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.

Whoo-hoo! Four-day weekend!

I had a feeling that this would be a good weekend on Friday morning when I heard The Real McCoy on the radio during my 20-minute commute. No, not "Another Night," but "Run Away," which I'll argue is a better a song. Those two sentences are probably the most that's been written about The Real McCoy in the past 13 years. Go me.

I'm at a point in my life where doing nothing is fun, but ultimately leaves me feeling worthless. A four-day weekend is an opportunity to set goals, to get things done, to be productive. Granted my goals are usually complete Game A and then promptly begin playing Game B, but hey . . . at least that's something.

Here I am, halfway through this extended MLK weekend and I can't say I've done anything worth mentioning. I had some beers on Friday celebrating a friends birthday, watched a couple of movies and played Rock Band last night with some friends, and--that's it. Oh, and just a word of advice: if you live in an apartment complex above an angry ex-military douche bag whose covered in "Semper Fi" tattoos and has a wife and three terrible kids, you might not want to play Rock Band late at night . . . the noise tends to make said-neighbor quite angry.

I still have two days before I have to go back to work. And hey, two days is a lot of time. That's enough time to perhaps finish Ratchet and Clank or get some more stars in Super Mario Galaxy. Or maybe even make it through all 100 rooms of the Cave of Monsters in Bubble Bobble. Lofty ambitions, I know. Will I do any of those things? Probably not.


I think what I need is a fucking job--no, not a job, a career. Losing that English teaching job to an illiterate party girl has left me feeling more than a little depressed. See, if I had a job, then I would value my time off and actually do things that the non-gaming members of society consider productive! Hmm, that would be something.

But alas, here I am doing nothing. Well, not quite nothing. I am watching the best-dressed coach in the NFL attempt to take his "perfect" team to the Super Bowl. Seriously, as much as I bitch about the Patriots, I love Bill Belichick.

You fool!

I always start blogs, and then about a quarter of the way through I decide that my writing is terrible and the subject is uninteresting. I have about 27 unfinished blogs--no hyperbole there. I have good intentions, but fuck it. No one reads this anyways, which I always suspected, but had proved to me with the sad, sad results of my poll. After several days, the poll closed with a mere four votes--two of which were from the same person doing the e-version of stuffing the ballot box.

I will eventually continue the best of 2007 nonsense with the movie and videogame winners. I decided that I owe it to P.T. Anderson to see his movie before choosing the best movie of the year. I fucking love P.T. Anderson.

Speaking of P.T. Anderson, doesn't my 'stache make me look strikingly like Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood?

The First Annual Hashy Awards

Well I'll be goddamned, if it isn't already 2008! It's useless to talk about time flying, mostly because time had mastered flight before anyone even conceptualized what time is. These days, we use for many things: to measure the increment between oil changes, the duration of a relationship, the amount of shopping days until Christmas, and of course, my favorite, to create a deadline in which entertainment products must be released to be eligible for awards!

The most prestigious award of all is, without a doubt, the Hashy. This is because it's an award based largely on my subjective opinion and slightly biased opinion. Most awards pretend to be based on fair democratic processes such as voting, but we all know that's total bullshit. What you get here is the real deal. It's easy to see without that wool over your eyes, isn't it?

The Hashies cover the visual media only. It's not that I don't read, or that I don't appreciate music, but I feel that my limited exposure to those areas makes me far from an adequate judge of what could be considered the best book or song of the year. So instead, the focus here lies on television, film, and of course, videogames. Get it? Ok, so without further adieu, let's start with television.

SHOW THAT FELL OFF:
Lost
Oh, Lost. True to your title, you have really lost your way. You began life as an intriguing character study with some action and mystery thrown-in. Your first two seasons managed to keep the supernatural to a minimum and the the suspense at a fever pitch. But your third season, which ended in the spring of 2007, was really a dud. The others weren't enough, apparently, you needed to introduce other others. And all those mysteries from the first two season? You seemed more concerned with introducing new ones than solving them. And the final nail in the coffin was the hiatus you went on before starting your fourth season. Just face it, you're out of ideas. It really makes me sad that was once the most intense show on television is now the most egregious example of shark-jumping to be found anywhere. Ten bucks says it all ends up being Jack's dream.

BEST SHOW THAT TOTALLY ISN'T NEW THAT I DISCOVERED:
Entourage
If it weren't for the technological marvel that is HBO In Demand, I probably never would have found this gem. A few months back, the entire first season was available on the In Demand service, and I watched all of them. It's really brilliant. It has the look and feel of a celebrity reality show, only not at all pathetic, and quite funny. And seriously, it's about fucking time Jeremy Piven made a name for himself. It saddens me that a guy who's that talented spent the better part of the last 20 years playing second fiddle to fucking John Cusack--and I like John Cusack! But Piven as asshole Hollywood agent Ari Gold makes the show. I'm on the third season right now, and loving it. Check it out.

BEST SEASON FINALE:
Curb Your Enthusiasm
Holy shit, I was totally not expecting this. But I should have! As much as I revere Seinfeld, Curb has long since surpassed it in terms of creativity. This year's season was no exception. With racial jokes-a-plenty (the David's took in a family of hurricane victims named the Blacks,) and Larry and Cheryl splitting up, it was spot on. But in true Curb fashion, which is where I feel it excells over Seinfeld, everything came to a head in the season finale. I won't give too much away, but seeing Susie finally get hers was the-greatest. Fan service at its best, and truly great fucking entertainment.

BEST SHOW THAT YOU COULD WATCH IF YOU COULD ONLY WATCH ONE SHOW:
The Sopranos
Honestly, what's there left to say about The Sopranos that hasn't already been said? This mafia opus is simply the best written, best acted, best-everything show in the history of television. Sure, the season six part two thing was kind of bullshit . . . just call it season seven! But man, it did just about everything right. Years of watching voyeuristically as Tony lied, stole, cheated, killed, and fucked ended abruptly in darkness. "WTF!," you say? Yeah, some people were pissed, but fuck them. They just don't get it. It was an amazing end to an amazing run. Now I'm just waiting to come into a small fortune so I can afford to buy the rest of the DVDs.


That's it for now. I'll post the results for film and videogames later!

25 & Life

Seriously, how the fuck did I make it to 25? I really don't know myself . . . by all accounts I should have been dead years ago. But here I am, still ticking and wreaking havoc on society.

25 goddamn years. Holy cow. When I was a teenager, 25 was the big time. It was wife and kids, house with two cats in the yard kind of shit. Boy was I wrong! Here I am hitting the big 2-5 as a career-less college grad that couldn't possibly be farther away from being a family man. But hey, I have a PS3 and a yellow sportscar. Fuck yes!

I've included a photo of myself for you out-of-towners that haven't seen me in a few years.

Here's to 26! Whoooooop! Time to go have some beers.

I Hate Television

Tomorrow is my last day of work for several weeks, and I must say, the prospect of being even less productive than I already am has me more than a little excited. You can be damn sure I'll partake in choice activities such as: getting drunk on Mondays, wearing my Pac-Man pajama pants all day, and waking up and playing Mega Man 2 before I even brush my teeth. Yes, kids, it's true. I still live in a fantasy land.

I've already received news that several card-carrying members of the Cool Club will be making their way to The Pass to celebrate gift giving and savior birthing. Hanging out is always fun, but going out . . . not so much. Over the past several months I've transformed into a semi-agoraphobic caricature of my former self. I'm not sure what exactly the problem is here. I'm positive that it's not because of maturity (the first paragraph completely kills that theory,) but perhaps it's due to boredom. You know, same places-same faces kind of shit. Yes, we'll call it that for now. But regardless of my lack of enthusiasm about going out, I am excited to see these cats again. I really fucking love these guys and their new common law spouses. Things should be fun.

I suppose that I should touch on the abomination that aired last night on MTV. Of course I'm talking about the last episode of A Shot at Love. I always had my doubts about the legitimacy of that slut's claims about being bi-sexual, but last night was just disgusting. I mean, she chose Bobby!? I guess in the entire time that she's been working on her career she's never ever been to a college bar, beach, frat party, sporting event, or Hollister store in her entire life, because if she had she would've found love years ago. Guys like that idiot are a dime-a-fucking-dozen. Poor Dani. Oh well, she was too good for that show anyways.

In gaming news--I recently finished Mass Effect, BioWare's latest science fiction dialogue-simulator for Xbox 360. It started off a little slow, but I gotta say I ended up loving it. I had my angry Annie Lennox-look-alike soldier destroy everything. And that's really the core of its brilliance, the choices to be a total dick and blow everything up or a benevolent saint and save everyone are real choices that you feel have real weight. It has a spot on my top five of '07 list, and had it been released in any other year, it would have been a major contender for my GOTY. A distinction that is not at all coveted, but definitely should be.

Which brings me to my next point. I'm holding off on making my real decision about game of the year until I play Rock Band. Now I know that the chances of me changing my mind on the early winner are slim to nil, but I'll still give it a chance to be in the running. After all, it's Christmas!