Eulogy of 12E

It's over--finally. Apartment 12E with all of its lesbian residents, reckless-mohawked children, and shitty parking is now a thing of my past.

Moving sucks; but moving on is awesome.

LittleBigtober

I went the entire month of September without updating my blog . . . I'm sure you guys are livid! Haha, yeah right. No one gives a shit. Therefore, this blog will be total nonsense. Can you dig it!?

The only thing I care about in life is the fact that LittleBigPlanet comes out on the 21st. I don't think any of you can understand how fucking jazzed I am for this game . . . I mean, I've been beating off in the shower to thoughts of level editors and Sackboy since the game was first announced at the 2007 GDC. It's almost here!! Rejoice.

Some pretty good goddamn movies came out this week, namely Forgetting Sarah Marshall and Iron Man. I think I'll finally start my "purchase one Blu-ray-a-month" plan to build up my collection. Now if I can only decide whether I'd rather see Robert Downey Jr.'s shiny costume or Jason Segal's schlong in 1080p . . . By the way, that Iron Man has some killer cheek bones.

At the end of this month, I will either be renting or purchasing a home. Big news! I can't decide whether renting or buying is the way to go, because buying is SUCH a big commitment. But I mean, if I'm going to be paying $1100 bucks a month to RENT something, I'd might as well own the goddamn thing, right? It all depends, though, on what I find and what they qualify me for. So stay tuned!

The highest of ku's.

If your kid has a
Mohawk, you should consider
ending your life. Thanks.

Duran Duran is
so very underrated.
Go buy their CDs.

PS3 trumps Wii.
360s "redring" all day.
Lets us play a game.

Late-model Civics
are not fast 'cause they are loud.
Don't try to race me.

I'm sorry that I
had sex with your big sister.
She came onto me.

These chips are now more
nacho-cheesier. Where do
they put all that cheese?

It's easy to fuck
up a good thing by being
a douchebag. So don't.

Medal Count

Michael Phelps won a whole bunch of medals the other day. How many, you ask? I dunno, I lost count somewhere around 27.

The Olympics are back--and yes, those italics are necessary. From the opening ceremonies, which were something out of the future, to Phelps's ridiculous medal hording, it seems as though these games won't go down as a snoozer . . . Which is good, because NBC spent good money on this shit!

The "modern" games have really become quite the spectacle. And by "modern," of course I mean the 1896 revival of the ancient naked Greek competitions. Apparently, the world got tired of economic and military pissing contests, and decided to compete for athletic superiority.

It's funny how we all care so much about these esoteric athletics for two weeks, and then completely forget their existence once the torch is extinguished. Is that an American thing or a global thing? Perhaps the rest of the world still continues to support water polo and competitive weight lifting by selling-out arenas and televising meets.

Then there's the athletes themselves, who dedicate their lives to sports that only a handful of people give a damn about, to which there is no money to be made, and for what? A medal? Their photo on a Wheaties box? An appearance on Letterman? I feel kinda sorry for these guys, especially when I see Home Depot commercials proudly proclaiming that they employ more Olympic hopefuls than any other company . . . OK, Mrs. Olympic Sabre Gold Medalist, after your 15 minutes are over, you'll be stocking shelves in the garden section of Home Depot. SAD.

Fake sports and Home Depot employees aside, I really do love watching the games. I watch it for hours, and when I'm not home to watch, I have the DVR set to record it. It's like I'm in a trance, hypnotized by voice of Bob Costas, unable to change the channel.
The only thing that detracts from the experience is the fact that it's on network TV. I've become a bit of a television snob, relegating my viewing to primarily HBO original series. So, to see NBC hawk such GOD AWFUL shit in between each event makes me want to throw up. So far, the NBC fall lineup is as follows:

The Christian Slater Double-Agent Show--The former teen idol and Jack Nicholson wannabe brings his widow's peak to prime time! He's a normal guy--oh, wait--he's holding an AK-47! I smell an Emmy.

ER, The Final Season (For reals this time!)--The Michael Crichton-produced medical drama that's been on the air longer than Saturday Night Live has come to an end. In order to generate interest in this shark-jumping turd, Hollywood has-beens John Stamos and Angela Bassett join the cast! How very exciting.

Crusoe--The extremely boring 18th century Defoe novel gets strung out into a series that promises to be just like LOST, only with less smoke monsters and more cannibals.

Alright, time to go. I've got a U.S. men's synchronized swimming team to root for.

Stan Lee I am not.

So there's this program on my computer called Comic Life, and I've never even bothered to see what it was all about . . . until now. Here's my first (read: pithy) attempt. There's nothing wrong with a little self-parody, right?!

(CLICK ME)

Karate Kid Part II sucks.

You can judge the quality of people living in an apartment complex by the beer boxes in the dumpster.

There was an alarmingly large amount of "Natty Light" boxes in mine yesterday . . . .

I think it's time to relocate.

The Dark Hype

Christopher Nolan's latest macabre superhero film is out. I dunno, you might have heard of it . . . It's called The Dark Knight, or something.

The Batman mythos is celebrated for its dark, mature, often psychological themes; something at which I take issue with. The Bruce Wayne character is essentially a billionaire vigilante nutcase with a proclivity for wearing capes and masks. Does that sound dark? Or mature? Not really . . . Because despite constant attempts to legitimize the hokeyness surrounding the almost 70-year-old character, at the end of the day it's still a fantasy and it's still a superhero story.

My experiences with Batman have been bittersweet, with the sweet to bitter ratio at about 3:4. Because for every "brilliant re-imagining" of the character, there's always a few Adam West/Joel Schumacher cockups right around the corner. Despite being let down several times, I still feel that I am invested nostalgically to the character. I was around for the 1989 Batman-mania that ensued as a result of Tim Burton's film. I saw it in the theaters, played the NES game, and even had that ubiquitous t-shirt.


I am eager to see The Dark Knight, but I've noticed an alarming trend in people loving it before they've seen it. It's for that reason that I am going to approach the movie with a bit of trepidation, and try not to let the avalanche of hype influence my opinions on it. I'm also avoiding the opening weekend shows, as well. Hollering nerds and fanboys could have a negative effect on my judgment.

So, enjoy the movie everyone! I know all you assholes are gonna see it. I'll leave you with photos of the most embarrassing moments in Batman history.

. . . . . .

Prince is lucky he's such a bad ass . . .

Yeah. I would've voted for him, too.

If it weren't for Michael Clayton, I don't think I'd be able to forgive you, George.

Keep in mind, this guy makes over $20 million per movie.

Who needs to work out when your shirt has fully articulated faux-abs?

NOhawk

Over the past couple of days I helped out my roommate by manning one of the PS3 booths at the Streetfest. It was really easy work, consisting primarily of people watching and answering any Sony-related questions that the denizens had, of which there were few. Anywho, the people watching took up the majority of my time, and in the process I noticed an alarmingly high number of people sporting Mohawks. I really do not understand the appeal of this hairstyle at all . . . So I decided to do a little Wiki-research on this, the most socially unacceptable of coiffures.

The term "Mohawk" originated from the name of an Indian tribe in upstate New York. I already knew this . . . I didn't, however, know that they lived in longhouses instead of tepees. Just like Little Bear from Indian in the Cupboard! These Mohawk Indians were pretty intense, and apparently only the warriors war the hairstyle. This is presumably to scare the fuck out of the enemies, especially these guys:

I know for a fact that if I was this fag back in the 1700s, wielding a single-shot musket and weighted down by 30 pounds of superfluous clothing and I saw a near-naked Indian with a crazy hairdo charging at me with a homemade bludgeon that I would shit my pants instantly. That, folks, is the purpose of the hairstyle, and it was mighty effective . . .

Fast-forward a couple hundred years and we find ourselves at the birth of the punk movement. Basically a bunch of malnourished British kids started dressing wacky and hating everything. Then a select few of these "punks" started writing songs about all the things that they hated. The hairstyle of choice of these kids (at least the one that the media latched onto,) was the Mohawk. The modern advances in hair-color-altering chemicals gave the punks a rainbow of options to personalize their 'dos.
After 20-or-so years of pissing people off, the Mohawk became passé. The punks held onto their hair-gel-consuming hairstyle, however, despite the fact that toddlers have them. Shit like this is becoming the norm everywhere:

Not only are children bastardizing the original shit-your-pants-inducing intent of the Mohawk, but male fashionistas everywhere have made their own version of style. I like to call it the non-committal Mohawk, because Faux Hawk sounds pretentious. Men in designer clothes take their normal-everyday short hairstyle and comb it up in the shape of Mohawk. This of course is a pussy way to wear a Mohawk, and makes the whole thing even more annoying than if they went all out in the first place!

Now-a-days there is nothing at all shocking about a Mohawk. There is no statement to be made by having one, other than letting everyone know that you are, in fact, an idiot.

Mike Myers? FTW!

All over the country today, Mike Myers' latest exercise in unfunny self-indulgence thinly disguised as a film opens in theaters. Unless you live your life like the uni-bomber, you've no doubt been bombarded with the cram-it-down-your-throat advertising campaign that has managed to plaster Myers' stupid face on everything from billboards to postage stamps. I don't know about you guys, but I hope that The Love Guru ends up being the Waterloo of Mike Myers movies; once and for all putting an end to a career consisting of 15 years of recycled gags.

"Hey, look! He put his pinkie up again! Whatta gas!"

In the post-Wayne's World-era of Myers' career, he's made one film that has been the embodiment of every fucking thing he has ever done since. That film is, of course, So I Married an Axe Murderer. Within the 90-or-so-minutes of Axe Murderer, you'll see the makings of every character that has managed to make Mike Myers a billionaire and a household name in the subsequent years. Here's just one example, presented in easy to understand visual format:

=


=

The angry Scottish man voice is so funny! Seriously, though . . . three fucking characters? Has anyone noticed this? Does anyone even care?! I think it's a travesty that Myers is literally wallowing in money, when his old comedic partner and the real reason behind the hilarity of Wayne's World, Dana Carvey, can't get a fucking break. But I digress . . .

As I said before, this is only one example. The gamut of Austin Powers characters make an appearance in way or in another in So I Married an Axe Murderer. The only thing that is really missing from Myers' comedic arsenal is the presence of Vern Troyer. Although I'm sure if Myers had discovered the little guy with no self-respect way back then, you best believe he would've found a way to shoehorn his tiny ass into the script.

"I'm funny because I'm short!"

I suggest we all make a pact to not go see The Love Guru this weekend. Doing so will only result in more movies featuring all three of his impressions, Vern Troyer being short jokes, cameos by flavor-of-the-month celebrities, and nauseatingly persistent ad campaigns.

Mobile

Sent from my iPhone

Keanu Peeved

The other day I got it in my head that I needed to watch Point Break again. You know, the one where young FBI agent Johnny Utah attempts to infiltrate a community of surfers who are also bank robbers? Anyways, it's a fucking classic, despite the fact that said FBI agent is played by the deplorable Keanu Reeves.

I've tried to understand why someone as talentless as Reeves has managed to maintain a successful career for over 20 years. I suppose that there will always be a need for characters that say "dude" a lot in movies, and he's definitely the go-to man for those roles.

But despite how much he sucks, he's been making movies for a long, long time. So quantitatively speaking, there's bound to be a couple more movies that he hasn't managed to completely by simply being cast in them, right? Let us examine this. Here I have assembled a list of the best non-Point Break Keanu Reeves movies.

The River's Edge, 1987
This [mostly] brilliant teen-angst drama focuses on the lives of several friends and their ambivalent reactions to a murder. Reeves is perfectly cast as a teen that says "dude" a lot. We also get to witness some real acting from the likes of Crispin Glover and Dennis Hopper.

Parenthood, 1989
A multi-generational examination of why having children will ultimately ruin your life. Reeves is charming in his portrayal of Diane Wiest's daughter's boyfriend that says "dude" a lot. The rest of the cast is like a who's-who of early 90's movies, with Steve Martin, Mary Steenburgen, Rick Moranis, MARTHA PLIMPTON, and Tom Hulce.

Speed, 1994
A bus armed with explosives must maintain a speed of at least 50 miles-per-hour or else it will explode. Bitchin'! The only problem is that Sandra Bullock is driving, and she sucks pretty hard. Reeves seems to reprise his role of Johnny Utah here, only with a shaved head this time. Dennis Hopper shows up once again opposite Reeves as the madman that put the explosives on the bus. If you like this one, be sure to check out the sequel, Speed 2: Cruise Control, I heard it was pretty good.*







*Just kidding!

Leave Kitty alone!

As I was driving up the street about to turn into my apartment today, I saw a woman pushing what looked like a stroller. A second glance, however, revealed that it wasn't a stroller at all, but some sort of feline-torture device. I know people love their pets--and some people really love their pets--but come on!

I've only had one cat in my life (RIP Lucy,) which by no means makes me an expert, though I'm pretty sure that every cat on the planet would hate being rolled around in one these contraptions more than being sprayed with a garden hose. So I beg of you, cat-owners, let your cats be the lazy balls of allergens that they are, and stop contributing to the industry of ridiculous and unnecessary bourgeois pet products.

I also got Stockard Channing and Olympia Dukakis mixed up today. But that's another story!

Strike Four

Being excited about the fourth installment of the Indian Jones series goes against everything I believe in. I am always the first to poo-poo such blatant Hollywood profiteering at the expense of idiotic fanboyism, but fuck . . . It looks so cool!

It's been 19-g0ddamn years since Harrison Ford last outing as the world's most intrepid archaeologist and since that time, the business has changed for the worst. Stuntmen have been replaced by CGI and movie sets are nothing more than a sound stage with a huge green screen suspended from the ceiling. This computer-generated chicanery has taken a lot of the "gee wiz!" out of modern blockbusters. I can't even enjoy these movies, because my cynical ass spends the whole time trying to find the cuts where Spider-Man goes from costumed-Tobey McGuire to animated puppet. So I offer this plea: Please! Don't do that to my beloved Indie!

I know my begging is in vain, considering the film has been in the can for months and is now just a couple of days away from release . . . but wishful thinking never hurt anybody, right? And fuck, who am I kidding? I'm gonna go see the thing regardless of any amount of negative reviews I read and CGI-overflowing trailers that I see.

I have high hopes, but I'm pretty sure that I will treat the film like I treat all of the modern superfluous sequels to established series that have come out in recent years. Example:

Die Hard was (and still is, in my eyes) a trilogy. Three movies that I will continue to watch until I'm old and impotent because I enjoy Bruce Willis' everyman hero John McClain and explosions. But the money grubbing bastards weren't satisfied to let me have my three-film set, oh no! They decided to unleash upon the world a PG-13 abortion of a film starring an over-the-hill Willis and then had the audacity to call it Die Hard 4! I paid my money and watched it, but I don't recognize it as an official part of the Die Hard canon. I see it for what it is. And it will exist thusly for me, and I hope for other fans of the series as well.

This new Indiana Jones will likely find a place on the shelf next to Die Hard 4 and Terminator 3. It's a movie that never should have been made.

But hey, who wants to go see it with me!?

Dribble

The single best thing I saw all week was a poodle sticking out of the window of a truck wearing a rugby shirt. That is, the poodle was wearing the shirt, not the truck . . . Hilarious! If my camera-phone-photography skills were up to snuff as they should be, you best believe I would've taken a pic of that amazing sight. Sadly though, your imagination will just have to do. I suppose you could Google "poodle in rugby shirt" and probably get some satisfactory results. Gotta love the interweb . . .

You know what else you should love? Grand Theft Auto IV. I know, I know . . . I'm as disappointed in myself as you all are with me given the amount of time that I have let pass by without contributing my opinion of "TEH B3ST GAME EVAR!" I bought it on launch day for the PS3 because I couldn't possibly give a fuck less about the exclusive downloadable content that's coming out later on for the 360. So yeah, Sony fanboys unite!

It really is an amazing experience. Once you get over the fact that the characters still look a lot like Muppets, you'll be totally engrossed. It is a little weird, though, I must admit, the first time you see a Muppet-esque character doing a line of cocaine. But after that it's all good!

I'm not terribly far into the game, because my progress has been marred by two things: my general lack of GTA adroitness and Boom Blox. I die in the game. A lot. I'm not ashamed to admit that. The controls are way better than Rockstar's PS2 outings, but they still will lead me to my death rather often. That isn't to say that it's frustrating, it's quite the contrary. The open-ended nature of the game allows you attempt missions multiple ways, which will be necessary if you suck as much as I do.

The hype is fucking annoying, I know. But try to ignore it and experience the game for yourself. If you have an Xbox 360 or a PS3 and aren't one of those hardcore, conservative, violent videogames-caused-Columbine-kinda moms, then you'll surely love it.

No Substitutions

I hate my job. I know that at 5pm on Fridays, about 95% of Americans say those same four words as they speed off to happy hour. Complaining about work is like complaining about traffic or taxes, it's useless because it sucks for everyone. Work is work. It's the necessary, perfunctory endeavor that we all just have to get over.

That said, please excuse the following rant. I had a particularly-patience-taxing day today, and I'd like an avenue to bitch, and what better avenue than my own fucking blog! Yes, this is indeed the best place to complain about shit. So I'd like to send the following "Fuck you!"s out to those that make my job terrible:


Fuck you, kid who experiences the world through the left-head phone of your friend's iPod. You don't own a fucking iPod, it's okay! I didn't either for a long time. But scooting your desk super close to your friend and listening to one-half of his/her shitty music collection is both impractical and annoying to all of those around you. My advice: Go to fucking Burger King, fill out an application, work for one month, buy your own goddamn MP3 player, and then quit.

Fuck you, overweight kid that dresses in super tight "emo" clothes that wouldn't even fit your 90-lb "emo" friend! We know that tight pants are in, and everybody is wearing them. But when you have a fucking 42-inch waist, you should not be shopping in the children's section.

Fuck you, overly aggressive cholo that goes out into the hall to talk to your friends without permission! It may take away from your street cred, but goddammit you better start taking life seriously. You guys are already 17-years old with freshman credits, because you've always been more concerned about the latest issue of Low Rider Magazine than getting a passing average in algebra.

Fuck you, stupid girl that goes "to the bathroom" and is gone for 25 minutes and returns to class with a Coke and a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos. You are an ugly, ugly person. I can't let the sad nerdy kid that probably has to take a dump go the bathroom, because you're off socializing and buying snacks for half an hour. People like you ruin lives.



Whew, that totally feels better. Is it still happy hour!?

Happiness is a warm [laser] gun.

Richard and I were watching Back to the Future II for the eighth time in four days (gotta love the variety of programming that 12 HBO channels offers,) and talking about its depiction of the future. For those of you who lacked a childhood, Back to the Future II is the flawless sequel to one of the best films ever made about time travel. This time around, Doc and Marty take the Delorean to the year 2015, which is pretty much the late 80's with a bunch of future clichés thrown in. You know, flying cars, video phones, holograms, etc.

A lifetime of watching movies like this has made me a little disappointed of the future that we live in. Sure, we have the Internet in our pockets, PS3s, and cardboard boxes that pop up fresh tissues each time you pull one out, but there's still stuff that's lacking. Wouldn't you guys like to see food pellets that are adequate substitutes for full meals? Conveyor belt sidewalks? Robot companions? Cities in the sky?

Personally, the future innovation that I'm most disappointed about still not coming to fruition is the laser gun, or if you're old school--the ray gun. Campy sci-fi pulp dating back 60 and 70 years featured images of spacemen wielding weapons that emitted not bullets, but lasers or concentric circles of light. Now, I'm not a weapons enthusiast by any means. I don't belong to the NRA and I could give a fuck less about the recent passing of their biggest celebrity member and bible film star Charlton Heston . . . but I want to live in a world where laser guns exist! A world where gangsters carry electric "gats" instead "9's" and shootouts are more like Hoth than South Central Los Angeles.

The second amendment has gotten stale. As long as guns are mechanical, gun powder-filled, bullet holding contraptions, I'm boycotting weapons all together. The future is now!

Kirb Your Enthusiasm

The Smash Bros. thing still hasn't gotten old. Sorry, I promise I will only talk about it for a little while this time. My two favorite characters in the game are Meta Knight and King Dedede, both of which are from the Kirby universe. I've always loved Kirby. The charm of the characters always overshadowed the mohawked-baby-level difficulty and resulted in some really enjoyable games. Anyways, all this Smash Bros.-induced Kirby musing encouraged me to dust off my copy of Kirby's Adventure for the NES and start playing it again. And needless to say; brilliance ensued.

I'm in Yogurt Land right now, and I fucking love it. It's amazing how much animation they managed to pull out of the NES. Kirby's gelatinous body reacts exactly how you'd expect to the environments and situations. The gameplay is also spot-on, which you would expect from any platformer developed in-house at Nintendo. This was also the first Kirby game that allowed you steal your enemies' abilities by eating them. The variety and usefulness of these power-ups keeps things interesting. I highly recommend it if you have a functioning NES or a Wii, since it's available on Virtual Console.

I wish Nintendo would get on the fucking ball and hurry up and release Kirby's Dreamland 3 on the Virtual Console. Sadly, I missed this particular Kirby outing when it was originally released on the SNES. I blame it on the fact that the SNES was gasping its dying breaths underneath trampling "32-bit" and "64-bit" consoles. It's sad, really. But I will play it someday!

I made two purchases today. One of which won't be here for a few days because I bought it online. Oh, and fuck you Best Buy for not carrying it. You have about 70 copies of Wild Hogs on Blu-Ray, but you can't spare the shelf-space for a masterpiece?!
My other purchase was a wild-hair sort of thing. I'm sure that my memory has been kind to this show, and that actually seeing will tarnish my childhood in some irrevocable way . . . but fuck it. This is sitting in my living room and I'm watching it tonight!

In other materialistic news, the Dual Shock 3 hits next week with a $55 price tag. I've been pretty vocal about how I'm totally over rumble, which I am, but I think I'll be forced to pick this up. You see, the SIXAXIS is the PS3's current standard controller, and it's perfectly functional, only it weighs about 5 micrograms. There's no substance to it. No heft. Anyone who knows me knows that I need heft. Oh, and it comes in white, too. Bitchin'.

Colonoscopy

Apartments: I hate living in an apartment. Well, perhaps that's a bit extreme--sometimes I hate living in this apartment. I've mentioned the shitfest family that lives downstairs and their terrible mohawked children. Yes, mohawks. If any of you reading this have children and give them a mohawk before their actually old enough to "rebel" and choose to get a mohawk themselves, then you are setting your child on a path to unemployment, crime, numerous STDs, bastard children of their own, and overall awfulness. Fuck them. Oh, then there's the dick head in the black Honda Civic that parks in the middle of the lot completely blocking access to my parking space overnight. I tried to get his car towed to no avail. There is no justice in this world.

Eulogy: Lex and I downloaded Super Mario World on the Virtual Console the other night and began the super fun task of 96-ing it while drunk. This made me realize how much Nintendo is snoozing by holding out on the release of Super Mario World 2 Yoshi's Island. So, the next day I dug out my SNES and fired it up; only there was no fire. I panicked. I tried plugging the AC adapter into another outlet, but it still wouldn't work. This is seriously tragic, folks. The little grey box that served as a vessel for some of the best entertainment products ever produced is dead. I'm talking about A Link to the Past, Super Castlevania IV, Contra III, Super Mario Kart, Street Fighter II, Super Metroid, Kirby's Dream Course . . . TRAGIC. And don't even try to tell me about emulation. It's not the same.

Inland Empire: I don't think I've given any blogspace to Inland Empire, which is pretty goddamn shameful on my part. The film has been available on DVD for over six months, so you should own it already. But for those of you haven't seen it, you are totally missing out on an experience. My words cannot do Lynch's work any justice, so I'll refrain from even trying. Oh, and download the song Polish Poem and listen to it on repeat.

Going Out: I met my friend Sandra and her boyfriend Tom last night at the ol' hangout and was immediately uncomfortable about being there. I asked Tom, who hails from San Diego, if he finds going out in California to be the terrible exercise in boredom that I think it is here. He pretty much said the same things that I've been bitching about, which made me feel a lot better. It's not that I've become embittered and anti-social, it's just that the people that frequent bars are 90% garbage.

Halo 3: New maps. Time to pwn some n00bZ.

Dojo Dump[ing]

You should probably go to Hawaii. It's good for you. It's good for your mind, body, soul, and libido.

I've been back since Tuesday, and I haven't done a whole lot since. I miss the smell of the beach and the general Jurassic Park-esque appearance of everything. But hey, it was fun!

I posted some photos on the ol' Fakebook, but I don't know what the fuck is up with my photo application. It somehow disappeared from the list underneath my profile picture, and in order to find it I had to go through other people's photos of me. Weeeeeird. But yeah, they're totally there for your viewing/commenting/masturbation material use. Just kidding! Kind of.

There isn't a whole lot else going on in this life of mine. The wicked get-paid-to-do-nothing tutoring job that I was milking ended. *Le sigh* The reason, of course, was lack of funds. Which I was pretty much expecting any day now, but it still sucks. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to the kiddies. You see, unlike subbing, I worked with the same kids everyday. Some of them were garbage, but a lot of them were pretty cool. Oh well, perhaps they'll think of me when taking the state-mandated aptitude test.

Other than that, I have been completely consumed by Super Smash Bros. Brawl. I didn't play either of the two prequels with any regularity, so what's old-hat to most is FULL-ON WIN to me. It's beautiful chaos. It's super easy to mash buttons, so your videogame-hating girlfriend can pick it up and give it a go. But the more you play, the more you realize that there are a shit-ton of things going on at once that you need to be constantly aware of. This is where the "strategy" element comes in. Sure, like Mario Kart and Mario Party there's a chance factor with the item distribution that can rapidly change the momentum of the match. But, if you're aware of what's going on around you, you can still prevail. Which is why I think I like it so much more than I though I would. As I said, having never played it the prequels I completely missed the depth. It's definitely not Virtua Fighter 5, but you can be good at it.


I'm in the process of unlocking characters right now, which is very time consuming, but I still have some time for multiplayer. If I haven't already gotten your child-predator-proof friend code from you, go ahead and send it my way. My Meta Knight skillZ will be feared by all.

Flex and hold

The only good thing about going to the gym is the people watching, no doubt about it. Even though there are multiple big screens showing things like Seinfeld and Jeopardy!, I'm much more entertained by watching the people that come and go from the cardio-room.

I always wonder, "Do these people hate coming here as much as I do?" Working out sucks. It really, really does. There about 900 things I can think of off the top of my head that I'd rather do than run in place like a fucking hamster or lift heavy objects. Right?!

Sure, some people love the gym. You know the ones, the guys that drink steroid smoothies and buy their tank tops two-sizes too small to emphasize their guns. But what about everyone else? What about the mildly overweight mom and the balding dad? Are they really enjoying themselves there? I seriously doubt it.

Keep on working out all you want, buddy. We'll still hate you.

I don't want to go into self-esteem issues, and society pressure to be fit, and all that bullshit that's been said a million times. We all know that the vast majority of gym-goers are like mildly overweight mom, balding dad, and myself. We go in vain. We go simply to feel better about ourselves at the end of the day. Because seriously, the time it would take to make any drastic change in our bodies is something that we aren't willing to sacrifice.

I sure-as-fuck aren't giving up my FFXII sessions, mildly overweight mom ain't giving up her PTA meeting, and balding dad, well . . . He's got shit to do, too. And that's fine! Barely working out is better than not working out at all.

So the next time you skip going to the gym because you're just soooo busy, don't fret. At least you make the effort sometimes. Like today, I was busy playing Super Buster Bros. with Richard, so I just couldn't find the time. But yeah, I'll be there tomorrow. Totally.

Finality times twelve

I'm not tired at all. I should be, because I "worked" today; there's a possibility that I'll do it again tomorrow. But tired? Nah . . . sleep is for n00bZ.

Earlier today, I spoke to my friend about the inevitable redundancy of life. Even though I know it's unavoidable, it still bothers me. It seems as though that life is made up of a number of constants that can be marginally effected by a few variables. The constants are, of course, the aspects of life that make us fit into society: waking up in the morning, working, paying bills, etc. The variables are the distractions. Leisure. Activities, relationships, and states of being, that when added, subtracted, multiplied or divided by the constants help to make things interesting.

The beauty of it is, we can choose whether we focus our attention and efforts on the constants or the variables. I have friends that are perfectly content to follow the routine, pay their taxes, and exist as productive citizens. By that same token, there's the floaty vagabonds that don't have any idea what the fuck is going on, and love it that way. Neither way is wrong, it's just a choice that people tend to make when they "grow up."

My problem is that I cannot decide which category I fall into. I suppose at 25, I'm about as grown up as I am going to get . . . Yet I still exist in this quasi-adolescent, hedonistic fantasy land--where I want to be taken seriously as an adult, but sure as fuck don't act like one.

I've adopted several "philosophies" over the years, all of which ultimately contradicted each other to the point of death. There was no overlap, here. These ideas were mostly the results of external variable factors, such as the girl I was dating, or the group of friends I was hanging out with, or whatever. I'm not especially susceptible to group-think, but I had my moments of weakness.

The question is, can there really be a balance? I'm pretty sure that these constants and variables form a system, and not an equation. Those may claim to have balance in their lives, but they're always leaning more in one direction than the other.

WHO KNOWS!?

I don't think I ever will. I do know, however, that it's really fucking easy to stray from your intended topic of discussion when the hour is late and your mind begins to wander. I suppose I'll write about Final Fantasy XII some other time.

It's bedtime for Bonzo.

Splooge to the Music!

It's alarming how many songs out there feature lyrics about ejaculation. Seriously, "bitch" and "ass" are taboo on most radio stations, but if a song features detailed descriptions of fucking splooging--well, that's a-ok. This of course is nothing new, because as long as men and women have been able to strum chords on a guitar, they've written songs about their climaxes.

It's just one of those counterintuitive censorship mentalities you see in every media. On television for instance, people get shot, operated on, ran over, punched in the face, strangled, and tortured during prime time. But will you ever see a bare ass or--gasp--a female nipple?! Fuck no. After every bible thumping soccer mom in the country had a brain hemorrhage when Janet Jackson's boob popped out during the Super Bowl, all bets have been off. Violence: fine. Sex: very bad.

Which brings me back to the music thing. I really cannot see in any way how this sort of thing is allowed. It's not like it could possibly "slip by" the censors. 'Cause dammit, I don't care if you're a prepubescent teen or old enough to have seen both World Wars, when someone says "come into you," there's only one goddamn thing that could mean.

Seriously, I'm trying to think of how one can "come into" someone else and have it be appropriate subject matter somewhere other than Penthouse Forums, and I just can't. To paraphrase my dashboard dictionary, "come" is a present tense verb that means to move toward, travel, accompany, reach to, occur, join, make progress, and become apparent to. All of those are things that people do, but none of which can be done in someone else. So even in the broadest interpretation of the word, if you're coming into someone, you are fucking that person and fucking ejaculating--nothing else!

You don't have too look very deep into your music folder to find examples of this, either. Every artist from the über risqué to the most squeaky clean does it--and it's embraced by all. In fact biggest song of 2007 nothing but an ode to the money shot. You know the one, where the skinny girl sings euphemistically about umbrellas and rain? Well anyways, the last few lines of the song go like this:

. . . baby come into me
Come into me
It's raining (raining)
Ooo baby it's raining
You can always come into me
Come into me

Always, huh? Well, I sure hope little Rihanna is on the pill. But all joking aside, this song was huge. Fucking huge. So abhorrently popular that it's a likely candidate to appear on the next Kidz Bop CD and it's all about coming.

Now I'm the last person to promote censorship, I fucking hate it. But I would like to see some consistency with what's edited and what isn't. If shit pop songs can rule the airwaves with lyrics like this, then why the can't you say "shit" on TV? It makes no sense.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to listen to some radio-friendly erotica.

Movies That I Will NEVER See - Valentine's Edition

Well, it's Valentine's Day--my favorite day of the year. As I type this, poor saps everywhere are being subjected to two-hour plus waits at restaurants because they fear the wrath of their girlfriend/wife/girl-that-they-are-currently-bedding. And for what, really? A made-up holiday that forces us to do nice things for the people that we love, things that we should be doing all year? Yeah, I don't buy it. But enough bitterness! I'm eating candy and "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)" just came on my iTunes, so I'm happy!

So as I sit home with my candy and John Parr music, I'll be safe from these rotten examples of holiday tie-in cinema.

DEFINITELY, MAYBE
Ryan Reynolds plays a loving but misogynistic father who's having a hard time telling his daughter who her mother is because of all the women he fucked the year she was born. But instead of being perturbed by this, the daughter thinks trying to figure out who her mom is from stories of her dad's promiscuous past is a fun game! Then the audience goes, "Awww!" Seriously, who greenlighted this? They can stamp it with all the "From the makers of Love Actually" stamps in the world, and I still wouldn't go see the goddamn thing. Oh, and Ryan Reynolds looks like Dane Cook. I fucking hate Dane Cook.




STEP UP 2 THE STREETS
If there was any movie from 2006 that cried out for a sequel, it was Step Up. The ending left audiences wondering, "Will they ever dance again?!" Well, the answer is here. And I hate to spoil it for you, but they dance! That's it! More fucking dancing. A whole lot of dancing. People dancing in warehouse with a bunch of people standing around watching them. Dancing with the latest hip-hop hit playing in the background. With all that dancing and a title sounds like something that a moron who uses numbers instead of letters would text message to another moron who uses numbers instead of letters, you can't go wrong!




JUMPER
The kid who ruined my childlike feelings of awe whenever I saw Darth Vader takes yet another sci-fi role as a teleporting guy who gets hunted by . . . other teleporting guys. One of the "other" teleporting guys is the venerable Samuel L. Jackson, who dons a white coif and proves once again that he'll gladly play any part that's thrown at him. This one is rated PG-13 for a generic sci-fi premise, bad acting, mild violence, and language.

Maybe I'll Be Fast as You

Saying that the weekend went by too fast would be stating the obvious--and I hate stating the obvious--so I won't say it.

Even though I spent the past two-and-a-half days being anti-social, I had a good time. I should should address, though, that being anti-social means not going out and drinking. I've decided to attempt being healthy in the days leading up to my trip. You know, not eat junk food, avoid the beer, exercise and all that bullshit. So far it hasn't been very difficult, but I doubt that it's making any real difference. In a little over a month I'll be one of the countless flabby, untanned, mainlander tourists at the beach. Score!

I suppose I was social on Saturday night, although I am not sure if people coming over to your apartment and playing videogames all night counts as a social activity in most circles. But yeah, I have to tell you all that Poker Smash for Xbox 360 is the greatest. I downloaded it yesterday and that's all we played for several hours. It takes the mechanics of Puzzle League and combines it with poker hands. So, not only can you eliminate similar face cards, you can also make poker hands which are worth more points. Anyways, it's fucking amazing and you should totally download it if you have an Xbox 360 and a Live account.

The best thing since intercourse was invented.

I felt especially manly today. Spending six hours with my dad, the manliest of all men, tends to do that to me. It was fun, though. We ate BBQ, talked about what a pussy Tom Brady is, and wait for it--worked on my car. See! That's some manly shit, right there.

I didn't mention it, but a couple of months ago some douche bags stole the sidemarker lights from my car. I got over it pretty quick, seeing as I realized at a very young age just how terrible most people are. Some could say finding that out when you're little would make you jaded, but for me it helps me cope with situations like this. But yeah, I even have an idea as to who did it . . .

I'm sure it was one of these assholes.

Anyways, we went to several car parts stores before we finally got the parts that we needed. It was pretty fucking cool, because instead of just standing there while my pops does everything, I actually felt useful today. I found the wires we needed and even got some grease on my hands. Here's some before and afters of our handy work:

Looks good, huh? We'll see how long these last before Paul Walker and/or Vin Diesel come by and jack them.

Time to play some more Poker Smash, kids. Download it. Seriously.

Hello=Goodbye

Remember that episode of The Brady Bunch where the whole family (including the fucking maid!) packs up and heads to Hawaii? And then stupid-ass Peter finds that wacky little tiki statue that he swears is good luck, but everyone tells him it's not--because all this scary shit happens, like Greg almost dies surfing and that spider totally almost kills Peter! Anyways, in the end they go in a cave for some reason and almost get molested by Vincent Price. Remember that one?
Well, in March I'll be going to Hawaii and I hope it's exactly like that!

My friend Adam has some crazy email-notification thing that informs him about flights to Hawaii, and one came up for pennies. Literally pennies. 27,700 pennies, to be exact. What a deal!

In case you can't tell, I'm really goddamn excited about this. It should be good times. It will be good times. Even if it isn't as good as the Brady trip, it will at least be as good as the Saved By The Bell one.

Can't wait!

Movies That I Will NEVER See - 02/08/07

There must've have been a catastrophe at the shit factory this week, because only two turds are rolling out of the assembly line on Friday. And I don't know about you guys, but I'll take a shirtless Matthew McConaughey and Martin Lawrence getting hit in the groin repeatedly over a Sylvester Stallone "comeback" any day. But that doesn't mean they're any good!


FOOL'S GOLD
Matthew McConaughey shows off his pecs while Kate Hudson over-acts until you want to kill yourself. That's the gist of this romantic-comedy-adventure dud that reunites the stars from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Movies like this make me sad, not especially for the lack of creativity, but for the poor schmoes out there that are forced by their moronic girlfriends to go see this crap week-in and week-out. Seriously, why do it? Because if it's in order to get laid, I'll tell ya . . . I've had some sex in my day, and I never had to sit through a Reese Witherspoon/Sandra Bullock/J-Lo/Kate Hudson crapfest to get it.




WELCOME HOME ROSCOE JENKINS
Martin Lawrence argues with fat women, falls down stairs, get sprayed by a skunk, and hits his grandma in the head with a softball all while being made fun of by Mike Epps in this new "comedy." This time around, Lawrence stretches his acting ability to the limit in his portrayal of a small-town guy who left his roots behind and made it big as a talk show host. Lawrence then returns to home only to get pummeled repeatedly by fat women, skunks, inanimate objects, and the sardonic tongue of Mike Epps. The trailer is full of physical comedy cliches and sight gags that weren't new when the Three Stooges did them in the 1930s.




That's it for this week! Not too much to bitch about, but next week is Valentine's Day. The most pointless of all holidays always ushers in some terrible movies. Yikes!

Movies That I Will NEVER See - 02/01/07

Hey, what do you know? Another week, another attempt by studios to cash-in on the lobotomized masses. Here's the movies that I, for one, will be bypassing.


HANNAH MONTANA & MILEY CYRUS: BEST OF BOTH WORLDS CONCERT
If you're a pedophile-weirdo or have the misfortune raising "tween-aged" children, then you have probably heard of Hannah Montana. Hannah Montana is the alter ego of Billy Ray Cyrus's daughter Miley, and the star of the latest cram-it-down-your-throat-until-you-fucking-choke offering from The Disney Channel. Apparently this 3D concert will only be showing for one week; but given the pathetic dedication of Hannah Montana fans, that should be ample time for Disney to make enough money to let Pixar go. Just kidding.








THE EYE
By now, everyone is aware of the mathematical fact that Jessica Alba's sex appeal and quality of film roles are inversely proportional. Never in the history of the universe has someone so attractive been consistently attached to such loathsome projects. In this sure-to-be-garbage thriller, Alba plays a blind a girl that undergoes miracle eye-transplant surgery. The only problem is, her new seeing ability is plagued by visions of creepy-shit that's suspiciously reminiscent of creepy-shit from The Ring and The Grudge. Sounds . . . creepy. Seriously though, who wouldn't do her?







OVER HER DEAD BODY
Professional scene-stealer Paul Rudd and overrated basketball star marrying slut Eva Longoria team up in another movie about a dead girlfriend that just won't go away. Didn't Reese Witherspoon play this exact same role a couple years ago? You know, the other metaphysical romantic that I didn't see--the one with Napoleon Dynamite and Mark Ruffalo in it. That's right! This must be a very timely remake of that classic.









STRANGE WILDERNESS
I think it's high-time that we all band together and make a pact to not go see every movie that has Jonah Hill is in. I mean, I love his white-man fro and and jovial overweight appearance as much as the next guy, but soon or later you have to put your foot down. This movie is so terrible, that I don't even know what the fuck it's about. All I can gather from the trailers is that a couple of guys film animals and do voice-overs ala Bob Saget from his America's Funniest Home Videos days. Oh, and Jonah Hill is in it wearing a pink thong. Now that's comedy!

ZOMG! It's The Weekend!

I love it when my weekends begin early. It seems to be happening a lot lately, which I attribute directly to the fake-ness of my job. I can't really complain, though. I get to ass-out and sleep-in 24 hours earlier than the majority of the working population.

I got paid today, which combined with having tomorrow off is almost too much awesome to handle. Every time I get a paycheck I feel like I have to buy something. Even if there is nothing that I particularly want or need, I feel as though if I don't run out and make a purchase that I haven't sufficiently justified getting up at 6:30 AM several times week. It's a disease, really.

I started a new project, which is an attempt to decorate my naked walls with cool stuff. It's tough, really. When you're a teenager and you can just head down to Spencer's Gifts and pick up the latest Carmen Elektra poster--problem solved. Now it's not that easy. I bought a Blue Velvet movie poster, but I haven't gotten a frame for it yet, so it's sitting sad and lonely in a cardboard tube in my room. I thought about going for a theme, like buying only David Lynch movie posters, or movie posters from foreign markets, but I couldn't decided if that would be lame or not.

"What are you doing in my closet, Jeffrey Beaumont?"

Speaking of movie posters, I was saddened by latest visit to allposters.com when I found out that the three most popular movie posters were Rocky, Fight Club, and Scarface. So essentially what people are buying from this site are posters featuring the guy from Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot, a shirt-less Brad Pitt, or a silhouette of Al Pacino holding a gun. The world is a sad, sad place.

I'm not sure what else I am going to get. Any suggestions? I've found that there a lot of cool prints out there, but they are just way too fucking small for the price. I just can't see myself paying $20-$30 for an 11" x 14."

My stomach is growling, even though I had a killer sandwich for lunch. I think I'll go make a smoothie and play some Rez on XBLA. Happy weekend, everybody!

It's motherfuckin' Rez.

Movies That I Will NEVER See - 01/25/07

Every week movie studios unleash a tidal wave of shit upon us. Movies that are so foul, so abhorrent in every conceivable way that they make me sad to be alive. That may sound melodramatic, but hey, it's fucking true. So in an attempt to get some semi-regular update action going on around here, I thought it'd be fun to bash the terrible movies each week.

For the first installment, we've got some real goddamn stinkers--and by "stinkers," I mean straight from the Bog of Eternal Stench. Really fucking terrible. Shameful. Poop.


MEET THE SPARTANS
They should have called this one Not Another Spoof Movie. Seriously though, when did 300 come out? Please wait while I consult Wikipedia . . . OK, 300 came out in March of 2007--less than a year ago! The immediacy of this shit-fest-cash-in makes it even more pathetic.

HOW SHE MOVE

First things first: No one should go see a movie that has an improperly conjugated verb in its title. And I don't know about you guys, but I'm amazed at the sweatshop-like speed and efficiency movie studios demonstrate when making these things. Don't quote me on this, but I'm pretty sure that 47% of all films released last year involved dancing. So if you just can't get enough of the yard stomping, serving, or stepping up that's already available on DVD, then by all means check this one out.

UNTRACEABLE
Fresh from the success of Diane Lane's other "UN" movie comes Untraceable. But unlike Unfaithful. this Internet-inspired crime thriller looks uninteresting, uninspiring, and just plain unwatchable. Is unscary a word? Too bad.

RAMBO

For the better part of two decades, Sylvester Stallone made a very successful career for himself by playing mildly-retarded tough guys. But some where around . . . say 15 years ago, people finally got tired of his schlock. So in a desperate attempt to regain a fanbase, Stallone has resorted to making completely unnecessary sequels to franchises that have already been ran into the ground. Personally, I can't wait for the next Over The Top. The arm-wrestling genre has been dormant for far too long.

Ambitionz Az A Ryder

There's something about the persistence of the paparazzi and the immediacy of available information that makes the public feel like they know celebrities. These days A-listers can't even sneeze without making the cover of Us Weekly. And do any of the gossip-hungry masses (myself included,) really know two goddamn things about these people? No, but it's fun to pretend to.

Here's an example: From the photos of I've seen and the articles that I have read, I know, 100%, without hesitation that Ben Affleck is an idiot--a real douchie kinda guy. Not the type of person I'd invite to one of parties. Conversely, through those sources I have come to know that George Clooney is fucking cool. Totally someone that would have a permanent spot on the invite list to my parties.

See how that works? I know this stuff because they told me. The same applies for female celebrities, in this fucked-up-faux-sense-of-familiarity media world that we live in.

A while back, I decided that I would date Winona Ryder, but more importantly, I decided that Winona Ryder would date me. Why Winona Ryder, you ask? Well, for one thing she's fucking gorgeous, she's single, and add to that the fact that she was in some of the hippest movies of my childhood (Beetlejuice, Heathers, etc.,) and bingo. Girlfriend material. But these realizations go beyond the desire to realize a boyhood crush, however. I know that Winona and I would be for the same reasons that I know that Ben Affleck sucks and that George Clooney is awesome.

Your typical female celebrity is photographed incessantly doing everything from buying a cup of coffee to showing the world their cooch while exiting a limo. It's a life they signed up for the moment they entered the biz, so while it may be annoying, they can't really complain about it. This type of coverage on famous femmes like Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears has totally derailed any possibility of me dating them. I'd do them, to be sure, but date? I think not. After all, anyone who knows me knows that I don't date coffee-drinking-cooch-flashing sluts anymore.

And then there's Winona. Her celebrity status has no doubt waned since her late 80s to mid 90s boom, but that's actually appealing. Still famous, but not an overly-photographed fashionista skank. Which of course means she's more down-to-earth, and way more my style.

I know what you're going to say . . . "What about the shoplifting thing?" And to that, I say who gives a shit? There's far worse things she could be doing, like Robert Downey Jr. type of stuff. So after all these years, the only scandal she has hanging over her head is lifting a few designer scarves. I say that's pretty good.

More important than her lack of scandals, is her lack of baggage. No kids, no ex-husbands, no nonsense. At 36-years-old, that's fucking amazing. My friends and I are 25, and it's damn near impossible to meet someone who doesn't have a baby's daddy or obsessive ex hanging around.

Scroll up and look at that picture again. Damn, damn, damn. Now I have to figure out how I'm going to move to LA to actualize our love affair.