no supernatural powers. I’m sure he won’t turn the Starbucks logo into a real life sexy mermaid with his thoughts and then turn the mermaid half into a lady half. And then send her back to the coffee cup from whence she came when he gets tired of her. Whoops, accidentally wrote some Sorcerer’s Apprentice fan fiction. Goodnight, everybody!