Mundane Bond Villains

So I’m seeing Skyfall tonight, and like everyone else, I’m kind of excited. I love a good James Bond movie! Granted, some of the James Bond movies are bad, and are therefore not good Bond movies, but I don’t like those, so leave me alone.

I have been feeling super stressed out lately (“Wait, but Kirin,” you say, “you just had a holiday–how are you already feeling stressed out?” And to you I respond with a hearty amount of inarticulate sputtering and gesturing.) so I feel like channeling a little James Bond might be good for me, from time to time. Bond and Béyonce, channel those two, c’mon Kirin. So I thought I would turn some of my problems into Bond villains for you, you know, because you all care about my life so much and want to read a blogpost wherein I make a bunch of inside jokes with myself.


007 vs. Dr. BabyFace

In which Q informs Bond that a six-month-old baby needs care and attention. Bond must feed, burp, carry, and entertain said baby for 9 hours a day, 4 days a week. He must wear appropriately schlumpy clothing that can be spit up on (no Armani suits for this Daniel Craig!), must not panic when the baby cries, and must somehow get the little monster to fall asleep. His special gadgets for this assignment include: a swaddle blanket used to wipe up various bodily fluids, a pacifier that will probably need to be cleaned many times in one day after being spit on the floor, a few crinkle toys, several bottles, and a bunch of German-imported baby formula. Bond will be pushed to his domestic limits in this thrilling tale of death, destruction, and diapers.


007 vs. The Small Theatre Alliance

In which Q informs Bond that a small bracket theatre company needs management and development. Bond must learn the ins and outs of social media–managing twitters and facebook pages and blogs, find sponsorships for galas, all while finding the time to make artistically fulfilling work that challenges the precepts of live theatre and forms a coherent narrative or environment and presents relatable but complex people to the audience. He must also make said work with a group of people, forcing Bond to reexamine his own powers of communication and patience. Special gadgets include: an over-filled schedule, many email threads, confusing social media platforms, competing personalities, differing styles of learning and understanding, and a ray-gun which makes everyone a good, thoughtful, simple improviser (ba-dm-ch!). Bond will never have to be as calculating and articulate as he’ll have to be in this tale of passion and small business planning.


007 vs. Count Ennui and the Army of Twentysomethings

In which Q informs Bond that he must live his life in a city that is a little (re: a lot) out of his price range and comfort levels. Bond must feel stunted in his chosen field of work, useless in his acquired skill sets, hopeless in the face of the ever-growing competition, suffocated by the ever-moving city, lost in the waters of his own wants and desires, and generally tired all the time. He will constantly wonder why he majored in the Arts, why he didn’t take more to math and business, and what it means if he feels he isn’t cut out to be an artist but also isn’t cut out to be anything else. He’ll wonder why he stays in a city that seems to crush him constantly, and wonder more why he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. He’ll wait for signs from the universe–never a very proactive plan–and then discount them when they come along. Special gadgets for this movie include: a mode of transportation solely reliant on either the weather or the government, a vastly fluctuating bank account, pages upon pages of introspective journaling, bit-to-shreds cuticles and knots in his back the size and firmness of walnuts, a muffled but constant feeling of nausea, and an endless fantasy world where he does everything from waiting tables in the middle-of-nowhere Iowa to going back to school to get a Masters in English to traveling the world for the rest of his days and living on the kindness and charity of strangers. Let’s not beat around the bush: this will probably be the bleakest Bond movie, and the most annoying, and will probably star someone totally forgettable and bad, like Timothy Dalton.

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