Snake Eyes is not a myth

From time to time, as some of you may know, my creative side gets the better of me and I'll belt out some work that may or may not be worth a crap. That being said, below is a picture I did of the famed character "Snake Eyes" (of G.I.Joe). He's a bad motherfucker and I think this picture captures just that. Enjoy!

Kill the Bitch

Match Point: movie review
Directed by: Woody Allen
Starring: Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Scarlett Johanssen, Emily Mortimer, Brian Cox

What, you don’t want to read my review of the new Woody Allen movie? Why not? You don’t like Woody Allen movies? Hmm. Well, neither do I. Except this one. So quit bein' choosy and read on you freakin' brat.

Truth be told, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen a Woody Allen movie for the very reason that it IS a Woody Allen movie. They all seem rather wordy and boring and pretentious, but I couldn’t say that unequivocally because I simply don’t know.

However, when it comes to Match Point, I do know. When I saw the trailer for this movie I thought it looked like a good “Fatal Attraction-like” thriller. Then, I saw Woody Allen’s name on it and was taken aback. It did not look like his normal coffee table dogshit. It actually looked interesting.

And it has cheating.

My wife and I, or rather, my wife, like the cheating movies. Infidelity is inherently interesting and sparks those feelings that regularly pulse through your brain when you’re attached to someone in a monogamous relationship. It’s great to watch the events unfold onscreen and, hopefully, not be able to relate to them in any type of nostalgic way.

And it’s good to look over at your significant other and put them in the situation of the characters onscreen.

“I swear, if you ever did that I’d…”
a) Cut your dick off
b) Blow your brains out
c) Take everything you have and leave
d) Kill your whole family
e) Burn your action figure collection

Anyways, Match Point involves an Irish Tennis Pro (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) who moves to England and meets some well-to-do folks at the Tennis Club he is teaching at and is quickly involved in their circle of life. He meets a woman (Emily Mortimer) and falls in love. Mortimer’s brother is engaged to the striking, American beauty Scarlett Johanssen, playing a struggling actress/sultry seductress. The Tennis Pro is instantly smitten, but still deeply cares for Mortimer.

Rhys-Meyers is dedicated to seeing Johanssen in every way he can. He is a sneaky little snake throughout the entire film and does everything he can to cover and slither his way through life, while manipulating everyone around him with every twist and turn of emotion and wording he can get through. And the truly interesting aspect of it is that he does all this without being utterly nasty about it. You actually kind of like the guy and want him to do well.

Eventually he marries Mortimer after Johanssen and the now-brother-in-law split. He starts to move on, but as fate would have it, he sees Johanssen again and simply can’t help himself. The pursuit is on again.

From this point on the affair is in full swing and it’s great to watch Rhys-Meyers snake his way through every situation and close call of being caught in the act. He handles it remarkably well and even though suspicions arise, no one truly believes that he is actually up to no good.

As with marriage, comes the pressure of squirting out a kid, and so Mortimer puts the squeeze on Rhys-Meyers for a rugrat. They try, but obviously all the good baby batter is being wasted on Johanssen, so…

…You guessed it, Johanssen gets knocked up first. BAM! Now, Rhys-Meyers is truly fucked and Johanssen’s sultry seductress becomes a raving psychopath that wants her Irish Tennis Pro all to herself and to raise her bun in the oven together and to once and for all leave his wife.

Rhys-Meyers, obviously in what some would call a “pickle,” decides there’s only one thing he can do…

Kill the Bitch.

I audibly laughed in the theater when he goes to get his father-in-law’s shotgun and plans out the crime, clumsy as it may have been. Here is a man that has shown absolutely that he has a conniving will and the cunning of a fox that would allow him to commit such an act and yet you somehow don’t want him to do it. You feel that there is something that would make him change his mind.

SPOILER

He kills the bitch. Blows her away. He kills the neighbor as well, robbing her to make it look like a botched robbery. Everything seems to have fallen into place.

He returns home and settles back in like nothing ever happened. He tosses the jewelry that he robbed from the neighbor and tosses it into a river, a single ring bouncing off the railing and falling back to the ground. This is to signify the “match point” that is associated with Tennis, where you can either win or lose the game with that one shot.

We are led to believe that the ring will cause him to “lose” the match. However, it turns out that it actually saves him.

After he kills Johannsen I actually wanted him to get caught and go to jail. But then, I thought about it some more and as the movie progressed to its conclusion and kept pulling the audience in either direction, I wanted him to get away with it.

The police get involved and one of the detectives figures the whole crime out in his head down to the intricate details. I figure that Rhys-Meyers is done. But no. The ring. The match point ring was picked up by some other criminal who was killed in another robbery, thereby linking him to the two deaths that Rhys-Meyers actually caused.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he gets away with it. I felt a pang of victory, although I don’t know why. Perhaps, because too many times we’ve seen the same movie where the husband or wife is punished and sent to prison and will feel sorrowful and repent his sins and that’s life.

Match Point gives us another take and it’s refreshing. It also gives me hope. Why you ask? Well, now I feel that I can have an affair and get away with it. Yep. That’s right.

So, if there are any women out there that want to have an affair with me, its game time, baby. It will be sweet, passionate, hot, dirty, and ultra-secretive. But…and this is a big but…

…If your ass gets knocked up and you go all psycho on me…

…I’m fuckin’ killin’ your ass with a shotgun…

Movie Grade: A

Where the fuck have I been??

I’ve gotten, like…two complaints that I haven’t updated my blogsite in a long while. I don’t want to be one to disappoint my fans, so I’ll give a brief update and hopefully crank out some ramblings over the weekend.

So, no I haven’t been kidnapped, had an operation, gone to a school, or began protesting with Cindy fucking Sheehan. I’ve just been…busy.





I promise to only spend one paragraph on the boredom that is my current state of transition in the Army (boring because it would take too long to explain everything, including the acronyms…I’d basically have to send you to boot camp and smoke your ass).

Fuck. Okay, two paragraphs. But, that’s it.

I have been in the same Company and Platoon since I arrived at Fort Richardson in 2002 and was offered the opportunity to “switch it up” and I took it. I am now part of a super secret squirrel outfit that is body guarding the CSM (Command Sergeant Major) and BC (Battalion Commander…I tell you these so that you’ll remember and I’ll never have to tell you again…take notes.)

Fuck. Seriously, three paragraphs and I’m done with the Army shit.

Yes, bodyguard. However, this allows me to do some bad ass training that I wouldn’t otherwise get (driving school, sigarms [fuck you, I’m not explaining…google it], blackhawk handgun school, submarine sabotage, experimental super soldier serum drug enhancements, penis enlargement (intimidation of the enemy), and razor-edged boomerang throwing school (take off an Insurgents head “Aussie-style”).

May as well go for four. You two deserve an explanation.

So, now I am in a super-secret organization and have a lot of pressure to perform at the top of my game, which is the reason for my absence (coupled with some bullshit field problems). We do PT (physical training…do I really have to tell you this?) twice a day and it’s pretty hardcore and grueling. We have to maintain a certain average that is not the norm for the majority of infantry soldiers. We have to jump through walls and shoot lasers out of our eyes, too.

I like odd numbers. Let’s keep it going. I like where I’m headed, even though I don’t know where that is. It just feels good and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight and do the Macarena.

Big changes for me and I’m all for it. Before I came into the Army I worked out six days a week with martial arts on Saturday. I was lookin’ and feelin’ pretty good and lived under the notion that joining the Army would make me look like Ryan Reynolds (more on him later).

The recruiters duped me. I should’ve known, watching them dunk doughnuts into their coffee as they told me how cool the Army was, that my physical transformation would be born of a whole different animal.

Upon arriving to Fort Rich I was thrown into a bit of a depression, seeing as I had no idea what to expect and didn’t like what I came to know as the Army way of life.

However, over time (and multiple deployments) I have begun to get myself back to where I want to be and this new job will allow me to leap forward to my goals and beat the shit out of Ryan Reynolds with a flick of my eyelashes.

Anyways, this has also caused me to change my diet immensely and man o man do I miss the carbs! Anyone who knows me well knows that I love doughnuts more than Keira Knightley in white silk panties and spiked on Ecstasy. Keira or toasted coconut doughnut? (it’s not donut you bastards! Stop butchering my language!), Keira or toasted coconut doughnut?…Keira feeding me a toasted coconut doughnut while in white silk panties and spiked on ecstasy AND the new episode of 24 playing in the background.

Whoa.

One thing of note; Could Hershey’s have picked a worse time to release the candy-coated kisses AND the peanut butter-filled kisses? Don’t they know what I’m going through? Those insensitive motherfuckers! I’m trying to think green and organic and they’re tossing the wonderful world of processed carbs with the pure beauty of chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate…

Where was I?

Right. Fuck Hershey’s. And Ryan Reynolds. Don’t get me wrong, I really like Ryan Reynolds. He’s funny and a good actor to boot and has a great penchant for action roles. I look forward to seeing where his career goes. But, much like women hating Lindsey Lohan and Jessica Simpson for setting a body image bar that far surpasses that of a large majority of women, Ryan Reynolds does the same to us guys.

Girls dream of the six pack and sweet pecs and bulging biceps all in a nice, cut frame (is this how gay guys describe men? Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have seen Brokeback Mountain). Men dream of…well, there’s no mystery there. We like chicks. With boobs. And a nice booty. And doughnuts. Oh, and a great personality.

Anyways, as America grows larger, which is in my view the natural course of things as body types have changed over the ages and always will, the struggle to become or maintain that perfect Adonis figure has become a nearly unattainable goal. However, I am of the belief that you can accomplish anything with dedication, will, and good old-fashioned hard work. And liposuction.

And so it is, that I am challenging Ryan Reynolds to a graphic design competition. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’ll whomp his ASS!! Take that Ab-ripped fuck face Van fucking Wilder! Yeah, watch me control the mouse, oh yeah…oh snap! Did you see that? Uh huh, you know it, Photoshop just done whupped up your chiseled ass!

What else did I want to talk about? Oh yeah…Superman. Since I began watching “Smallville” on DVD (19.95 everywhere during Christmas for all seasons…nice) I’ve kind of become “Smallville” obsessed and with the new Superman movie coming out this summer I’m even more jazzed (hey, let’s start using jazzed again…make it happen people).

Anyways, “Smallville” is laced with a nice layer of cheese but packed to the max with Superman mythology that most of the teenage girls that masturbate to Tom Welling don’t get because they’re too busy gossiping about the 90210 melodrama. Well, this cat is well known as a “comic book nerd” or “fanboy” and I get worked up on the same level over the comic book melodrama. So, we’re even I guess.

Oh, and fuck Tom Welling! He’s just like Ryan Reynolds! I wish NASA would invite them on a shuttle cruise and send those bitches into orbit somewhere along the Milky Way so we can all get fat and get a McDonalds IV that just pumps pureed Double Quarter Pounders into our bloodstream while we play video games and masturbate to internet porn AND NOT FEEL GUILTY AT ALL!!

Okay, all joking aside, Tom Welling is pretty cool. For those of you that don’t watch “Smallville” I’ll include a copyrighted picture so that Warner Brothers can sue me for my action figure collection and you can see who the fuck I’m talking about. I’m not gonna go into a rant about “Smallville” but it is a really fun show. I highly recommend it.

Also, if you’re not watching “24” then you’re not allowed to read my blog anymore. Seriously. Yes, you. Get out. Now. Go catch up then you can come back. For real. I’m not fuckin’ around. I’m not gonna explain my Jack Bauer references to those of you out of the loop. It is still the best fucking show on television and, YES, I do have to say fuck a lot because nothing drives the point home like a good “fuck.”

In other news, I’ve decided to never masturbate again.

Okay, enough with my “Dave Chapelle moments.” I’m not crazy. I just wanted to see if you were still paying attention.

All right, so onwards to my wrap up (yes, it has to end sometime). I saw some movies but they aren’t really worth reviews. Underworld: Evolution…more of the same but not enough. I can’t even remember the other one I saw, so it must have sucked like a Hoover with a full bag.

I’m going to see “Match Point” this weekend because the wife and me like movies about cheating. I may audiotape the conversation on the ride home and translate it to my blog for your enjoyment (how many of you are left? I need a headcount…and no that has nothing to do with blowjobs).

That’s it. My world keeps turning and I haven’t gone missing “Chapelle-style” nor have I turned my back on my expansive fan base. I’m still in love with you all and hope you keep coming back for more of my guiding wisdom, insight, and offensive humor.


And I’ll say “fuck” as much as possible.


Oh, you should watch this fucking trailer. You’ll laugh. Maybe pee a little.

http://www.aintitcool.com/Nacho_large_vid.html

The Cowboy Cabaret

Brokeback Mountain
Directed by: Ang Lee (The Ice Storm, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Hulk)
Starring: Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhal, Michelle Williams, Anne Hathaway


It seems that every year that I watch the Oscars I am completely baffled by the selections for best picture, most notably because I haven’t seen half of them or simply don’t see eye to eye as to what Hollywood feels were its best films of the year. I usually catch these movies on DVD and from time to time I’m pleasantly surprised to see that the film(s) isn’t a pile of dogshit.

So, given the critical acclaim and golden-statue worthy recognition along with its controversial subject matter, I took a trip to “Brokeback Mountain.” And now I’m gay.

Just kidding.

I laughed aloud at the promo trailers for “Mountain” and had a morbid curiosity to see the movie for its Mystery Science Theater 3,000 qualities. I never thought I’d actually see it in theaters and had a good time making fun of people that said or thought they might.

Now, the jokes on me.

Most people are aware that I am a Christian Conservative, or a Bush-lovin’ war mongerer, however that doesn’t prohibit me from opening myself up to just about any and all kinds of movies. I must admit, at first, this movie did not appeal to me, with the exception of a possibly hilarious movie a la “The Other Sister.”

So, you just want to know if it’s any good, right? Is there any butt sex or blowjobs?

Well, allow me to calm your nerves. Yes and sorta.

“Brokeback Mountain” is surprisingly good, very well directed, exceptionally acted, and subtly well written.

The story focuses on two drifter cowboys who meet on a job herding and protecting sheep on Brokeback Mountain. Neither of them are flaming homosexuals belting out Wizard of Oz tunes or talking about their love of everything Cabaret. They both come off as simple ole’ boys trying to make a living with a poor education and western-style values.

The problem arises when they both fall in love for one another. It’s a deep, secret love and one that neither of them has a good grasp or understanding of. It simply is and they have no idea how to handle it.

Now, I have to clarify my standing on the whole “gay” thing. I don’t pretend to have the answers on why people are “gay.” I don’t know for a fact if they’re born gay or if they grow into it or simply choose it as their lifestyle. I honestly don’t give it enough thought.

I do believe that it exists, obviously, and has existed since the dawn of time. For whatever reason. I’m not God (or Darwin for those of you so inclined – Monkeys building rockets…oh my!)

I am not gay. Yep, big surprise. I don’t hold a grudge against anyone that is. I’m not a fan of the flaming gay types and not because they’re gay…it’s because they’re fucking annoying. I’m not PC either. I don’t feel right about gay people getting married. That’s me. Love it or hate it.

Anyways, that’s getting off the topic. Just wanted you to have a warm and fuzzy on where I stand on the issue as it relates to the review of the film.

Now, when the first “love” scene took place, I was, in fact, jabbing my wife and giggling like a ten year old that just saw boobs for the first time. Since I’m not gay and have not experienced the act of “gay love” I am rather uncomfortable and put off by it. I wasn’t quite sure of the characters motives but plead ignorance in the face of gay sexual attraction. I have no grasp on it.

Fortunately, like the first time you watch a Sex Ed video, it happens quickly and the film moves on and you’re able to settle into the story and not focus on Jarhead and Casanova having man-sex.

Heath Ledger is really great as Ennis Del Mar, a drifter with traditional values in his head and very non-traditional desires in his heart. Ennis (or Casanova), after the job on Brokeback is over, marries Michelle Williams and goes on to father two daughters and live an otherwise “normal” life.

Jack (or Jarhead), played by Jake Gyllenhal, goes on to be a bull rider and ends up meeting and porking Anne Hathaway (Ms. Princess Diary) and fathers a child of his own, later becoming a farming equipment salesman.

All seems to be taking its course, but the two men can’t stop thinking of each other and one day Casanova receives a postcard from Jarhead and they meet up. Unfortunately, their passion ignites instantly and Michelle Williams catches them making out and lives with this throughout her marriage and subsequent divorce.

Casanova and Jarhead head out to Brokeback Mountain on “fishing trips” and build their relationship over time, all the while leading their double life as a good father and husband. This part of the story I found troubling, due mostly to the fact that they would even try to have a normal life, but looking at the time that the story takes place (1960’s and beyond) the U.S. was in a turbulent time. Civil rights movement, Vietnam, Burning Bras, Free love, Tie Dye, etc., etc. I don’t think the country was ready for the next sexual revolution involving gay rights.

Anyways, Jarhead wants to run away and start a ranch with Casanova, but Casanova believes that their love is completely forbidden and should be kept secret for fear of persecution and death, having seen the results of a man that had outed himself when Casanova was a child, the man beaten, dick torn off and left for dead in the desert.

It leaves him the message that basically says, “Don’t be gay…or you’ll be killed.”

So, Casanova continues to try and be “normal,” meeting women and carrying on, never having any kind of sexual relationship with any other man except Jarhead, who wants nothing more than to run away with Casanova.

It’s really just a love story in the same vein we’ve seen again and again. It’s Romeo and Romeo. In the end, the parts that I giggled so much over while watching the trailer were actually very emotional in the film.

The film is long and it tracks a long time span of more than 20 years, which surprised me and actually gave the film a lot more depth than just being about two guys fucking on a mountain.

We watch these men grow and change and struggle with their everyday lives as well as trying to maintain this love that is kept secret.

Now, don’t go thinking I’m all pro-gay and that I’m putting a rainbow sticker on my truck and buying tickets to a Streisand concert. I still maintain my personal beliefs and feelings on the issue, most of which were stated above. However, despite my lack of understanding or complete acceptance of the gay lifestyle, I still found “Brokeback Mountain” to be one of the most engaging, thought-provoking, emotional, and resonating films out this year.

I think that there will be a lot of people that simply will not see this film based on their personal or religious beliefs and that’s fine. Everyone has the right to disagree or choose not to support any film out there. Now, why they’re not boycotting shit like “Big Momma’s House 2” instead of “Brokeback Mountain” I’ll never know.

By conventions, I never should have seen this film. However, I’m glad I did. And when the worthless Hollywood self-congratulating Golden statues are tossed around in March, I won’t swear at the TV and wish for Hollywood to burn to the ground if “Brokeback Mountain” takes home some awards.

This is a great movie to see and debate about when it’s over or simply just to enjoy and discuss. There’s a lot going on and I’m sure there will be a divide in audiences.

Also, for the hetero-crowd, we are treated to both Anne Hathaway’s and Michelle William’s bare breasts.

It’s at least a lose-win situation for everyone involved.

Movie Grade: A

Blood and European STD chicks

Hostel
Directed by: Eli Roth (Cabin Fever)
Starring: Jay Hernandez and a bunch of stinky European whores.


Hostel is the sophomore effort from Eli Roth, whose first entry was the bloody cult hit “Cabin Fever.” While not a big fan of “Cabin Fever,” I did recognize the talent involved. Roth had an eye for gore, cinematic manipulation, and a feel for the B-movie creepiness that is nearly gone today.

With “Hostel,” Roth is able to further explore his gory B-moviedom with glee. A very mildly budgeted film, Roth makes the most of the material, cast, crew, and locations.

The story centers on three men backpacking through Europe looking to fuck as many women as possible in as many places as possible. And maybe go to a museum. The trio is led by Jay Hernandez, who you may remember as the guy that was fucking Kirsten Dunst in the uber-turd “Crazy/Beautiful.”

Hernandez is your typical frat-boy male, full of testosterone and arrogance, while his best friend is a repressed writer. Their third friend is an Icelandic man named Olie who says “Of Course, my Horse” a lot.

There’s a lot of set-up as we get to see these guy’s misadventures in getting prostitutes, getting kicked out of clubs and drinking themselves stupid. Your typical Eurotrip.

Then, they run into a creepy guy named Alex, who shows them pictures of lots of hot, naked European sluts and tells the men where to go to find a bevy of women just like that. The boys eat it up and take the first train out.

The train takes them to a Slovakian country (the real name escapes me) and they head to the local Hostel (in case you don’t know, hostel is the same as a hotel in Europe…stupid.)

Anyways, the poor boys are forced to stay in a room with, yup, you guessed it, two hot European sluts. The sluts invite the boys down to the spa and they follow. We are treated to lots of nudity, but nothing shocking.

The two European sluts are hot in that heavy make up, Russian accent, twigged bodied kind of way. To me, they seem to ooze the word STD. If I were single and in Europe and on a backpacking trip (fuck it, while we’re creating what ifs, I also have super powers and ten million dollars in my left pocket) I’d probably wear at least three condoms and pour alcohol and hydrogen peroxide on the bumping uglies, just to be safe.

Then, I’d burn the bed.

Anyways, the boys get lucky and pork the Euro-sluts. It’s a great night of drunken debauchery. Then, the next morning their buddy Ollie is missing and they look around for him. No dice.

They start to feel weird about it and decide to take off. Enough is enough. But, the allure of the Euro-sluts drags them back in and they give it one more night. This time the wussy-writer passes out and awakens in a dungeon-like room, filled with all types of sharp tools and power tools.

Obviously, he’s fucking scared.


Then a man enters the room, wearing a rubber suit and gloves and SARS mask. He approaches and is revealed to be a man from the train the boys rode in on. The wussy-writer pleads for his life but is instead tortured, cut, drilled, etc. He’s toyed with and then finally killed.

There, I ruined the movie for ya.

Anyways, Hernandez wakes up the next day and can’t find his pal so he goes searching. He finds the Euro-sluts in a bar and questions them. They’re different this time, no make up, pimples exposed, eyes dead. They look like dried up prostitutes that are in need of a fix.

Hernandez demands to know where his friends are and one of the sluts tells him she’ll show him. Hernandez rides in the car with her and they head to a big, abandoned industrial complex. The Euro-slut escorts him in and leads him down a darkened hallway.

Apprehensive, Hernandez follows and walks by a series of rooms, each one containing a man torturing someone in some very creative way. Obviously he freaks and is suddenly grabbed and taken into a room to be tortured himself.

Now, I’d ruin the whole thing if I told you what happened from here, but rest assured it’s one of the best “revenge” plots to come around in a while. The audience was cheering and laughing with each little incident from this point to the end, all of which wrapped the movie up in a nice little package.

“Hostel” is a nicely crafted B-movie, done with style, wit, and a sharp eye towards the great movie horror tricks. Roth is a true talent and I look forward to seeing what he has to offer up in the future. With a $20 million opening weekend a “Hostel 2” is already in the cards and that’s good. It’s nice to see a filmmaker work with a small budget and put some heart and creativity into his work, rather than take a huge chunk of change to make some paint-by-numbers summer tent pole flick.

The gore is pretty good, but not above and beyond. Perhaps I am desensitized to gore, having seen way too much of the real deal to ever make a comparison, but the gore here is good, not great. It’s enjoyable enough to fit the film and I’m sure that’s enough for most people.

Movie Grade: B+

Stirring the Controversy bowl

Well, I wouldn't call this controversial personally, but there's plenty of cotton-headed ninnymuggins that will. For those not quite in the know, Hollywood is churning out at least two new films this year about 9/11. It looks like the first to hit will be Flight 93, the plane that was taken down in Pennsylvania.

The filmmakers have taken some dramatic license as nobody on God's Green Earth truly know what happened, but with the flight recorder, transmissions, and phone calls made from the plane a good chunk of what happened can be pieced together.

I guess I could be somewhat offended by the material if a family member were on that flight, but in my personal view I know I would want the story to be told, ESPECIALLY if I had a family member on the flight.

We'll see how it goes. I'm guessing people will flock to these films and I am in full support of 9/11 films being produced, as long as they're done with respect to families involved and told with truth and passion. I have little doubt that filmmakers will be very sensitive to the material and they should, but I don't think that we should shy away from such a huge historical event being translated to the masses.

There are a multitude of stories out there from that day and there's no way that all of them can be told, but I will say this: I'd much rather see a film about 9/11 than another Deuce Bigelow movie.

Anyways, here's the link to the trailer. You'll need quicktime to view it. If you don't have quicktime then what is the deal? Is your computer still running in DOS mode? Get with it!

http://www.apple.com/trailers/universal/flight93/

My Fair Christmas

Well, Christmas has come and gone and it always seems like so much build up and then a quick and fast release then it's back to normal again. Just like that time with the Korean prostitute I picked up in Spenard.

Anyways, I had a grand Christmas and recieved many a gift that was unexpected and undeserving. Not that I've been naughty all year, but certainly not nice. I was surely on Santa's "purgatory" list.

With that being said, here are my top three favorite gifts of Christmas. These gifts were all a complete surprise and brought such a look of puzzlement upon my face that not even a mouse could decipher. Sorry. You didn't really think I was gonna make a whole freakin' poem about Christmas did you? Come on. Really.

Gift no. 1
"Uncle Buck" DVD

Yep. Good ol' Uncle Buck. Now, you know that this had to be a surprise. I mean, seriously, how many people actually ask for "Uncle Buck" for Christmas?









"What do you want for Christmas this year, honey?"
"Hmmm. Well, there's that Korean prostitute in Spenard. A Ferrari. X-box 360. Oh, and Uncle Buck on DVD. I freakin' love that movie!"

Now, I saw "Uncle Buck" in the theaters when it first came out and remember being moderately satisfied if not overly satisfied. It seems that, as a kid, we tend to give movies way too much credit and upon viewing them in adulthood find that these childhood favorites are pretty fuckin' awful.

Anyways, "Buck" isn't awful or great. It does feature John Candy, who was inarguably a great comedian, playing the similar role of an obnoxious fish-out-of-water character who vacuums Frosted Flakes off his shirt. Then there's the sneak preview of the little ball of joy known as McCauley Culkin, who gives us a little tease of his "Home Alone" cuteness. Just enough to want to strangle him.

Then, of course there's the message of teen sex, which says...well, I don't really know what it says. I guess it says you should wait...at least until your overbearing Uncle Buck heads out of town and then start becoming a promiscuous whore. Yeah, that was it.

Gift no. 2
Harmonica

Oh, you bet your ass it's real. I'm sure the elves worked extra hard on this bad boy, because it's relatively easy to play. Even so, I still suck and even though it came with an instruction manual, I think I'm gonna learn Eddie Van Halen-style and just practice til my lips bleed (why is it we must always practice til we bleed? Is that really the sign that you've worked hard? Maybe it's the sign that you're too dumb to know when to stop for the day)

I don't know how Santa knew I wanted this because, well, I didn't know I wanted it. But sure as shit, there it is, under the tree and now in my hands. It's great for scaring the dogs and playing at top volume while your wife is trying to sleep, but it's gonna take some time for me to get it right. Once I get one of those hook-up deals that connects it to your mouth I'm gonna go play in the neighborhood, right next to the kids selling lemonade. Who would pass by a lemonade stand with a guy playing a harmonica?

Uh-huh. That's right, get out your dollarbills 'cause Papa Harmonica is comin' to town. (please note, I do not know what the fuck I'm talking about here.)

Gift no. 3
1-2-3 Art Set

Okay, yes, I am an artist. Some don't know that. I draw all kinds of shit, mostly comic book-style. I am definately an above average talent in that venue, but everyone has their opinion. Now, we all get gifts from well-meaning and thoughtful people who may not have all the details about us before they throw down their hard-earned cash.

Such is the case here. A generous and thoughtful gift to be sure. However, it is a surprise as I haven't done color work that wasn't through a computer in a loooong time. Now, perhaps this could spark a new shot of inspiration into me. Who knows. I'll stare at it for a while and see what happens. I may stare at it so long that I end up walking next door and giving it to the neighbor kids.

Anyways, with 44 jumbo oil pastels, 36 color pencils, 24 watercolor cakes(?), 12 6cc watercolors, 1 HB drawing pencil, 2 2B drawing pencils, 1 paint brushes, 1 eraser, and 1 sharpener, I could certainly paint the fuck out of some caves. God bless Mrs. Claus for sending this along, but it is a head-scratcher. Yes, I realize that children in Afghanistan would love such a gift, but you forgot one thing. They don't celebrate Christmas, so too fucking bad for them. I gave them a shitload of fruit roll ups when I was there so screw off, I'm goin' to Heaven, okay?

So, with these three gifts I am armed to have a successful 2006. I am unstoppable. I am the harmonica wielding artist who travels from town to town in order to spread the message of Uncle Buck while painting pictures of my journey in caves and helping neighborhood children sell lemonade.

If you'd like to join in my quest, please bring your three best Christmas gifts and a good pair of walking shoes and your $2,000 membership fee to my house and leave it at the door. I will shoot off some fireworks nearby to let you know when we begin.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I Love Beavers

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe









Directed by: Andrew Adamson (Shrek)
Based on the book by: C.S. Lewis
Starring: A bunch of British people and Liam Neeson's voice.

Beavers are soft. Beavers are cuddly. Beavers are wet. Beavers are hairy. Beavers are a little smelly. And yes, some Beavers talk, as is the case in “The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe” (phew!).

There are many talking animals in “The Chronicles of Narnia” and they’ve all got something important to say, mostly about the four British brats that stumble into their magical land of Narnia and are prophesized to save it.

We meet these little “Britbrats” as they flee their native England in order to escape Nazi bombings and to remain safe in the countryside. There are four kids, two boys, two girls, all within the age range of 8-15 and all with British twang.

A game of hide-and-seek reveals the wardrobe where the youngest girl Lucy hides and crosses over into the world of Narnia. She meets a goat/man named Tumus (or some shit like that) and they have tea and watch the fire and…

…Right. Boring. All right. So, the little brat goes back and tells her brothers and sisters and they don’t believe her but find their way into the wardrobe anyways and end up all going to Narnia. Of course the youngest boy, Edmond, follows the white queen for some Turkish delight (I’m not fucking with you).

The other three set off to find their brother, led by the aforementioned Beavers, who take the Britbrats to Aslan’s Camp. Aslan is this big fucking Lion that talks like Liam Neeson and growls so loud that little kids in the theater started crying. Pussies.

Anyways, on the way to see Aslan, the Britbrats run into Santa Claus and-

-What? You don’t believe me? Dude…

…So they run into Santa (a.k.a. Father Christmas) who gives them a bunch of weaponry which none of them know how to use, but hey, it’s Christmas and I’m sure that even Ralphie learned how to shoot that fucking Red Rider BB gun like the chicken hawk he aspired to be.

I don’t know what the fuck a chicken hawk is, but whatever.

So, the white queen, played by Tilda Swinton, who is probably best recognized as the crazy bitch that fucked Leo DiCaprio in “The Beach,” is pretty evil, but we don’t know why. In fact, we learn nothing about her, except that the bitch likes ice a lot and somehow has powers to turn creatures into frozen statues.

For some reason, this chick has frozen all of Narnia for more than one hundred years and it’s been winter ever since. Supposedly this has stopped Christmas from coming, but I don’t get that, because, shit, who doesn’t want a white Christmas? No excuse. Maybe the white queen blocks trade routes and taxes the hell out of elves and, oh hell, who cares, it’s a fantasy movie right?

Check.

Okay, so, the Britbrats are hunted by this pack of wolves commanded by the white queen (or is it Ice Queen, fuck, I can’t remember). The lead wolf sounds like Michael Madsen, y’know Mr. Blonde from “Reservoir Dogs,” but I read in the credits it was some other dude. Whatever.

All right, so the oldest boy kills that motherfucker and they knight him for it. Too bad he doesn’t live in Alaska and shoot rifles from airplanes. (*This joke meant for Alaskans only*)

So, Liam “Aslan the Lion” Neeson heads out to be sacrificed in place of young Edmond who was rescued from the clutches of the White Queen (fuck it. That’s what I’m callin’ her). This is some freakin’ Narnia tradition. It’s rather illogical but that’s the way it was.

So, Aslan is sacrificed on “the stone table” and dies. The two girl Britbrats watch and then go to the dead lion. They send a message back to Aslan’s camp through the trees (…nevermind) and the two male Britbrats form up their Army of Rhino’s, goatmen, eagles, beavers, cheetahs, and Zuckerman’s famous pig and get ready for battle.

Meanwhile, the two female Britbrats…sleep. Yeah, they take a little nap on the dead lion. The youngest chick has a bottle of magic stuff that can heal any wound and she’s about to pour it on the Lion to bring him back, but the other bitch stops her. Now…why?

I mean, why not give it a shot anyway? I would. Doesn’t that seem like something that a logical person would do?

“It’s too late. Your magic shit won’t work.”
“How the fuck do you know?”
“I just know.”
“Have you ever used this stuff before?”
“Well, no. But he’s dead. It’s too late.”
“Well, it won’t hurt to try at least. Who knows what could happen?”
“Honey, that will lead people out of the magical world.”
“What magical world?”
“We’re in Narnia. It’s a fantasy movie. We just follow the script.”
“Oh. Oh, right. Yeah. Fuck it, yeah, this shit totally won’t work. I’ll just put it away and we can get back to nappin’ on this dead lion’s corpse.”
“That’s a good sis.”

Okay, you got the point. And I’m totally nit picking, but that’s how I roll. So, the big battle comes and it’s pretty cool, but a little too PG. I realize it’s a kid’s movie and based on a kids book. I don’t care. It was as if a zoo was split in half and one side pitted against the other and they all met on a field and charged right into each other. Now, that would be a cool fucking movie!
So, there’s lots of slashing, hitting, crunching, and swordplay to make the little kids go wee wee in their diapers and the adults to nod in admiration. The White Queen gets out of her polar bear led chariot and fights the oldest male Britbrat. The fight would have been cooler if the kid was a little more versed in his choreography. The White Queen fought like Yen Woo Ping choreographed her, but this kid fought like he was swinging a baseball bat.

Yeah, yeah, fuck off, I realize he just got the sword from Santa, but I’m already suspending disbelief enough that I could surely stretch it further to believe that this kid could swing a sword better than a Granny with a cane fighting off a mugger.

So, they save the day and Narnia has sunshine again and they all become kings and queens of Narnia and we’ve all had a nice little time.

Now, I’m being totally cynical here and that’s just for fun. Narnia is a pretty good flick and I do nitpick, but hey, that’s my job. I never read any of the books by C.S. Lewis and do respect him as a writer. However, I do think a little more development was needed as far as history, motive, and origin to many of the characters.

This is like Low Fat Lord of the Rings. Similar taste, but something is definitely missing. I thought the animatronics and especially the make-up was awesome and wish to God that Hollywood would employ more of this than CGI. It truly makes a world of difference.

Anyways, a fun movie, enjoyable and easy, you won’t have to hurt your brain or google anything when you get home. You’re safe. Also, kudos to Harry Gregson-Williams who is fast becoming my favorite composer (all non-movie geeks may skip this part) Gregson-Williams continues to impress with every new score he does and with his triple play of “Kingdom of Heaven,” “Domino,” and “Narnia” he has done exceptionally well.

So, if you’re in the mood for wet, hairy, smelly Beaver and a sense of adventure and Lord of the Rings Light, then this movie is for you. It’s a good time.

Movie Grade: B+

Munich: movie review

Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Starring: Eric Bana, Daniel Craig, Ciaran Hinds,
Mathieu Kassovitz, Hanns Zischler

This is an important film. That’s the gist of it. This is not a film to be forgotten or left to rot on a DVD shelf. This is a film that should be shown in history classrooms and one that leaves a resounding effect long after the credits roll. It is a film, like many of Spielberg’s, which gives insight, depth, and understanding, even amidst all its confusion, to the realities of its subject matter: terrorism and the reaction to it. Unlike the other politically charged thriller this year (Syriana), “Munich” is accessible and open to audiences, almost inviting. This is a film that begs to be seen and understood.

Obviously, the film parallels very similarly to the current state of many countries, including the U.S., which have suffered terrorist attacks. However, most educated people will realize that these terrorist attacks have been going on for a long time and they haven’t stopped. We simply haven’t cared to give them a second look. That is, until September 11th.

“Munich” retells the story of an arab terrorist group called "Black September" (believed to be members of PLO) holding a team of Israeli athletes hostage at the 1972 Olympics in Munich, Germany, and then takes you on a roller coaster ride through the reaction to that event. While trying to flee at the airport, the hostage situation goes awry and the Israeli athletes are murdered and all but three of the terrorists are killed.

The reaction is quick, although tensions have been high for years. The prime minister decides that action must be taken in order to uphold the rules of humanity, whether they are from one country to another or one person to another.

Enlisting the help of a former Mossad bodyguard named Avner (Eric Bana), the Prime Minister sets out a plan of action to kill every person involved in the murder at Munich.

Avner, the son of a former Mossad hero, is chosen for his anonymity and lack of deep involvement in assassination, the reasoning being that it will be easier for him to work in the shadows. The only problem I had with the entire film is the reasons behind Avner’s decision to take the job. If it was a sense of duty and country, fine, but it’s never truly stated or understood. Avner simply takes the job because he seems haunted by the events at Munich.

Avner is told he could be gone for years while trying to track down and kill every person involved in Munich. At home, Avner has a pregnant wife and an easy life, but for whatever reason, decides this is something he must do.

From here, Avner meets with his teammates, a group of four men all played splendidly by each actor, and they set out to put their plans in motion. It turns out that none of them are specifically crafted assassins, but rather “roundabout” assassins, each having just enough skill and trade to make it happen.

From their first mission, Spielberg lets us know he’s in serious mode and it’s fitting. I am amazed at Spielberg and always have been. Not every one of his movies is great and powerful, but he always holds strongly to his message and portrays it perfectly with the medium he is working in. Spielberg is truly a master of cinema and he once again lives up to that with “Munich.”

Every shot is crafted beautifully with so much depth and detail that you really feel that the film was shot in the 70’s. What amazes me further is how fast Spielberg shot this film (somewhere around three months) and how brilliant it turned out. The speed at which this man works is phenomenal given the results he gets.

Everything Spielberg does with “Munich” feels intentional and that every frame is crafted for us, not catered or watered down. This is where “Munich” succeeds without question. It is a cinematic masterpiece to be sure.

“Munich” is based on the book “Vengeance” by George Jonas and was written for the screen by Tony Kushner (Angels in America) and Eric Roth (The Insider), both of who have fleshed out the depth in each character extremely well. We feel for these guys as they go through each assassination. The toll it takes is brutal and when they start to question what they’re doing you start to question yourself.

Taking dramatic license, Spielberg takes us into thriller-mode and I can’t think of any other time I’ve seen Spielberg venture down this path, unless you count “Minority Report.” I hate to use clichés, but nail-biting suspense comes to mind while watching “Munich.” I found my heart racing throughout the film, feeling each moment as it passed with full magnitude.

The questions asked in the film are obvious and relevant. At what price revenge? At what cost? Ultimately, there are no easy answers. Every time the agents kill a terrorist another takes his place and they are left to wonder if they’ve made any difference at all. It is very close to what has happened to the United States recently and begs to ask the tough questions.

The last scene of “Munich” takes place in New York and the parting shot leaves us a view of the World Trade Center towers, still standing, untouched, like a premonition hanging in the skyline of the terrorism to come.

So, they ask the questions…is it worth it? I think the real question is: how long do you wait before it is time to take action? I know a lot of people out there think that diplomacy will work with terrorists. They’re morons. Terrorists will take and take and take. They do not want diplomacy. They want their way or they will kill to have it. There is no compromise.

People seem to forget that once you give a bully his way he’ll keep coming back for it and he’ll take more every time until there’s nothing left. The only answer is to fight back or you leave yourself open for more attacks. Throughout “Munich” we see that each time the hit squad takes out a target, Israel is attacked in retaliation, creating a vicious cycle of never-ending violence, which continues to this day. The fight continues until someone gives. This is the nature of war. It is two opposing wills that will not budge.

As the violence continues many feel that there must be some way to make peace with terrorists, whether they be Al Qaeda or PLO. The truth is, these organization’s view of peace is a world without freedom, be that of religion or government. Their view of peace comes at the price of eradicating entire countries. If there is any dispute, it’s time to do some homework.

I’ve read a lot of people’s reactions to the end scene where Avner is having sex with his wife being intercut with the final slaughter of the Israeli athletes as being “off” or misunderstood. My view is that Avner, having finished his mission and returned home, caring only about his family, is haunted still by the incident and what he did to get vengeance for it.

In war, whether that be as an assassin or as a soldier, you do many things you may or may not be proud of and they can haunt you throughout your life. The problem with these “hauntings” is that they come to visit you when you’re most happy, most at peace, when you are at the pinnacle of greatness in your life. Watching your kid play soccer, having Thanksgiving dinner with your family, or yes, making love to your wife.

I think that most critics don’t understand this because they’ve never been in a position to understand it. The point could be raised that the screenwriter, Tony Kushner, has never been in a similar situation either. Point noted. However, when immersed in writing something, especially a historical film, you learn about your characters, their emotions, their thoughts, feelings, and pain. A critic sits down for 160 minutes and then types his thoughts for all to read. There is a huge gap there.

What I loved truly about “Munich” is that it does not try to preach any answers to us, but instead really gets the gears grinding for the receptive mind. It will make you think and hopefully make you care and maybe ask yourself some tough questions about the subject. Spielberg has painted a portrait of history that cannot go unnoticed.

This is stellar filmmaking, an unforgettable tale that resonates through our current state in the world and the battle we are in. There are no easy answers and plenty of tough questions. Films like these may turn the gears in future leader’s heads and possibly conjure up solutions to the forthcoming crisis’s and challenges of our world. The power of influence and thought combined can create something great and Spielberg has given us the tools to work with here.

One last note. If we're placing value on the Oscars and actually care what they vote as worthy of a golden statue then if Munich is snubbed they will get another stamp on their official paperwork that makes them morons. I am sure they'll ignore Eric Bana's terrific performance as well, which is well worth the recognition as he outperforms the majority of this years performances in so many other films.

Movie Grade: A+

The Chronic"what"cles of Narnia

I promise to have something up sometime today or tomorrow as I have some grand adventures coming up, namely a court appearance (she said she was 18 - and my wife carded her).

Anyways, I have a review for "Fun with Dick and Jane" and a Christmas Re-cap, but in the meantime, if you haven't seen it, click the link below to be transported into a world of magic. You'll need the macromedia flashplayer to view it, but honestly, if you don't have that then you must be using an old IBM dinosaur computer, so get with it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch.php?v=zLElfJ9YCh0

Why I Write

In the course of my life thus far there have been a few constants. One of those has been that I have always been a writer or felt the need to get the words, ideas, expressions, thoughts, and imaginings that rattle around in my brain down on paper.

Not to sound like a new age artist, but I have always felt the need to express myself. Perhaps it’s from my troubled childhood or deep suppression, but I have always had a fire that burned inside me to get it out. And that’s what I do.

A universal rule in writing is to write what you know. Yeah, you can make up entire worlds, scenarios, characters, whatever, but all of that must come from somewhere. It comes from your creative (subconscious) mind, the storehouse of everything you’ve soaked in your entire life. From that you can create anything you want, but it all comes from one place: your head.

That may sound obvious. Well, it should. From this literary rule I have formulated the basis for my writing. I write what I know. Everything I’ve ever written has been created out of true-life experiences and real people, twisted and churned into the story or world I’m trying to create. And it is so with every writer out there. We all draw from our personal lives to create our worlds.

What I have begun to discover is the consequences and hardships of such writing. Good writing involves drawing from key experiences and people in your life and putting it into words. The problem arises when those key people read your work. Depending on how personal, how honest, how realistic you portray these people you run the risk of offending them to a various degree.

Now, you could say that it would be better not to use people, not to use their likeness, and to create someone totally from scratch. And that is done. To an extent. The bottom line is that most great literary characters are based off of real people and then added or taken away from to create someone new.

Some people are flattered to be used, some offended. What I have learned is that this is the most difficult balance of all.

I have always been a seeker of truth. Call me idealistic, but the truth has always been a close friend of mine, even when I’ve lied. The truth is what we all seek. We all want to know what is really going on, what others really think, and why things are the way they are. We all want to know and it angers us to no end when we feel that the truth is being kept from us.

In writing I feel I can tell the truth absolutely. I can give a glimpse into the true workings of my mind, whether they’re right or wrong. At least they’re true. I am someone who always wants to know the deep, hard truths. I guess I just want to know everything. I can’t be God nor do I want his job, but to know, unequivocally, what people are really thinking, what is really going on in any given situation, what the real meaning is behind this or that, well, that is what drives me in life. That and a passion to create and to inspire. If I do nothing with my life I hope only to inspire as many people as possible to follow their own dreams, to create their own body of work and continue the trade as I have or simply to be fulfilled to some capacity and given a perspective on their own lives to drive them forward.

That is my hope. However, what I have found in life is that the truth, while it may set you free, can also lock you up. In drawing from my own personal life, experiences, situations and people, telling the truth about said things has gotten me in more personal dilemmas than I care to recount. And why? Because I told the truth.

So, why am I telling you this? Why should you care? Well, I’ll give you the match that sparked my current thought process. An Anonymous commenter left a comment to my “nice little Saturday” blog that said: “Your wife should leave you because all you talk about is other women in your blogs.”

Now, I don’t let things get under my skin, especially from cowardly people that don’t identify themselves or clarify their argument. They’re the people in the crowd that shout an obscenity at someone and then run and hide behind everyone else. I’m always up for a good debate, but obviously not with a coward.

However, this person’s comment did get me thinking, but not about what they wanted. It made me think about how much I share with my audience, however large or small it may be. I have always asked myself if I share too much and at what point to draw the line. There is no doubt that my style is crude, harsh, and unpredictable. I like it that way. It will stay that way.

I have taken into consideration everything I’ve put down on paper and in doing so, allowed my own personal thoughts, however righteous or downright wrong they may be, to be seen and read by anyone who wanted to. I see it like TV. If you don’t like it, change the channel, but don’t ruin it for everyone else. While you may think that Teletubbies suck, as I do, it doesn’t mean that there aren’t a multitude of children out there that do enjoy it and it’s not up to you to judge whether or not they should.

What I’m dealing with now as I work to advance my writing to the top, and it will make it to the top, like it or not, is the effect my writing, my truth, has on those close to me. It’s not easy; it’s very personal, and a delicate balance that I have yet to strike. I am doing the best I can, but in the sacrifice of giving my audience the truth (as well as the entertainment) I must hold to my strengths, I must hold to what I know, and I will tell it like it is.

I know I will have my critics. Everyone has his or her critics. But, to anyone that wishes to shine me on or judge me based on what I write, at least bring a solid argument to the table instead of throwing a rock and running away to hide. Have the courage to back yourself up. I certainly have the courage to stand up for myself and what I write.

So, a lesson being learned for me. This is my life. These are my words. I make no apologies, unless libelous, and I take full responsibility for every word that comes from my brain and lands on paper (or computer screen).

This blogsite is not myspace. For anyone looking to start petty, hair-pulling contests, please vacate the premises immediately. For those looking to have a good time, a few laughs, maybe gain some insight and hopefully walk away feeling at least a little inspired, read on. I write because it’s what I do. It’s what fuels me. It gives me strength and it is my strength, amongst maybe a few other things (like caulking and hanging Christmas lights).

I write for you, dear reader, and in doing so share my life with you. Take from it what you want, take from it what matters to you. Believe me when I say that it is a difficult thing to satisfy the masses. And so, I won’t even try. I will continue to write whatever I want, whether that is my unnecessary and bold comments about “other women,” the crazy adventures I share with my wife, or how good the Batman comics have been this past year.

If you seek the truth, entertainment, insight, and personal thoughts/beliefs of a man such as myself, I welcome you to my world. It’s going to continue to be a wild ride.

So, how was your weekend?

A Nice Little Saturday

No matter what state of existence you live on there always comes the task of deciding what to do on a Saturday night. It’s right after Friday so you know you still have a whole other day off before returning to work, meaning Saturday is the night to maximize your free time and do the things you slave away for from Monday to Friday.

With the looming darkness of the Alaskan winter, I slept like a fucking cave bear into the late a.m. Saturday and found myself at the computer, spitting out the highly sarcastic “King Kong” review. Since Saturday morning cartoons are now a thing of seizure-inducing anime and bastardized versions of my 80’s favorites, they are no longer an option.

Around 2 p.m. I am confronted by my significant other, fully dressed and showered and in need of a mission. Any mission. We’re going out, God knows where, for how long, how far, or with what money, but we’re leaving the homestead for adventure and excitement.

In fifteen minutes I’m whipped into a cleansed and fully clothed walking, talking son of kung fu, complete with walking stick, bag of fortune-telling stones, and a tootsie pop.

Out the door we go and begin our crusade to find and create the perfect little Saturday.

We park on 4th Ave and it’s decided that we head into the Grizzly gift shop, for no reason whatsoever as we’ve seen every Alaskan gift that has ever been made. We go anyways and I look at the fucking Happy Hookers shirt and think to myself that I might be able to make it work until I realize that I already have the damn thing and no, it didn’t happen for me.

We skate toward 5th Ave, where the Mall and assorted little shops are. They are calling this area SoNo (meaning South of Nordstrom), which is the most ridiculous thing to try and make happen since Lacey Chabert’s attempts to make “fetch” a catchphrase.

Anyways, my deceptive wife lures me into the Egan Center where, what a surprise, there’s a fucking craft show in full swing. I go along with it and am treated to yet another batch of bear paw salad tossers (no, they’re not hairy homosexuals), personalized ornaments, and hand-made jellies and jams for all your toasting needs.

I almost want to set up a porn booth at one of these things, just to switch it up and catch someone off guard.

“Oh, these are nice looking jams, aren’t they honey?”
“Oh yeah, great, hey what’s that booth over – holy fuck, I’ll be right back hon.”

Anyways, the craft fair sucked like a Hoover with a full bag, so we hopped across the street (yes, like little fucking bunnies in a springtime field) and hit up Karluk’s, which is a quaint little teashop with all sorts of eye candy (and real candy). The shop makes you feel like you’re in a Merchant Ivory Christmas movie, but I guess that isn’t so bad. No Anthony Hopkins though.

The wife buys some Jewish candy shit for her Jewish secret Santa person at work (secret Santa and Jews, yes, somehow it’s possible). I stare at the Asian girl in short jean skirt. We leave. Everyone’s happy.

5th Ave. Mall is the best mall Anchorage has to offer, which isn’t saying much, but it’s not all that bad either. It’s actually quite nice. Comparing it to a mall in Chicago is like comparing the dollar store to the mall of America, but it does the trick and I’m really not that picky.

The very best thing about 5th Ave. Mall for a guy like myself is a trip into Nordstrom. My eyes are able to feast upon the gathering post for attractive females in Alaska. It’s like it sends out a beacon to all hotties in Alaska to converge for tips on how to destroy men and make them eat out of the palm of their hands and to put on make-up and buy $700 purses, all while wearing their most tight and revealing clothing.

The MAC make-up counter is my wife’s place of business and I position myself somewhere in the vicinity, soaking in all the flavors and visuals of the surrounding area like Britney Spears soaking up rays in a trailer park tanning bed.

From there we make our way back to 4th Ave. to pick up the car and roll out. Naturally, we’re treated to a homeless native who, because I didn’t make eye contact, decided to let me know how much he intimidated me by saying, “Yeah, fuckin’ right.”

I hurriedly got in the car, shaken to the core at the threats of the drunken native that couldn’t stand up if I dangled a big bottle of firewater in front of him and thanked the stars for the safety I enjoyed as a little white boy in this big bad world.

As we hit the road, the wife and I decided to play our favorite game. You guessed it. Where Do You Want To Go For Dinner??!!

This is the best game. How it works is like this:

“What do you want for dinner?”
“I don’t know, you decide”
“It’s your turn”
“Well, what are you hungry for?”
“I don’t care, just pick someplace”
“Howabout McDonalds?”
“Fuck you”
“Okay, howabout Chucky Cheese?”
“Now you’re just being an asshole”
“Takes one to know one, babe”
“Pick a fucking place to eat”
“You mean, like a restaurant or a place to take our food and sit down and eat it?”
“You’re such a fucking moron”
“Cause we could just grab a couple sandwiches from the gas station if that’s the case”
“Fuck you, we’ll go to Outback”
“Fuckin’ Right”
“Asshole”
“Cheese fries like a motherfucka”

You get the idea. If you don’t, well, welcome to my world.

We decide to hit the Dimond mall first, before we eat. The Dimond Mall is a special place as it’s where I watched my wife break into tears when she saw people wearing furs and that there wasn’t an Express. Chicago ruined her.

A person is shot at the Dimond Mall like, oh, I don’t know, every seven to nine minutes, so there’s lots of useless mall cops in body armor and lots of Asian kids that are undistinguishable in gender.

We decide to look at the puppies and get a cookie. The wife squeals like a six-year-old that just found a quarter from the tooth fairy when she sees a Boston terrier. We then head over to Mrs. Field’s to get a cookie and before I can say “Hey, my girlfriend’s workin’” my wife says, “Hey, look, your girlfriend’s workin’”

My girlfriend is, in fact, working. She is a blonde-haired girl who has worked there since I first moved to Alaska three years ago and yes, she is very foxy. We need to say foxy more. Say it a few times before you read on.

Good. So, my girlfriend leaves, without so much as a kiss or a blowjob and we get a cookie. Well, I get a brownie and the wife gets a cookie. As we order, the overweight manager, a well-meaning fellow, gets me to try their peanut butter and jelly cookie, which does, in fact, taste like peanut butter and jelly.

He goes on and on, obviously trying to somehow impress the 17-year-old hotties that are baking cookies in low cut shirts and whale-tail revealing jeans (I’m not bullshitting you). The girls are unimpressed and you know this guy has a mad crush on all or at least one of these girls and masturbates to the point of seizure to these poor, unsuspecting, whore-dressed trollops.

I fuckin’ love Mrs. Fields.

So, brownies, cookies, puppies and hotties behind us, we quickly grow bored and head to the attached Best Buy. I sign up to win an Xbox360 in a military appreciation contest and then stare at the Xbox360 demo and get a boner. Luckily, I’ve had sex with a girl before because if I hadn’t I’d probably fall in love with the Xbox360, marry it, and probably lose my virginity to it.

All right, All right, but it is pretty fucking cool. Not cool enough to stick your dick in, but cool enough.

Tummies begin to grumble and we ship off to Outback. I call ahead for seating but it doesn’t matter. We end up walking right in and grabbing a table at the bar right away. Then we stare at the people waiting to be seated and eat our food slowly, exaggerating our enjoyment in orgasmic moans and groans while they wait with their crying baby and box of crayons.

We then make our way to Fireweed theaters to catch “Just Friends.” My review is below, so I won’t discuss it here. This is how classy Fireweed is: The ticket taker tears our stubs and then tells us that if the theater is too cold for us to let them know and they’ll refund our money.

The wife decides to get our jackets and we bundle up for a good ol’ time with Ryan Reynolds and Amy Smart’s crotch shots.

Walking out, it begins to seem that what was originally going to be a lame Saturday has become an event. The wife calls out Barnes and Noble and I walk right into it. Barnes it is.

Barnes is like church to me. Sacred, filled with love, books, and nicely dressed people. Okay, that makes no fucking sense, but whatever.

I buy an exercise book that will help me implement my workout routines for block leave and a couple Christmas gifts. I can’t stop shopping. I’m fucking addicted. I’ll never seek help.

I then join my wife in the Starbucks café and she’s immersed in the new InTouch. It’s her turn to get the goods so she brings back a piece of cheesecake for me to stuff down my throat and a tea for herself.

While sitting there, enjoying the good company of the fellow patrons, we notice a cracked out lookin’ guy dressed in black with hair like Edward Scissorhands circling the café and sitting down, circling the café and sitting down, circling the café – you get the point.

He is acting utterly suspicious and the wife and I begin to discuss this man’s motives. Is he stalking a 15-year-old Starbucks girl? Is he thinking about robbing the place? Is he waiting on a drug buy? Is he waiting for his mommy to pick him up and take him back home to Spenard?

He continues to act suspicious and we both grow uneasy. As is always the case now, I go into Army mode, planning what to do if he pulls a gun, where to go, what to do, what’s the best use of cover and concealment, at what proximity to I take action or seek cover, what amount of force should be used, and man, is that chick really fifteen because those are some nice –

- The wife is up and walking, on a mission. I quickly get up and follow her. She says nothing until I catch up.

“I have to tell someone,” she says. Where I was sitting and planning a full on military operation against this misguided youth, my wife decided that the best course of action would be to…tattle.

So, she seeks out the the most responsible adult she can find, an authoritative figure who will handle the situation maturely and calmly, she seeks out –

- The 18-year-old sales clerk.

The clerk listens to my wife’s story about Edward Scissorhands on crack (I guess that really does make sense) and his suspicious ways. The girl says she’ll tell a manager and assures us that we’re going to heaven for our good deed.

We drive slowly and suspiciously, eyeing Scissorhands through the window as he sits in the same spot. We watch him like two crackers in a country club who just spotted one of them Negros at the golf course bar.

We agree to check the newspaper the next morning for any shootings.

Heading home, it’s 10:30. I toss out a challenge. I dare Fred Meyers. She accepts. Oh, it’s on. We are officially not old anymore. 10:30 and WE ARE STILL OUT.

We start to walk into FM and in front of us is a big black man wearing a jersey that has the name “Simpson” and the number 32.

Being the true white-bread motherfucker I am, I turn to my wife –

“Simpson. Do you think that’s for O.J.?”

I get the eye roll.

Hey, I’m just watchin’ out, man.

We are welcomed into FM with outstretched arms from yet another drunk native, but this one was much more jolly, singing a little song and smiling with his one tooth. I ignore him but he doesn’t shine me on.

We have very little time to enjoy our trip, as the announcement comes that FM is closing at 11:00. Motherfuckers.

We start to head out, disappointed and defeated. As we walk through the grocery area I am met with something I’ve never quite seen before and never want to see again.

Two men, well, I’ll call them boys. Two video-game playin’, Dungeon’s and Dragon’s buyin’, never touched a vagina boys, dressed in the most ridiculous attire I’ve ever seen.

Boy #1 is wearing a black cowboy hat and black trench coat. He has ugly glasses and a mullet and is wearing a bell around his neck. As he rounds the corner I see that he also has a tail. Yes, a tail. From under his jacket, he has a fucking tail, the size of a fucking horse and it’s just dangling there and boy, has he shown me.

Boy #2 looks just as ridiculous, with ugly glasses and chopped blonde hair and yep, there it is, another fucking horsetail.

Other patrons notice and giggle and these guys just keep on truckin’. I can imagine the conversation had I asked them the question everyone wants to ask: WHY?

“Why not?”
“Yeah, we do it because we can”
“It’s a free country and we can do what we want”
“Yeah, it’s free and we can do whatever. And my dad raped me”
“I’m gay and I want to rape him, too”
“Dude, it wouldn’t be rape, I’d let you do it”
“Seriously?”
“Oh yeah”
“Will you wear the chipmunk costume with the ass cut out?”
“Only if you wear the Panda”
“Dude, we could play some D&D afterwards”
“And drink lots of soda”
“Lets get the cocoa puffs and twizzlers and get the fuck outta here”
“I’m so excited I just peed”
“Holy crap. Me too”

I have no doubt that’s how the conversation would have gone.

So, FM adventure now over, we decide to push our luck. Let’s take it to the next level.
The wife suggests we hit the Castle, which is like the Blockbuster of porn shops. I see her bet and raise it. I suggest we hit the strip club next door afterwards so I can get a lap dance. And she doesn’t go for it. Pussy. I win.

Fuck. No, I don’t.

Anyways, the Castle, a place of clean and presentable porn of every type right at your fingertips; You’re welcomed with open arms and polite courtesy from the staff all in matching Blockbuster-esque uniforms.

“Do you need help finding anything sir?”
“Uh, yeah, the She-Male midget pee-pee porn, where’s that at?”
“Right this way, sir. Now, did you want the 4 hour marathon version or the feature-length?”
“4-hour marathon, please. And the strap-ons are…?”
“Right back here, sir”

I didn’t say any of that shit, but, y’know, I heard some guy say it.

We look at costumes and DVD’s and magazines and toys and everything that our little diseased minds can soak in. There’s really nothing left to see. I’m done. I’ve seen it all. I couldn’t be more corrupted. My mind is tainted with the world’s graffiti.

I give my wife the signal and she returns it. We don our ski masks and draw out our pistols and yell for everyone to get on the floor. The wife busts out the bag of ecstasy and we make everyone take a hit.

I force them all into the back room and cram all 15 people inside a back room, forcing them to strip. The wife giggles like a schoolgirl (how do they giggle again?) and we take all of their clothes. Naked and with the ecstasy now in their system, we toss in a few bottles of water, lock the door, clean out the cash register, grab a strap-on and some She-Male porn and we’re out the door. I laugh like Robert DeNiro in "Goodfellas" and fuckin' rock and roll.

Okay, fine, we didn’t take the strap-on. Yeesh.

Driving home, we reflect on the day’s activities.

“That was a nice little Saturday”
“It was. It really was”
“Did you get the strap-on?”
“You betcha”
“That one guys ass was pretty hairy”
“Not as hairy as yours”
“Fuck yourself, buttercup”
“Don’t be that way”
“We forgot to go to Home Depot”
“Shit. Do we have any ecstasy left?”
“A whole bag”
“Home Depot. Punch it bitch”
“Asshole”

"Just Friends" the movie!

Just Friends: movie review
Directed by: Roger Kumble (Cruel Intentions)
Starring: Ryan Reynolds, Amy Smart, Chris Klein, Anna Farris, and other people

Finally, the movie adaptation of my blog! Well, okay, not really, but sorta. Kinda sorta.

The versatility of ipods has gone on to create a bevy of new tricks, from music, pictures, video, and predicting the future. Now, there are podcasts, and like a faithful movie freak, I am a subscriber to Ebert and Roeper. They are a fun batch to listen to when discussing their movie reviews and I was disappointed to hear that they both hated “Just Friends.”

I am a fan of Ryan Reynolds, and not in the typical female way. He’s a funny guy with great potential to become an A-list actor. I look forward to his future work, as I know he’s lined up on some high-profile projects. However, before Reynolds decided to become a serious actor, he was a serious comedian.

His work on Mad TV and the very entertaining “Van Wilder” have garnered him the reputation as a comedian with boyish looks and immature antics. I think where Reynolds succeeds his subtle use of comedy rather than the in-your-face Jim Carrey type (which works great for Carrey). Reynolds implores that everyman humor, one that I think is instantly relatable and accessible to his target audience, which would fall in the 18 – 28 age range.

Anyways, “Just Friends” tackles the story of Chris (played by Reynolds) who, in 1995 is graduating high school and has a great “friendship” with Jamie (Amy Smart) who he is coincidentally head-over-heels in love with. The problem is that Chris is fat, wears a retainer, and has Napoleon-hair (I’ve got lots to say about this later). There is another character in love with Jamie as well, Dusty (played by Chris Klein) who is a long-haired, pimple-faced, guitar-playing dweeb who tries to win Jamie with his awful music.

Now, for you chicks that dig that sorta thing, I guess Chris is in the wrong when he freaks out that, while at a party, everyone discovers that Chris has written a love confession in Jamie’s yearbook, prompting everyone to tease the fat guy in love, alienating him from the town and prompting him to move away and never to be heard from again.

Fast forward 10 years and Chris is a hot, handsome, ruthless music exec who uses his newfound looks to use up every woman he interacts with, thereby getting revenge for his past humiliations. Reynolds is approached by his boss a few days before Christmas in order to take their new pop princess star (Anna Farris) to Paris in order to promote.

Reynolds reluctantly agrees and takes the job. Farris is hilarious as the Britney/Christina/Jessica/Ashlee/Paris clone of self-centered stupidity and she hams the hell out of the role. Farris, most remembered for her work in the Scary Movie series, is a true comic talent and she has a lot of fun here.

On the plane to Paris our bubblegum princess causes an emergency landing when she microwaves her Ahi Tuna with aluminum foil still wrapped around it. As fate would have it, the plane lands in New Jersey, Reynolds’s hometown.

Delayed and tired, Reynolds heads home with his pop princess in tow. Julie Haggerty shows up as Reynolds’s not-quite-there mom and does a fun job. Yes, I said fun job. Eat me.

Reynolds’s brother also shows up in the form of Chris Marquette, who was so great in last year’s “The Girl Next Door.” Reynolds’s and Marquette basically beat the shit out of each other throughout the movie and while some critics may feel this is immature and slapstick, well, they must not have brothers.

I have two brothers and that’s about all we did growing up. We found new ways to terrorize each other, even sinking to the level of using knives and lawn equipment to disable or even attempt to kill each other. I love my brothers.

On the eve of their arrival, Reynolds and Farris head to a local bar where they run into some of Reynolds’s old friends and he meets the love of his life once again. Everyone has the usual reaction to his sudden-hotness and are visibly shocked. Reynolds and Smart have nice chemistry together, never an odd moment or weird pairing (that isn’t intentional anyways)

Reynolds, now confident in his new “skin” asks Smart out to lunch the next day and plans to play the asshole role to win her over. Unfortunately it doesn’t work and he comes off just how he acts. He decides to try again and invites her out to go ice-skating the next day to which she agrees.

Now a really good hockey player back in LA, Reynolds is duped when he gets a bad pair of skates and looks almost as bad as he did 10 years ago. When some kids need a pick-up player for their hockey game, Reynolds agrees and gets his ass handed to him, much to his shock and dismay, especially when it’s in front of the girl he loves.

Reynolds ends up taking a slap shot to the face and the paramedics are called. And who should appear as a newly hot paramedic, but Dusty (Chris Klein) who picks Smart up after she passes out. Smart is marveled by Dusty and his drastic change. Reynolds, strapped into a spine board is flabbergasted.

On the ride to the hospital Smart gives Klein her phone number, writing it down over Reynolds, who inaudibly yells, “This is bullshit.”

Sensing that Smart is now susceptible to the charms of a uber-likeable paramedic, Reynolds decides to be a “pussy” and play the role of the wuss for Smart. So, naturally, he puts on some nerdy clothes and invites Smart out to see “The Notebook.” When Smart comes to pick him up Reynolds is shocked to see Klein in tow, as a friend of course. Klein invites Reynolds mom who agrees to come and the scene of the four of them watching the film is pure comic bliss.

Meanwhile, Reynolds passes Farris off to his younger brother who has a major crush on the pop diva. Their scenes are great and play out well.

The rest of the film delves into the war between Reynolds and Klein to win the heart of Smart. They try every trick they can and Reynolds seems to fail at every move. Naturally, this leads to his recognition of “just being himself” and to be honest with Smart.

In one scene he actually gets her into bed and can’t bring up the nerve to make a move. In his “thought voiceover” he says, “You don’t even deserve a penis.”

There’s a multitude of comic gems from everyone in the cast, which really makes this film stand out. It’s not a revolutionary comedy nor is it the gross-out comedy the critics make it out to be.

The movie tackles the issue of guys playing that friend role when they really want more and the consequences they pay for it, which is both hilarious and too true for some of those sissies. It's great fun, but I would have taken it even further on the issue. But I didn't write the movie. Some dude named "Tex" wrote it. I'm not kidding.

“Just Friends” is just a lot of fun and will be totally hilarious to the right crowd. I could see how some just might not get the comedy. It is not as refined as, say, a Wes Anderson comedy, but it’s somewhere between Van Wilder and Meet the Fockers. The real strength is in Reynolds and his supporting cast who take a fairly by the numbers script and really make it fun with their unique blend of humor and take on the characters.

Whether on a date or seeing this with “friends” this is a fun movie. I had a blast and laughed throughout the whole film, which is more than I can say for many so-called comedies out there.

I look forward to unrated cut on DVD when they can say fuck and maybe show boobies.

Movie grade: B+

"Silent Hill" poster design contest

Alright, so every now and again a contest will come along that's right up my alley. This one is actually more than up my alley, it's parked right in my front lawn.

Columbia/Sony pictures has this really sweet contest for their release of the film "Silent Hill," which is based on the video game of the same name. I've never played the game, but I hear it's actually pretty scary.

Anyways, "Silent Hill" is directed by Christopher Gans, who also made "Brotherhood of the Wolf" which is a pretty freakin' awesome film. So, that makes taking part in this contest even cooler. The script is also written by Roger Avery, who co-wrote "Pulp Fiction" and directed the film "Killing Zoe," two kick-ass films.

The contest is to design a movie poster for the film with supplied photos. Below is my design. I submitted it already and hopefully they've accepted it. If they have, then on Jan. 4, 2006 they will take a vote at the website for the winner. (They did the same contest for the first Resident Evil movie years ago)

So, if you love me, or even just think I'm okay, you'll go and vote for my design on Jan. 4. That would be swell. The prize is 2,500 plus free movie passes. I'd just like to win, but we'll see. If they didn't accept my design for whatever reason, then I guess it's a bust. But, here's to hopin'.

To visit the site: http://www.sonypictures.com/movies/silenthill