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Thursday, March 25, 2004
Movies this week
How did I forget to do this earlier? I guess I'm wrapped up in everybody else's site but my own today. Onward!
Jersey Girl: Like a lot of men my age (guys who still play video games but are scared shitless of having babies), the idea of Kevin Smith leading the way toward a spate of Gen X/Y movies with more mature themes and growing humor (and better freakin' camera work) appeals like a blanket that smells faintly of good Scotch. But judging from the early reviews, this is a film that won't please those fans, or just about anyone else out for a scratching of the weekend movie itch. And it seems to have nothing to do with the still radioactive fallout of the Bennifer relationship (side note: some news organizations (cough cough) don't allow the use of the phrase "Bennifer" because they think it's belittling and stupid. I sort of agree, but this site isn't a news organization, so...), but rather with poor writing and sub-Affleck acting. It's too bad because I think Kevin Smith is a funny guy, maybe the funniest filmmaker around. Sadly, I mean funniest off-screen. Oh, and what's up with using "Walking on Sunshine" in the trailer for this? You really want people to think this is Look Who's Talking to Affleck? I sure hope Kevin Smith had nothing to do with that.
The Ladykillers: I'm very worried about the Coen Brothers, in a way that seems wholly out of proportion to how well I know them. (I don't.) I show concern for them in a way that doesn't extend to cousins and co-workers, in a way that I wouldn't show to a soldier dying in my arms on the battlefield. Mostly it's because I've loved most of their films. They are among my favorites. Fargo? O Brother, Where Art Thou? Genius! Genius, I say! I'll say it again: GENIUS! Then I saw Intolerable Cruelty, which was slightly less than that on the IQ scale. Somewhere between cretin and dumbass. This despite the presence of two very good celebrities, George Clooney, whom I admire, and Catherine Zeta-Jones-Leatherbag whom I would devour with a spoon were she available as an ice cream flavor. (Despite my non-love for the film, I still rewatched the scene four times where she was wearing that light-brown dress. Ye-how.) Now this film, which looks farcical and maybe funny, but which still sounds like it lacks that certain... Coen... something. Perhaps it's that the Coen Brothers have been usurped in the entertainment world by a suddenly sparklier, Jewier, funnier Co(h)en — Seth Cohen on The O.C.. When that fictional character starts making movies with Catherine Zeta-Jones, you'd better believe I'll be there.
Monsieur Ibrahim: There are probably worse guys I could share a name with than Omar Sharif. He's by all accounts one cool customer and a hit with the ladies, and who wouldn't want that kind of kismet? He also had a string of bad movies, a fact he cheerily acknowledged in a recent Entertainment Weekly (if you don't subscribe, you're missing the genius of Dalton Ross) profile. I will probably always remember him as the guy in Top Secret who got crushed into a cube while in his car and whose antenna rises when the woman leans over him. That's good comedy, right there. Anyway, this is a movie about Tolerance and Living Together and mending the rift between Jews and Arabs, but what I've seen of this film is a little like if Amelie was mated with those shitty British feel-good slice-of-life films I detest so. Still, it's got Sharif, and apparently that's no longer a strike against a movie, and his character is said to be (perhaps typecasted-ly) horny for the women. If you don't mind seeing old men getting emotional erections (I'm assuming here; he's an Omar, so I bet he's still virile in his '70s), this may be the movie for you.
Never Die Alone: DMX is still alive? Didn't they shoot him yet? Shit. I guess not. Although I'm sure if somebody did kill him, there would be like 20 movies he's starred in, rolled out every six months to take advantage of his newfound martyr status. That's why he can't die alone -- his grave would be full of unfinished film projects.
Scooby-Doo: Crappy Crap of the Crap Crap Crap -- Unleashed: Somebody needs to send a SWAT team to rescue Linda Cardellini from these movies, the film equivalent of soccer hooligans. Also, it's good to see that Freddie Prinze, Jr., hasn't just been resting on his laurels doing nothing. He's been working his ass off to bring us this fine cinematic... bon bon? Do they make poop-flavored bon bons?
The Same River Twice: A documentary about hippies. My brain just hit fast-forward on this entry.
DVDs: Shit. Haven't seen anything. I'm way behind. I did see some of the Richard Pryor Show which is fantastic, but mostly not much. My want-to-see list is unchanged, although I will probably add Shattered Glass and The Rundown to my list. Oh, what? Don't look at me like that. The Rock rocks.
I feel guilty sometimes for not pimping people I'm close to on the site, but I guess I just assume that readers here are looking at the same Web sites I look at every day. I guess that's not a great assumption.
It makes me sad sometimes that I only really talk to some friends of mine in a non-talking way: by reading their Web journals and blogs and assuming they read mine from time to time to get an idea of what's going on in my life. But the part of it that's not so sad is when they write as well as Lori. Then it makes me glad that they give some insight into their life that I might not have had, even from knowing them for going on 10 years.
Funniest story ever? You decide.
To paraphrase Charlie Murphy, you don't slap a man. Unless you're Richard Simmons. Then I guess you have to "Bitch-slap" people once in a while to make sure everybody respects you.
"(Fwap-fwap!) I challenge you to a duel!"
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Slave 4 TV
L'il Floaty Omie Head talks about giving up some TV watching. Plus some stuff about South Park and zombies. While I admire and respect those who deal with them on their sites, there are some reasons I haven't enabled comments on Bloggystyle. This is one of them.
As for the XL Blog entry, it's one of the only ones that I've written about Rebecca where I didn't run it by her first. Shhh, don't tell her, okay? She doesn't read my site anyway.
You ever have that feeling where you know there's a potential argument in your future? Yeah. I have that gut clench feeling right now.
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
This has been a very strange week, a time when I've had to say things I never thought I would. Like:
"Skeet skeet skeet skeet skeet skeet skeet!"
"I ruined a brand-new Calphalon pot!"
"Oh, no, wait. I used Bar Keepers Friend and I saved the Calphalon! The butter didn't ruin it!"
(To a lady trying to fix our online registry over the phone while Rebecca and I bicker on the other end): "Yeah, well, obviously this marriage isn't going to last."
"We're getting married in a month."
"The Opera Cadet."
"Just how much fucking Pyrex do we actually need?"
"Jim Carrey's in it. It's supposed to be really good."
"Don't forget we're seeing The Flying Dutchman this week."
"Tim McGraw and Faith Hill are gonna be there!"
"The headline said, 'Zombies battle Jesus.' "
"I'm rich, bitch!"
"So you're done with Gilmore Girls? I can erase them then? You're off Gilmore Girls officially, then?"
"What about The O.C.? Yeah. Exactly. I didn't think so."
"It's a coupe. The sedan is about the same price, though."
"This is so illegal I don't even know how to feel about it."
"Marsha Warfield was a fox!"
"I was trying to do the butter test! But the butter ruined my Calphalon!"
"So I have more Thank You Notes to write than you do? ... Fuck."
"We could see Zombies, Jesus or Eternal Sunshine."
"I agree with Randy. He's trying to be all Frank Sinatra, but he just doesn't have the man's voice."
"What do you mean we did a lot without TV? We've been watching TV all day!"
"I think Pharrell can sing, they must have his mic turned way down. You think Chad Hugo is cute? Shudup."
"Joss Stone's got a great voice. If she was on American Idol, she'd kick everybody's ass. Okay, fine, British Idol."
"It's my pants! Those pants and that belt make my belly stick out!"
"Tell your cat this isn't a fucking hotel."
Monday, March 22, 2004
I've heard some pretty dumb things in the last few months, but this may be the dumbest ever:
From Network Solutions (via e-mail) --
PROTECT YOUR DOMAIN NAME
You’ve seen the stories about companies that let valuable domain names lapse just because someone forgot to renew.
Er, yeah. I'm one of them.
Now, as a Network Solutions® customer, it doesn’t have to happen to you.
Too late. Oh, and nice "®," there. Ass.
Network Solutions’ exclusive new 100 Year Domain Service allows you to extend the term of any — or all — of your domain name registrations for the longest term available.
Wait, what? Did you just say 100 Year? Are you joking? This is a joke, right?
You will no longer need to keep track of expiration dates for your domain name registrations. Your domain name registration is kept up to date and registered in your name by Network Solutions, the trusted leader in domain name registrations under management.
The only thing that'll be in my name 100 years from now will be an urn, I'm guessing.
When you order 100 Year Domain Service you pay only $9.99 per year for each domain name — our lowest price available. That represents a savings of more than 70% compared to paying annually.
Just short of $1,000? To ensure that I can have a domain name that people will likely not even be using 10 years from now, let alone 100? To a company that may not even be around in five? Wow. You've got yourself a sale!
We have provided a recommendation of the domain names that we think will benefit from the 100 year service. Just click the button below to view some of the domain names in your Network Solutions account that have been registered for multiple years. Secure these domain names into the next century today.
Suck it, Network Solutions. In 100 years, I hope you're just a bad historical footnote. Not accessible via domain name, of course. I'm holding out for telepathy over IP.
All you need is...
And so it's time to honor our fallen brothers and sisters, those who've taken shrapnel and who feel the phantom-limbed twitching of lost love.
Maybe it's you, mourning the backrubs and Thursday ER nights you once had with your beloved. Maybe your brother's going through a nasty divorce or your parents split up after they finally got you and your siblings out of the house.
Today is the day not to rub in the love you might have. It's not the day to talk about your schmoopy or to ask your miserable single friend out on a double date, 1/4 of the equation falling into the "blind" category of dating.
Let us instead treat the fallen with due respect. No cracks about lonely mid-20s-"Old Maids" with a pint of Ben & Jerry in front of a TV tuned to the Oxygen network. No more talk of toxic bachelors and metrosexuals, of flinchy men and bitter women.
For one day, at least. Let's call it "Love Losers Day."
Love is hard, maybe the hardest thing there is, and even those who've gotten it right rarely, rarely feel that way.
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