First things first: Away We Go was not made by the same people who did Juno. I can understand why a lot of people are under this impression; both films are about unplanned pregnancies and how the films' leads react to them. But the similarities don't end with the plot: both are "indie" films (use of scare quotes because I still don't get how labeling work by its method of distribution is in any way effective), both have bucketloads of quirky characters, both feature an actor who you know best from The Office, and both have an ad campaign that makes liberal use of faux scraps from notebooks, Post-It Notes, sketchy handwriting, and illustrations of the films' leads that look like they're right out of Tom Goes To The Mayor.

But Away We Go is not Juno. I have a sneaking suspicion that the film's marketing team wants people to think that - and who can blame them? Juno managed to make 35 times its production budget, after all - but let it be known that the similarities between Away We Go and Juno are superficial at best.

Because here's the thing about Juno: it's a damn good dramedy. It's not one of my all-time favorite films, but it's damn good; I can think of few films that manage to be both as funny and moving as Juno. What's really amazing is that Juno manages to make it look so effortless. You know that symbol that's supposed to represent theatre? You know, the one with the laughing mask and the sad mask? There's a reason that they're two separate masks; not only are they both on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, but telling a satisfying story that makes just enough use of both is really really hard.

Case in point: Away We Go. This is a movie that is supposed to be a dramedy, but unfortunately, it manages to do one way better than it does the other. Neither director Sam Mendes nor the film's talented cast (featuring John Krasinski as Jim from The Office fame and Maya Rudolph of SNL fame [not to mention a kind of WTF cameo by Jim Gaffigan]) is to blame; instead, it's the script by husband and wife team Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida that doesn't quite work.

Please don't get me wrong - this is not a bad movie. Nor do I think it's a bad script. As a matter of fact, the comedy in Away We Go is solid. I laughed a lot. Yes, the actors are partially to blame for this - Krasinski makes a wonderful goofball and there are enough silly one-off moments by supporting members of the cast to fill a couple of posts here - but the situations and words that Eggers and Vida provide the actors with make for great laughs that manage not to be cheesy sitcom-y.

The serious scenes, on the other hand - which usually involve Rudolph and Krasinski wonder just how they're going to go about raising this kid of theirs without messing up - feel terribly out of place. I liken them to commercials on a TV show; some aren't bad, but if you end up watching them, you'll inevitably begin to think one of two things: "Why should I care?" or "I need to pee."

An even better comparison - in metaphor form, if you will - exists within the film itself, specifically in Rudolph's character. Verona, the character Rudolph plays, is surrounded by bizarre goofballs, some more endearing and insane than others. Verona, though she seems to be a nice woman who will no doubt make a wonderful mother within the hypothetical realm that is Outside-Of-This-Movie-Land, is so unquirky and sane that she comes of as abnormally normal. Though it's true that every comedy needs a straight man or two to keep things evened out, they typically have a quirk or two of their own - again, for the sake of balance. Not so with Verona; it's as if she's wandering through a dream, which makes us, the viewers, begin to seriously question the reality of what we're watching, thus making the whole suspending disbelief thing a little difficult.

Perhaps the film's "serious" scenes wouldn't have stuck out so badly if they had more of a focus. In these scenes, we're exposed to what should be the film's core themes or "messages", so to speak. In the end, though, these scenes don't tie themselves up very well. The question that the movie raises - "How do you manage to raise a kid without fucking up?" - at least in so many words - never really gets answered beyond "By not fucking up."

Enough movie critic bullshit, though. Despite its faults on the dramatic side, Away We Go makes for some solid entertainment. Keep in mind, though, that's it no Juno - which is to say that you'll probably have no desire to see Away We Go more than once.

There's this group called ThinkB4YouSpeak that plans to start propagating some posters disparaging the use of the word "gay" as a synonym for stupid. Their approach is a wee bit on the incendiary side; they mostly play on stereotypes that the group is hoping will cut close to home. Example: one poster reads "That's so 'Jock who can complete a pass but not a sentence.'"

That makes me think of a campaign that was going around on Facebook asking people to stop using the word "retarded" as a synonym for stupid. As in, "That show was retarded." And that makes me think of when people say the phrase, "She looked at me like I was retarded."

And that makes me think of how that phrase - "she looked at me like I was retarded" - actually isn't that accurate. Consider this: the phrase is meant to translate to something like "She looked at me as if I was dumb." But when was the last time you saw a person look at an honest-to-God-in-the-medical-sense-of-the-term retarded person? And when that happened, did said person look at the retarded person as if they were actually dumb?

Probably not. Chances are they looked at them like they were a small child. Maybe they looked at them as if they were trying to look at a person who wasn't retarded. Or - especially if we're talking about a "just passing by" moment - maybe they looked at them and tried to pretend like they weren't looking at them at all. There are a multitude of possibilities here; your limits are your imagination and any individual's social abilities and/or comfortability.

You can draw your own conclusions about using the words "retarded" or "gay" as pejorative terms. I feel as if for me to express mine at this point is a wee bit on the redundant side. But right now I'm just saying that if taken literally, the phrase "he looked at me like I was retarded" is really fucking complicated.

A lot of people have been going on about how John Hughes' crowing accomplishment was as a writer - specifically, his ability to create "real" characters, as opposed to the two-dimensional and stereotypical inhabitants of what I like to call "Hollywood high-school" that unfortunately still continue to haunt the screen to this day. But that's not how John Hughes influenced me as a (very amateur) filmmaker.

As a director, Hughes had a very distinct way of filming his shots. He rarely uses motion; the camera rarely pans and dollies even less frequently. Instead the camera remains stationary to make shots that are framed almost like photographs. It's difficult to get any more specific than that - there's just this intangible quality to Hughes' best stationary shots that manage to make the most mundane settings (e.g. the corridor of a high school) look kind of visually appealing. Some may decry his less than dynamic shots as dull or utilitarian. I can see why someone would say that, but I like to think that his shots were just interesting enough to not distract you from the important things - you know, like the people onscreen.

I personally never use camera motion in my shots because there's no way I can do it without it looking like crap. I can't afford a Steadycam, so I have to stick with a good old metal tripod purchased by my family about the time I was born. But as John Hughes taught me, with barebones equipment one can still manage to make something that looks alright.

Last night I randomly re-remembered the last day of kindergarten. Of course I didn't remember the whole thing; just the stuff that mattered.

There was the Sixth Grade Talent Show, which opened with a rendition of The Star Spangled Banner on the electric guitar. It was pretty awful - the rendition that is - but the fact that a guy was playing an electric guitar made up for any potential awfulness. I also remember some girls doing a skit that was a parody of talk shows where they smeared ugly makeup all over their faces. After that I decided that I was going to do something really good for the sixth grade talent show, but despite it being in the back of my mind ever since that moment I didn't make up my mind until just a few months before it actually happened.

We also got ice cream sandwiches. We talked about what we were going to do over the summer. We discussed some of our favorite things about kindergarten.

But the highlight took place immediately after the talent show. After it we were totally riled up and the hallways were completely empty. And then out of nowhere Mrs. Johnson told us that after a hundred and eighty days of complacently walking in single file that we were free to just this once run down the hallways completely regardless of formation. There were two caveats, though: we would never get the chance to do this again, we couldn't tell anyone about it, and we had to be completely silent.

So twenty or so five year olds went running down the hallway with Mrs. Johnson leading the way. She had this crazy look on her face, her mouth agape; it was like she was happily screaming at the top of a rollercoaster, except no noise was coming out. We all followed suit. The only sound there was were the thump thump thumps of our feet across the hall.

The weird thing is that my last day of high school was barely a year ago and yet I can't remember a moment of it.

Last night I had a very bizarre dream that involved moving to Chicago, taking a bus ride from Chicago to Iowa, visiting a McDonalds that had a drive-in movie theater (and then opting to go to the competing McDonalds across the street), visiting Emo Philips' housebus, and a few other things. But I think this was the centerpiece of the dream.

A woman asks me if I would like to hold her baby. I tell her that I would. She hands the baby to me. It is incredibly small. It fits in the palm of my hand, but I hold the baby with my hands cupped together. Something about the baby almost looks mangled. It's kind of spidery looking. A sweet taste begins to accumulate on my bottom lip. I hand the baby back to the woman.

"Well," the woman says. "What flavor do you think the baby was?"

I think about this. I am tremendously worried that I might give her the incorrect answer.

"Acai?" I finally ask.

"You're wrong," she says. "It's wheatgrass."