"'Cause I don't believe you" --Crack the Sky

I've seen some pretty unbelievable things in movies.  Flying monkeys, wealthy Richard Gere falling in love with hooker Julia Roberts, all those mother-effin snakes on a plane... suffice to say that Hollywood has stretched my acceptance of what is possible until my brain is as rubbery as Newt Gingrich's wedding vows.

But last night... *shakes head in disgust*  ...last night, we watched The Emperor's Club.  This is a mediocre movie in which Kevin Kline plays a teacher at an exclusive boys prep school.  That I can buy, despite the very distracting fact that Kevin Kline has no lips.  This is almost as distracting as the fact that Whoopi Goldberg has no eyebrows.  See?  Check it.  None.

Just a line where his lips are supposed to be.  When he kisses you, is it like kissing grandpa without his teeth in?  Do you get enveloped by nose, chin and cheek?
 
Regardless, Kevin Kline, teacher, prep school--check.

What I can't buy, no matter what anybody says, is the time lapse in the film that shows this:

becoming this:

In what universe does dorky Jesse Eisenberg grow up to be sex symbol Patrick Dempsey?  Who the heck was in charge of this casting?  Stevie Wonder?


Question du jour:  What's the absolute stupidest thing you've ever seen in a movie?


Oh, and just because it's my blog and I can, here's another gratuitous shot of Patrick Dempsey:

You're welcome.

"Something familiar, something peculiar..." --Stephen Sondheim

On Monday, I was off from Job 1 but worked Job 2.  During my luxurious 1/2 hour for lunch, I ran the two blocks to a little French cafe.  There, I ordered vegetable soup, a tuna melt and a drink and sat down, trying not to tap my foot impatiently.  Five minutes later, the waitress brought my lemonade and a lovely crock of vegetable soup and told me the tuna melt was on the way, which, happily, it was.  The soup looked nice.  The soup smelled lovely.  The soup tasted... well, it tasted good.  And quite familiar.  It was Progresso. 

I don't mean it tasted like canned soup.

I mean, this French cafe opened a can of Progresso vegetable soup, poured a small amount  in a small crock, nuked it for a minute, and charged me $3.50 for the pleasure.  Had I wandered into a scene from European Vacation?

Now, I am not anti-Progresso.  I am pro-Progresso.  If I were any more pro-Progresso I might go pro.  (I'm progressive that way.)  I recognized the soup because I have Progresso soups at home in the pantry for when I am sickly and weak and want a quick bowl of soup with truly minimal effort.  So, I wasn't put off, per se.  It just got me to wondering how often a restaurant dish is actually the result of opening a can or boxed frozen entree? 

So I am taking my wondering to the vast knowledge of the interwebs.  Questions du jour:  Have you ever "recognized" a portion of your meal?  Is there anything wrong with a restaurant doing this?  What percentage of your average restaurant (not fast food) meal do you think is completely pre-made?