Signing Off...

For the next four months, this blog will be temporarily closed. You can read all about my life, adventures, and mishaps at a new blog I've created here. Enjoy...

Hollywood's Continued Assault on our Patience and Intelligence

What is with the profound lack of originality so annoyingly present in the American movie-making industry these days? My friends and I, on several occasions, have gone to the theatre expecting to see a new, I repeat new, movie only to be disappointed with an old film that has been repackaged. It’s a blast to the face from the business end of a skunk, that’s what it is. It’s getting to the point that I don’t want to go see movies anymore, and it’s a sad day when a young college student with a short attention span doesn’t want to go see movies.

By way of illustration, let me point to a couple of examples…

1) I just saw the trailer for the movie I’m referencing in this example. Some of you will say to yourself, “You can’t judge a book by it’s cover; you can’t judge a movie by it’s trailer.” I have two responses. One, yes you can. Two, in the rare case that a movie trailer and the actual movie significantly differ, the trailer is always, always better than the movie itself. Your silly objection having been refuted, back to the trailer in question…

I just saw the trailer for Stay. Aside from its riveting title (sarcasm alert!), this movie looks to be a complete knock-off of The Sixth Sense. I liked The Sixth Sense; I will not like this movie. Why? I’m glad you asked. First of all, knock-offs are always worse than their originals. Second, even if the movie is not quite a staple through the thumb, so to speak, I will not be able to enjoy it because I’ll be sitting there cheesed off the whole time that Hollywood has become populated by brainless idiots who can’t tell the difference between complete tripe and a movie. Third and finally, Ewan McGregor is just annoying. His cheeky attempts at being boyish and charming aggravate me to no end. That and the fact that every girl seems to fall for his crap.

2) This one really gets my goat. There is soon to be a new version of Pride and Prejudice released in theaters. This is bad for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that all attempts to retell this story will not even hold a candle to the BBC version starring Colin Firth. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. On top of that, I think (if my trailer analysis is correct) that they are going to totally screw the story. I don’t mean “screw” as in “mess up” or “slightly botch.” I mean “screw” as in completely desecrate the ever-loving holiness that is the Pride and Prejudice legacy. My complaints are as follows:

-The acting looks like it will be atrocious. Mr. Collins, Elizabeth Bennett, Mr. Darcy—all of them were almost certainly better portrayed in the BBC version. In this version, Elizabeth looks like a silly little girl. Mr. Darcy, instead of being stern and fierce, looks like he will amount to be little more than both bored and boring. I could go on, but once you’ve ruined the two main characters, I think enough damage has been done.
-Additionally, they totally wreck the story! Instead of there being a subtle and powerful transition from initial dislike to sexual tension to admiration to love, it looks as though the makers of this modernized pile of crap are skipping all of that (i.e., the story) to rush right into a passionate frenzy that will probably be outshined by daytime soap operas. Watch the trailer. Is Darcy embracing Anne de Burgh as the trailer insinuates?! Upon Elizabeth’s refusal of marriage, do both Darcy and Elizabeth almost kiss?! Where did all of this garbage come from?!
-Also, Darcy is ugly.

I could continue illustrating my point. Examples abound: Dukes of Hazard, Zathura (an obvious copy of Jumanji—it even has the same makers for crying in the rain), and so on. I’ve decided, however, that I’ve wasted enough of my life contemplating these silver screen shit bombs. I have only to urge all of you to vote with your dollars and let the higher-ups in the movie industry know that the dingle berries they keep trying to pass off as legitimate entertainment can have only one possible destination...

"I" as in "Idiot"

My job, which (praise the stars) will soon be over, often requires me to work with different part names. “UCFT, 25x37x8TC, etc.” When I need to talk with someone on the phone about these parts, I usually need to clarify which letter I’m referring to because “n” can be confused with “m,” “d” with “b,” and so on. Most people I talk to have a knack for disambiguating the process. “‘N’ as in ‘Nancy.’” I, however, have not mastered the letter-word combo. Either…

1) I think up embarrassingly large words to correspond with the letters. “Yeah, that’s a ‘b’—‘b’ as in ‘botulism.’” Not helpful because usually the people with whom I’m speaking don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, let alone what the first letter is. On top of that, I’ve just distracted them from the whole reason I called them. “Um, I’m sorry, why did you call me?” To which I have to respond by starting the whole damn, convoluted process all over again.

2) I use a word that doesn’t clarify matters at all. “That’s UCFB, ‘b’ as in ‘bog.’” “‘D’ as in ‘dog’?” “No, ‘b’ as in…never mind. ‘B’ as in ‘botulism.’”

Or…3) Silly and obscure names come to mind. F as in Francis. L as in Luanda. H as in Humphrey. A as in Auntie…Annie. You have no idea how embarrassing it is to regale your bored and already slightly annoyed contact on the phone (not to mention the pickup driver who’s in a hurry to get his damned UCFB and go) with all of the ridiculous names you know but would never curse your children with.

Is “Uncle” really asking too much? Why can’t “b as in boy” be the first thing that pops into your head, Tim?

“I’m sorry, was that ‘d’ as in ‘Doy, you’re such a friggin’ idiot?’” Yes, yes it was.

Alluring...

There's more where this came from.

Playing in the "Rough"

Today when the guys and I went mini golfing, Andrew appropriately earned the nickname "Rough." The above picture is just one example of Andrew's interesting approach to putting, which mostly consisted of bouncing the ball off of rocks, skipping it across bodies of water, and firing it into random clusters of bystanders. Ok, the bystanders thing is a stretch, but everything else is true.

This, of course, led to all sorts of teasing. "Geez, Andrew sure is pretty rough on his balls." Etc, etc. It got to the point that Andrew's sole objective on each hole was to avoid getting the 6 stroke maximum you're awarded if you can't make it in. He actually managed to pull this off a couple of times. I, of course, seized the day and conquered my unworthy foes.

Sweet, sweet victory.

Sophisticated accent or...

So I’ve figured out how the British get their accents. Are they forced to read Shakespeare aloud as children? Can their sophisticated tone somehow be linked to their genes? I have the answer for all of you…

Tonight I made myself a great dinner (if I do say so myself), so great in fact that I couldn’t stop putting the food in my mouth even when talking to my roommate Andrew, who was busy ignoring me because he found his stupid 2D turn-based strategy game more interesting than my mouth-full-of-food conversation. Anyway, it was at this point that I came to understand the British accent.

With my mouth full of food, I said something to Andrew, something that sounded remarkably British. I tried a few other phrases. All British-sounding!

So that’s their dirty little secret. What seems to be sophistication can actually be traced to poor table manners? Could it be true? If you don’t believe me, try it yourself. Stuff your gobs full of food, read a little Shakespeare, and marvel at the “sophistication.”

Cheerio!

Cher Sounds like a Guy

It's been a while since I last posted. A stressful work schedule and frequent exhaustion has kept me from updating more often. While I have a lot I could share with my dear readers, I will simply leave you with a little something to whet your voracious appetites. What follows is a funny story:

I was in the mall the other day with Caitlin, who recommends I refer to her in this story as "the beautiful woman." I refuse. Anyway, back to the story...

As we were walking along, I heard this song over the radio that I have heard many times before. The chorus goes, "Do you believe in life after love?" As the chorus was being played over the speakers, the thought occurred to me, "Wow, I really like this guy's voice." Fool that I am, I verbalized that very thought.

That was a mistake.

Caitlin, not knowing whether to be incredulous or to laugh, decided to do both. Talking down to me from her ivory tower of musical snobbery, she said, "That's Cher!" Luckily, I wasn't such a blundering idiot as to say something like: "Yeah, I like him." For all my ignorance, I'm at least knowledgeable enough to know that Cher is a woman...of sorts.

Now for all you Cher fans out there, offended with the pitiful emptiness that is my knowledge of music, I would just like to say one thing. Find a new loser to worshipl! Not only does Cher sound like a man, she spawned a freaky lesbian daughter and her ex-husband killed himself skiing down a hill.

I rest my case...