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.