11.22.06
6:59 PM
On the eighth hour of my twelve hour shift.
I dig overtime.
Started reading the latest Chuck Palahniuk novel (“Haunted”) today. So far, excellent. I am loving the format.
Reading his stuff after so long really made me realize how much I like his writing.
Aside from clothing, a small assortment of CD’s and the usual travel accoutrements, here is what I am packing for my trip home:
The other 14 Bond movies
Volume 4 of Family Guy
I am a simple man with simply needs.
I’ll be swinging by Miami on Sunday night to see Phil before my eye gouging appointment on Monday morning, but other than that, I’ll be racing Bearsy Boo back and forth around the back yard until I puke.
Also, I will be eating pie.
11.21.2006
11.15.2006
On Her Majesty Only Twice
11.15.06
4:50 PM
In the first five minutes of “You Only Live Twice” we see an astronaut go hurtling off into the vast coldness of space, hear James Bond says the words, “Why is it that Chinese girls taste different than other girls?” and then watch as he is killed.
Stakes…you have just fucking been raised.
An alternate title for this movie might very well be: “James Bond Goes To Japan” or “James Bond and the Ninjas”.
Pesky old SPECTRE is at it again. But this time they are taking money from the Japanese to start a world war between Russia and the US. God damn they are an efficient people.
AND we finally get to see the face of SPECTRE leader…#1.
He is an ugly, ugly man.
We see the first ridiculous Big Bad Guy Hideout. In this case, the inside of a hollowed out, dormant volcano.
We also hear the head of the Japanese Secret Service say, in reference to a woman Bond has chosen as his massage girl, “She is very sexyful.”
This line had the honor of being the first thing added to the Wall O’ Stuff in my dorm senior year.
This is one of the most parodied Bond’s, lampooned by both Austin Powers and The Simpsons (“You Only Move Twice” from the epic and perfect season 8).
The theme is a great one as well. Very fitting for the movie, although they never really explain how Bond survives being folded up into a diabolical Murphy bed and hit with like 1,000 rounds from three sub machine guns.
One of the most important elements of this movie is that James Bond is now a ninja. He had a three or four day crash course and now he is one with the shadows. In fact, he even kills a man with a throwing star. It is fantastic.
In the end, #1’s cat freaks out, there is one of the coolest scenes ever in which the Ninjas storm the base and face off against the forces of SPECTRE* where they fight with guns, swords, grenades, throwing stars and sheer brawn, and the whole fucking place explodes when #1 pulls the self-destruct lever.
Excellent Bond movie.
As for the ladies…
You Only Jizz Thrice = 3 (cute Asian JSS liaison who later gets the poison that was intended for Bond, ANOTHER smoking evil Redhead who turns out to be none other that SPECTRE’s #11**, another cute Asian girl who does not get poisoned…that we know of.)
*Ladies, if you are ever with a man and he is having erectile troubles, just say the phrase “SPECTRE vs. ninjas” and if he isn’t harder than steel in an instant, he is not a real man and should be castrated.
**She was fed to piranha for failing #1. Hottest fish food I have ever seen.
Now, what could be more shocking than killing James Bond in the lead in? Replacing him with another actor of course!
“On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” ushered out the Sean Connery Bond and ushered in the George Lazenby Bond.
For one movie.
Then Connery was hastily ushered back in, in hopes that no one would remember “that Australian guy”.
And what better way to make us forget a Bond than to dress him in a kilt?
If you think I’m kidding, that’s all right. I don’t believe it either.
This guy wasn’t a terrible Bond, but he just didn’t have the face for it. It was sort of soft and forgettable, but other than that, I think he was okay.
OHMSS was when the tongue was surgically grafted to the cheek. You can tell because the first line of the movie is Q telling M the benefits of miniaturizing, then showing him Q Branch’s latest breakthrough…radioactive lint. The tongue on cheek action doesn’t end there though…
At the end of the lead in, we see a mysterious girl taken from Bond by kidnappers. After they have driven away, he turns to the camera (right at the fucking thing) and says, with a grin, “This never happened to the other fellow.”
On one hand, this could be an implication that the rank of 007 and the name of “James Bond” are just numbers, masks and that ANYONE can be Secret Agent James Bond, 007…but no, that was the late 60’s sticking its diseased fingers into the Bond franchise. Let’s go smoke some opium.
Aside from these two cheeky/tonguey moments, we see Bond resigning from MI6 and then packing a bag. He begins to remove items from his desk…first, the knife and scabbard that Honey Ryder was wearing in “Dr. No”, then the wristwatch/garrote wire that belonged to SPECTRE henchman Donald Grant in “From Russia With Love” and finally, the tiny breathing apparatus from “Thunderball”. When each item is pulled out, a snatch of the theme from that movie is played.
If that wasn’t enough, at one point, Bond is being escorted (at gunpoint) to meet who he thinks is a Big Bad Guy (but who turns out to be an ally named Count Draco) we see a midget janitor sweeping up…and whistling the “Goldfinger” theme.
Subtlety, thy name is Whistling Midget.
This movie focuses on Operation: Bedlam which is all about finding Ernst Stvro Blofeld after he escaped from the exploding volcano in “You Only Live Twice”. Bond hooks up with this Count and agrees to marry his daughter (Tracy) is exchange for info on Blofeld’s whereabouts. Romance xmax.
After a montage, her and James fall in love and Bond discovers part of Blofeld’s insidious plot. He then disguises himself as a genealogist and is taken to Blofeld’s hideout/research facility/mountain getaway. We see Blofeld is now Telly Savales, but since Bond is now George Lazenby, no one says anything.
This actually bothers me a bit: at the end of “You Only Live Twice”, Blofeld (Donald Plesance in this movie) and Bond come face to face for the first time, yet when Bond meets him in OHMSS, there is no recognition on either part.
We get to check out the first of several ski chases, complete with crazy stunts and terrible blue screen and M’s home, where we learn he is into butterflies. How British…spearing and quietly cataloguing beautiful, dead insects.
Bond finds out that Blofeld is brainwashing a bunch of International hotties to use them to spread a plague of his own invention called Virus Omega. Sounds scary but…Telly Savales. Bond and Draco drop in on Blofeld and blowfeld the shit out of his operation. All is well until the end of the movie…
The end of this movie made me cry as a child and, to this day, I have only seen it three times.
Once when I was a child, once my sophomore summer at Fordham and earlier today.
As a child, my mom would take me to Couch Potato Video on 2nd Ave. between 69th and 68th (it’s gone now, replaced by something colder and more modern) and I would, like all 7-year olds, look at every fucking movie in the place, and then rent one of the 30 or so I always rented (Labyrinth, Care Bears, some fairy tale series that used big name actors and told the original stories without the Disney glammer, Police Academy movies, Little Shop of Horrors (musical version) and others). All the Bond movies were in the same place and each one was watched so often by me that they each had an emotion attached to it. I remembered feelings rather than scenes. Every time I saw the box for OHMSS, I became sad. I’m not talking about pouty sad, I’m talking about tears welling up in my eyes sad.
What is it that so traumatized little Paul you might ask? Well, I’ll tell you.
After a prolonged luge chase (only one in the series regrettably), Blofeld appears to have been killed and Bond is married to his love, Tracy.
While driving to his honeymoon with Tracy, he pulls over to change a tire.
Suddenly, Blofeld and his heanchcow, Frauline Bunt, roll up and pull a fucking drive-by on Bond and his new wife.
Now, obviously an adult, knowing the dangers of Bond’s career, would have seen this coming, but as a wide-eyed, innocent 7-year old, I did not.
When I found out that James Bond’s new wife was dead, killed by Blofeld, I was ruined. I cried and cried despite the fact that “it was just a movie, it was just a movie” as my mother kept telling me. I felt so bad for James Bond, who was the sun and moon to a kid like me, and I was so affected by the death of his wife that I didn’t watch the movie again for about 15 years.
Upon this reflection, a greater truth becomes apparent: I don’t think I am able to say with any authority that any of these movies are good or bad. I can only talk about them and how good I think they are. As in, they are all good, but some range from good to super good to good xmax etc.
Keep that in mind, if you would.
On Her Majesty’s Swollen Bellend…
OHMSS = 3 (Tracy Draco Bond—pre-assassination, British chick who was allergic to chicken that sort of reminds me of Frenchy from “Grease”, foreign chick who was allergic to potatoes)
4:50 PM
In the first five minutes of “You Only Live Twice” we see an astronaut go hurtling off into the vast coldness of space, hear James Bond says the words, “Why is it that Chinese girls taste different than other girls?” and then watch as he is killed.
Stakes…you have just fucking been raised.
An alternate title for this movie might very well be: “James Bond Goes To Japan” or “James Bond and the Ninjas”.
Pesky old SPECTRE is at it again. But this time they are taking money from the Japanese to start a world war between Russia and the US. God damn they are an efficient people.
AND we finally get to see the face of SPECTRE leader…#1.
He is an ugly, ugly man.
We see the first ridiculous Big Bad Guy Hideout. In this case, the inside of a hollowed out, dormant volcano.
We also hear the head of the Japanese Secret Service say, in reference to a woman Bond has chosen as his massage girl, “She is very sexyful.”
This line had the honor of being the first thing added to the Wall O’ Stuff in my dorm senior year.
This is one of the most parodied Bond’s, lampooned by both Austin Powers and The Simpsons (“You Only Move Twice” from the epic and perfect season 8).
The theme is a great one as well. Very fitting for the movie, although they never really explain how Bond survives being folded up into a diabolical Murphy bed and hit with like 1,000 rounds from three sub machine guns.
One of the most important elements of this movie is that James Bond is now a ninja. He had a three or four day crash course and now he is one with the shadows. In fact, he even kills a man with a throwing star. It is fantastic.
In the end, #1’s cat freaks out, there is one of the coolest scenes ever in which the Ninjas storm the base and face off against the forces of SPECTRE* where they fight with guns, swords, grenades, throwing stars and sheer brawn, and the whole fucking place explodes when #1 pulls the self-destruct lever.
Excellent Bond movie.
As for the ladies…
You Only Jizz Thrice = 3 (cute Asian JSS liaison who later gets the poison that was intended for Bond, ANOTHER smoking evil Redhead who turns out to be none other that SPECTRE’s #11**, another cute Asian girl who does not get poisoned…that we know of.)
*Ladies, if you are ever with a man and he is having erectile troubles, just say the phrase “SPECTRE vs. ninjas” and if he isn’t harder than steel in an instant, he is not a real man and should be castrated.
Now, what could be more shocking than killing James Bond in the lead in? Replacing him with another actor of course!
“On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” ushered out the Sean Connery Bond and ushered in the George Lazenby Bond.
For one movie.
Then Connery was hastily ushered back in, in hopes that no one would remember “that Australian guy”.
And what better way to make us forget a Bond than to dress him in a kilt?
If you think I’m kidding, that’s all right. I don’t believe it either.
This guy wasn’t a terrible Bond, but he just didn’t have the face for it. It was sort of soft and forgettable, but other than that, I think he was okay.
OHMSS was when the tongue was surgically grafted to the cheek. You can tell because the first line of the movie is Q telling M the benefits of miniaturizing, then showing him Q Branch’s latest breakthrough…radioactive lint. The tongue on cheek action doesn’t end there though…
At the end of the lead in, we see a mysterious girl taken from Bond by kidnappers. After they have driven away, he turns to the camera (right at the fucking thing) and says, with a grin, “This never happened to the other fellow.”
On one hand, this could be an implication that the rank of 007 and the name of “James Bond” are just numbers, masks and that ANYONE can be Secret Agent James Bond, 007…but no, that was the late 60’s sticking its diseased fingers into the Bond franchise. Let’s go smoke some opium.
Aside from these two cheeky/tonguey moments, we see Bond resigning from MI6 and then packing a bag. He begins to remove items from his desk…first, the knife and scabbard that Honey Ryder was wearing in “Dr. No”, then the wristwatch/garrote wire that belonged to SPECTRE henchman Donald Grant in “From Russia With Love” and finally, the tiny breathing apparatus from “Thunderball”. When each item is pulled out, a snatch of the theme from that movie is played.
If that wasn’t enough, at one point, Bond is being escorted (at gunpoint) to meet who he thinks is a Big Bad Guy (but who turns out to be an ally named Count Draco) we see a midget janitor sweeping up…and whistling the “Goldfinger” theme.
Subtlety, thy name is Whistling Midget.
This movie focuses on Operation: Bedlam which is all about finding Ernst Stvro Blofeld after he escaped from the exploding volcano in “You Only Live Twice”. Bond hooks up with this Count and agrees to marry his daughter (Tracy) is exchange for info on Blofeld’s whereabouts. Romance xmax.
After a montage, her and James fall in love and Bond discovers part of Blofeld’s insidious plot. He then disguises himself as a genealogist and is taken to Blofeld’s hideout/research facility/mountain getaway. We see Blofeld is now Telly Savales, but since Bond is now George Lazenby, no one says anything.
This actually bothers me a bit: at the end of “You Only Live Twice”, Blofeld (Donald Plesance in this movie) and Bond come face to face for the first time, yet when Bond meets him in OHMSS, there is no recognition on either part.
We get to check out the first of several ski chases, complete with crazy stunts and terrible blue screen and M’s home, where we learn he is into butterflies. How British…spearing and quietly cataloguing beautiful, dead insects.
Bond finds out that Blofeld is brainwashing a bunch of International hotties to use them to spread a plague of his own invention called Virus Omega. Sounds scary but…Telly Savales. Bond and Draco drop in on Blofeld and blowfeld the shit out of his operation. All is well until the end of the movie…
The end of this movie made me cry as a child and, to this day, I have only seen it three times.
Once when I was a child, once my sophomore summer at Fordham and earlier today.
As a child, my mom would take me to Couch Potato Video on 2nd Ave. between 69th and 68th (it’s gone now, replaced by something colder and more modern) and I would, like all 7-year olds, look at every fucking movie in the place, and then rent one of the 30 or so I always rented (Labyrinth, Care Bears, some fairy tale series that used big name actors and told the original stories without the Disney glammer, Police Academy movies, Little Shop of Horrors (musical version) and others). All the Bond movies were in the same place and each one was watched so often by me that they each had an emotion attached to it. I remembered feelings rather than scenes. Every time I saw the box for OHMSS, I became sad. I’m not talking about pouty sad, I’m talking about tears welling up in my eyes sad.
What is it that so traumatized little Paul you might ask? Well, I’ll tell you.
After a prolonged luge chase (only one in the series regrettably), Blofeld appears to have been killed and Bond is married to his love, Tracy.
While driving to his honeymoon with Tracy, he pulls over to change a tire.
Suddenly, Blofeld and his heanchcow, Frauline Bunt, roll up and pull a fucking drive-by on Bond and his new wife.
Now, obviously an adult, knowing the dangers of Bond’s career, would have seen this coming, but as a wide-eyed, innocent 7-year old, I did not.
When I found out that James Bond’s new wife was dead, killed by Blofeld, I was ruined. I cried and cried despite the fact that “it was just a movie, it was just a movie” as my mother kept telling me. I felt so bad for James Bond, who was the sun and moon to a kid like me, and I was so affected by the death of his wife that I didn’t watch the movie again for about 15 years.
Upon this reflection, a greater truth becomes apparent: I don’t think I am able to say with any authority that any of these movies are good or bad. I can only talk about them and how good I think they are. As in, they are all good, but some range from good to super good to good xmax etc.
Keep that in mind, if you would.
On Her Majesty’s Swollen Bellend…
OHMSS = 3 (Tracy Draco Bond—pre-assassination, British chick who was allergic to chicken that sort of reminds me of Frenchy from “Grease”, foreign chick who was allergic to potatoes)
11.14.2006
Thunderfinger
11.14.06
3:20 PM
I think that’s better than “Goldenball”.
Anyway.
So, I have recently consumed “Goldfinger” and “Thunderball”.
“Goldfinger” sees the introduction of a lot of crazy staples that stick with the Bond franchise for years to come.
First, the car. Gotta love the car. This one was a hot little Aston-Martin with smoke screen, oil slick, machine guns, bulletproof windows and…a goddamn ejector seat.
However, Bond thought Q was joking as well, so the creators of the series aren’t so oblivious to the fact that an ejector seat is ridiculous.
Aside from the car, Q gives Bond some homing devices. One that fits in his shoe.
This encounter is the first time you see Bond getting sassy with him. I love their dialogue. Sooooo smarmy.
Next, we have the henchman. In this case, the huge, hat throwing Korean henchman named Oddjob. The less said about him, the better, but the tradition started by him is somewhat constant throughout the rest of the series. Before Bond gets to the Big Bad Guy, he must dispatch the Weird Henchman. Move over Countless Anonymous Hired Goons, this motherfucker can throw a hat, this motherfucker has metal teeth and this motherfucker is a robot vagina. Seriously.
Then we have the ridiculous names; two is this movie alone. First there’s the Big Bad Guy: Auric Goldfinger. Wow. As if this guy didn’t exude “I like gold” enough with the last name of “Goldfinger”. Ian Fleming had to have the first name include the Latin word “aura”…which means “gold”. So, James Bond…meet Gold Goldfinger…he likes gold.
And while you’re at it…meet Pussy Galore. She is a female activist. Seriously.
Actually, she is a pilot. In fact, she is the leader of “Pussy Galore’s Flying Circus”. Now, what do you think people are more interested in…the “flying circus” or the “Pussy Galore”?
Yes.
And, although Pussy is the first really ridiculous name, Honey Ryder (from”Dr. No”) is rather silly as well.
Now, this must be made clear: even though this chick’s name is an apt description of James Bond’s favorite food, she is portrayed as a very strong female character.
Not that that makes it all that much better mind you, but you know.
In this film we also see two of the most memorable Bond moments: Bond strapped to a golden table while a laser slowly makes its way towards his balls and Bond looking sexy despite (or because of) wearing a baby blue, one piece, terrycloth chemise. Rowr.
As for the Bang-O-Meter…
Goldfinger = 2* (Jill Masterson, who was later killed for sampling the forbidden fruit that is James Bond and after her, the one, the only…Pussy Galore)
*A record low, although it is implied that he nailed this chick before the movie actually started, but that’s not what this is about. Asshole.
Next up: “Thunderball”.
First off, what the fuck is a thunderball? I’ve heard of a thunder clap and a thunder storm and even Rolling Thunder…but what the fuck is a thunderball?
According to the nearest dictionary: nothing.
That’s not true though. “Thunderball” is possibly one of the best Tom Jones songs ever. In fact, there is a rumor that after expelling the long, lusty and powerful last note of the theme song, he actually passed out. I’ll have to ask him one day.
The lead in to this movie has two more memorable Bond moments: the first is Bond beating the living shit out of a man in drag (who turns out to be SPECTRE #6) and then escaping with a goddamn jet pack.
This movie pulls it back a bit as far as gadgets and people with metal for hands. Bond is once again pitted against SPECTRE And we even get to see the full council. There appear to be about 11 members of SPECTRE, only two of which Bond has killed personally (that was Dr. No and technically, Bond didn’t kill him, the boiling radioactive water did and #6, the crossdresser whose neck Bond broke with a poker). The other three (#3, #5 and—at the end of “Thunderball”— #2) were killed by others.
In this meeting, we see that #5 has been replaced, but before everyone celebrates the full quorum, #1 fucking explodes #9 for embezzlement. Honestly, who in their right mind would steal from SPECTRE? #9 deserved what he got.
Anyway, there is a lot of maritime shit going on in this movie. The Big Bad Guy has a shark tank that Bond inevitably ends up in, a boat with an underwater hatch and a breakaway hull and the name Largo which, I think, means “lake” in Spanish or some other language.
Bond straight up calls him out as SPECTRE the first time he sees him and that was very interesting to see. Usually there is all this cat and mouse stuff until in the last half hour, SPECTRE is revealed to be the culprit and all hell and lasers break loose.
Not that there isn’t all that cat and mouse stuff in “Thunderball”. There’s plenty of that and it has made me realize that Bond villains are the best hosts ever. In four movies they have given Bond food, shelter, Pussy Galore and pussy galore.
Maybe for my 27th Birthday party I will play a Bond villain and totally lavish everyone up before killing them or something.
Just an idea.
In the end, Largo gets a harpoon in the spine. And I am okay with that. He is a douche.
This movie also marks the first naked-silhouettes-in-the-title-sequence.
Aside from a Geiger counter/watch, a pocket sized breathing apparatus, a mini flare gun, a homing device in a pill and *GASP* an underwater camera (!!!) there’s the same Aston-Marin from “Goldfinger”. He conveniently uses all of them.
Here’s a question: should Bond always use every single gadgets he gets?
On one hand, it’s a bit too deus ex machina if he is in a situation where he would be dead meat except for a very specific gadget, but on the other hand, what’s the point of giving him a case full of crazy spy shit if he never uses it?
I like the gadgets, but I like that Bond thinks of an interesting way to use them rather than following the instructions.
For instance, the grenade/pen from "Goldeneye" is a good one because you never know when you need a grenade, but some other things are for situations SO specific you are pulled out of the movie.
Almost forgot, this movie shows us Bond completely helpless for the first time. We see him as a human calling for help rather than a shiny spy robot. We don’t see a whole lot of that in the series (I don’t think), but I think they go into more stuff like that in the books. But this has nothing to do with the books, so fuck it.
And speaking of fucking it…
Thunderball = 3 (hot, little spa employee…in the steam room no less, smoking hot redhead SPECTRE chick who he says he fucked “for King and country” and that “he felt nothing”…I think I just found my wedding vows… and finally, Domino, the consort of the Big Bad Guy*…in an underwater sex (un)scene after which Bond comments “I hope we didn’t scare the fish”. Nice.)
*It always adds insult to injury when Bond fucks the Big Bad Guy’s girlfriend. Although it doubles back on Bond when the Big Bad Guy then kills the girl, although it makes a strong statement about Sloppy Seconds.
SPECTRE does not negotiate with Sloppy Seconds.
3:20 PM
I think that’s better than “Goldenball”.
Anyway.
So, I have recently consumed “Goldfinger” and “Thunderball”.
“Goldfinger” sees the introduction of a lot of crazy staples that stick with the Bond franchise for years to come.
First, the car. Gotta love the car. This one was a hot little Aston-Martin with smoke screen, oil slick, machine guns, bulletproof windows and…a goddamn ejector seat.
However, Bond thought Q was joking as well, so the creators of the series aren’t so oblivious to the fact that an ejector seat is ridiculous.
Aside from the car, Q gives Bond some homing devices. One that fits in his shoe.
This encounter is the first time you see Bond getting sassy with him. I love their dialogue. Sooooo smarmy.
Next, we have the henchman. In this case, the huge, hat throwing Korean henchman named Oddjob. The less said about him, the better, but the tradition started by him is somewhat constant throughout the rest of the series. Before Bond gets to the Big Bad Guy, he must dispatch the Weird Henchman. Move over Countless Anonymous Hired Goons, this motherfucker can throw a hat, this motherfucker has metal teeth and this motherfucker is a robot vagina. Seriously.
Then we have the ridiculous names; two is this movie alone. First there’s the Big Bad Guy: Auric Goldfinger. Wow. As if this guy didn’t exude “I like gold” enough with the last name of “Goldfinger”. Ian Fleming had to have the first name include the Latin word “aura”…which means “gold”. So, James Bond…meet Gold Goldfinger…he likes gold.
And while you’re at it…meet Pussy Galore. She is a female activist. Seriously.
Actually, she is a pilot. In fact, she is the leader of “Pussy Galore’s Flying Circus”. Now, what do you think people are more interested in…the “flying circus” or the “Pussy Galore”?
Yes.
And, although Pussy is the first really ridiculous name, Honey Ryder (from”Dr. No”) is rather silly as well.
Now, this must be made clear: even though this chick’s name is an apt description of James Bond’s favorite food, she is portrayed as a very strong female character.
Not that that makes it all that much better mind you, but you know.
In this film we also see two of the most memorable Bond moments: Bond strapped to a golden table while a laser slowly makes its way towards his balls and Bond looking sexy despite (or because of) wearing a baby blue, one piece, terrycloth chemise. Rowr.
As for the Bang-O-Meter…
Goldfinger = 2* (Jill Masterson, who was later killed for sampling the forbidden fruit that is James Bond and after her, the one, the only…Pussy Galore)
*A record low, although it is implied that he nailed this chick before the movie actually started, but that’s not what this is about. Asshole.
Next up: “Thunderball”.
First off, what the fuck is a thunderball? I’ve heard of a thunder clap and a thunder storm and even Rolling Thunder…but what the fuck is a thunderball?
According to the nearest dictionary: nothing.
That’s not true though. “Thunderball” is possibly one of the best Tom Jones songs ever. In fact, there is a rumor that after expelling the long, lusty and powerful last note of the theme song, he actually passed out. I’ll have to ask him one day.
The lead in to this movie has two more memorable Bond moments: the first is Bond beating the living shit out of a man in drag (who turns out to be SPECTRE #6) and then escaping with a goddamn jet pack.
This movie pulls it back a bit as far as gadgets and people with metal for hands. Bond is once again pitted against SPECTRE And we even get to see the full council. There appear to be about 11 members of SPECTRE, only two of which Bond has killed personally (that was Dr. No and technically, Bond didn’t kill him, the boiling radioactive water did and #6, the crossdresser whose neck Bond broke with a poker). The other three (#3, #5 and—at the end of “Thunderball”— #2) were killed by others.
In this meeting, we see that #5 has been replaced, but before everyone celebrates the full quorum, #1 fucking explodes #9 for embezzlement. Honestly, who in their right mind would steal from SPECTRE? #9 deserved what he got.
Anyway, there is a lot of maritime shit going on in this movie. The Big Bad Guy has a shark tank that Bond inevitably ends up in, a boat with an underwater hatch and a breakaway hull and the name Largo which, I think, means “lake” in Spanish or some other language.
Bond straight up calls him out as SPECTRE the first time he sees him and that was very interesting to see. Usually there is all this cat and mouse stuff until in the last half hour, SPECTRE is revealed to be the culprit and all hell and lasers break loose.
Not that there isn’t all that cat and mouse stuff in “Thunderball”. There’s plenty of that and it has made me realize that Bond villains are the best hosts ever. In four movies they have given Bond food, shelter, Pussy Galore and pussy galore.
Maybe for my 27th Birthday party I will play a Bond villain and totally lavish everyone up before killing them or something.
Just an idea.
In the end, Largo gets a harpoon in the spine. And I am okay with that. He is a douche.
This movie also marks the first naked-silhouettes-in-the-title-sequence.
Aside from a Geiger counter/watch, a pocket sized breathing apparatus, a mini flare gun, a homing device in a pill and *GASP* an underwater camera (!!!) there’s the same Aston-Marin from “Goldfinger”. He conveniently uses all of them.
Here’s a question: should Bond always use every single gadgets he gets?
On one hand, it’s a bit too deus ex machina if he is in a situation where he would be dead meat except for a very specific gadget, but on the other hand, what’s the point of giving him a case full of crazy spy shit if he never uses it?
I like the gadgets, but I like that Bond thinks of an interesting way to use them rather than following the instructions.
For instance, the grenade/pen from "Goldeneye" is a good one because you never know when you need a grenade, but some other things are for situations SO specific you are pulled out of the movie.
Almost forgot, this movie shows us Bond completely helpless for the first time. We see him as a human calling for help rather than a shiny spy robot. We don’t see a whole lot of that in the series (I don’t think), but I think they go into more stuff like that in the books. But this has nothing to do with the books, so fuck it.
And speaking of fucking it…
Thunderball = 3 (hot, little spa employee…in the steam room no less, smoking hot redhead SPECTRE chick who he says he fucked “for King and country” and that “he felt nothing”…I think I just found my wedding vows… and finally, Domino, the consort of the Big Bad Guy*…in an underwater sex (un)scene after which Bond comments “I hope we didn’t scare the fish”. Nice.)
*It always adds insult to injury when Bond fucks the Big Bad Guy’s girlfriend. Although it doubles back on Bond when the Big Bad Guy then kills the girl, although it makes a strong statement about Sloppy Seconds.
SPECTRE does not negotiate with Sloppy Seconds.
11.13.2006
From Russia With No
11.13.06
3:22 PM
In preparation for “Casino Royale”, I am planning on watching all 20 (not including the tongue-in-cheek half-parody remake of “Thunderball” from the 80’s) original Bond movies.
I finished “Dr. No” earlier today.
Pure fucking Bond. No silly gadgets or ridiculous stunts and plenty of Scottish smarm.
Even the villain is somewhat normal. He’s just a typical half-German, half-Chinese evil genius who has metal hands.
Yawn.
It was excellent to see Bond using talcum powder and a hair from his head to determine if someone had been in his room rather than a tube of toothpaste containing nanites.
Not that there’s anything wrong with the toothpaste nanites, the laser gun/Polaroid or the wristwatch/buzz saw/electromagnet.
I love the crazy shit they come up with, but I also love the fact that Bond didn’t always have Q Branch to equip him with flying underpants and lemon-powered suspenders.
Anyway, I’m going to have an excellent week.
Why?
Tomorrow the 4th season of Family Guy comes out on DVD, the Sci-Fi thing I did should be up on YouTube, my copy of the Starwood VO is on its way, I’m expecting 6 items from Ebay and, to cap everything off, I will either be seeing the new Bond or…doing something really cool on Saturday.
Since I’ve mentioned it here and there, I’ll probably just being seeing the new Bond, but whatever, that’s a great second prize.
As a side note: anyone interested in going to Vegas with Lauren and I to see Prince on December 10th? Let me know.
5:32 PM
I just finished “From Russia With Love”. This is one of the only James Bond movies that refers to an earlier movie. Actually, aside from “Die Another Day” (the 20th film and the film franchise’s 40th anniversary) none of the other films really refer to any others, aside from a mention of Bond’s dead wife here and there. This one had a great character named Kerim Bey. He was a big political guy from Istanbul and he and Bond had some great dialogue.
In this one, we get a more in depth look at S.P.E.C.T.R.E., the organization bent on world domination. We see their hierarchy and learn that its members are numbered from highest ranked (Ernst Stavro Blofeld) on down. We also see the end of numbers 3 and 5. Poor 3 and 5…
And we see (and by “see” I mean “it’s indicated”, we don’t get penetration or anything…regrettably) James Bond’s only threesome in the series…with two gypsies. Lucking fucking Brit.
This one ups the number of gadgets, but nothing too bizarre.
There is a briefcase that has a teargas bomb that blows up in your face if you don’t open it correctly, a throwing knife, a portable sniper rifle and some gold sovereigns. There is also a little device that let’s you know if your phone is being tapped. Again, nothing too crazy.
One thing I have to point out, Bond’s one liners are usually golden cheese. In other words, they make you groan out loud, but with a smile on your face.
For instance, in “Dr. No”, Bond is being chased by a bunch of assassins in a hearse. The chase ends with the bad guys flying off a cliff and exploding. Some guy comes up and says, “Hey what was that?” or some other generic bystander line. Bond looks at him, smiles and says, “I think they were on their way to a funeral.” You can actually hear the TING as the light glints off his teeth.
There are at least three or four of these in any self-respecting Bond movie, but one I must point out was so stupid it was hilarious.
In “Russia”, Bond is being chased by a helicopter. Long story short, he shoots it down, it crashes and explodes. He looks to the girl and says, “It looks like one of their aircraft is missing.”
That’s fucking hilarious.
It’s like he said, “I shot down one of their helicopters.” Brilliant.
And now, the count:
Dr. No Means Yes = 3 (chick he beats at cards, Chinese/American chick working for the bad guys, shell collecting girl who ends up as his companion until the end of the movie)
From Russia With A Boner = 4 (same chick that he beat at cards*, two cat fighting gypsies, Russian chick who betrays her country for lots of Bond cock**)
* This is the only time you see the same girl in two movies. I guess they abandoned the idea of carrying over women when they calculated just how many he would be dealing with.
**They scrumped multiple times (at least three), but this is about the number of women, not the number of orgasms.
In 20 movies, he must have banged at least 70 women and I’m pretty sure there was no mention of protection in any of these encounters. I’d like to think that some day, all the women he’s boinked and given an STD or child to will rise up against him and get their revenge.
I’m pretty weird though.
3:22 PM
In preparation for “Casino Royale”, I am planning on watching all 20 (not including the tongue-in-cheek half-parody remake of “Thunderball” from the 80’s) original Bond movies.
I finished “Dr. No” earlier today.
Pure fucking Bond. No silly gadgets or ridiculous stunts and plenty of Scottish smarm.
Even the villain is somewhat normal. He’s just a typical half-German, half-Chinese evil genius who has metal hands.
Yawn.
It was excellent to see Bond using talcum powder and a hair from his head to determine if someone had been in his room rather than a tube of toothpaste containing nanites.
Not that there’s anything wrong with the toothpaste nanites, the laser gun/Polaroid or the wristwatch/buzz saw/electromagnet.
I love the crazy shit they come up with, but I also love the fact that Bond didn’t always have Q Branch to equip him with flying underpants and lemon-powered suspenders.
Anyway, I’m going to have an excellent week.
Why?
Tomorrow the 4th season of Family Guy comes out on DVD, the Sci-Fi thing I did should be up on YouTube, my copy of the Starwood VO is on its way, I’m expecting 6 items from Ebay and, to cap everything off, I will either be seeing the new Bond or…doing something really cool on Saturday.
Since I’ve mentioned it here and there, I’ll probably just being seeing the new Bond, but whatever, that’s a great second prize.
As a side note: anyone interested in going to Vegas with Lauren and I to see Prince on December 10th? Let me know.
5:32 PM
I just finished “From Russia With Love”. This is one of the only James Bond movies that refers to an earlier movie. Actually, aside from “Die Another Day” (the 20th film and the film franchise’s 40th anniversary) none of the other films really refer to any others, aside from a mention of Bond’s dead wife here and there. This one had a great character named Kerim Bey. He was a big political guy from Istanbul and he and Bond had some great dialogue.
In this one, we get a more in depth look at S.P.E.C.T.R.E., the organization bent on world domination. We see their hierarchy and learn that its members are numbered from highest ranked (Ernst Stavro Blofeld) on down. We also see the end of numbers 3 and 5. Poor 3 and 5…
And we see (and by “see” I mean “it’s indicated”, we don’t get penetration or anything…regrettably) James Bond’s only threesome in the series…with two gypsies. Lucking fucking Brit.
This one ups the number of gadgets, but nothing too bizarre.
There is a briefcase that has a teargas bomb that blows up in your face if you don’t open it correctly, a throwing knife, a portable sniper rifle and some gold sovereigns. There is also a little device that let’s you know if your phone is being tapped. Again, nothing too crazy.
One thing I have to point out, Bond’s one liners are usually golden cheese. In other words, they make you groan out loud, but with a smile on your face.
For instance, in “Dr. No”, Bond is being chased by a bunch of assassins in a hearse. The chase ends with the bad guys flying off a cliff and exploding. Some guy comes up and says, “Hey what was that?” or some other generic bystander line. Bond looks at him, smiles and says, “I think they were on their way to a funeral.” You can actually hear the TING as the light glints off his teeth.
There are at least three or four of these in any self-respecting Bond movie, but one I must point out was so stupid it was hilarious.
In “Russia”, Bond is being chased by a helicopter. Long story short, he shoots it down, it crashes and explodes. He looks to the girl and says, “It looks like one of their aircraft is missing.”
That’s fucking hilarious.
It’s like he said, “I shot down one of their helicopters.” Brilliant.
And now, the count:
Dr. No Means Yes = 3 (chick he beats at cards, Chinese/American chick working for the bad guys, shell collecting girl who ends up as his companion until the end of the movie)
From Russia With A Boner = 4 (same chick that he beat at cards*, two cat fighting gypsies, Russian chick who betrays her country for lots of Bond cock**)
* This is the only time you see the same girl in two movies. I guess they abandoned the idea of carrying over women when they calculated just how many he would be dealing with.
**They scrumped multiple times (at least three), but this is about the number of women, not the number of orgasms.
In 20 movies, he must have banged at least 70 women and I’m pretty sure there was no mention of protection in any of these encounters. I’d like to think that some day, all the women he’s boinked and given an STD or child to will rise up against him and get their revenge.
I’m pretty weird though.
11.09.2006
J to the Izz Ames muhfuggin' Biz Ond.
So now it's fucking summer again?!
FUCK YOU GOD!
Also, I just checked out the new Bond movie theme, "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell. VERY solid.
When it comes to Bond theme music you can go terribly wrong very quickly.
You can pick the wrong voice (Sheryl Crow - Tomorrow Never Dies) or the wrong lyricist (Don Black -The Man With The Golden Gun) or just completely fuck up and go with the most popular artist at the time (Madonna - Die Another Day).
The key to a good Bond theme is to have a song that can fit into your usual catalog as an artist and be accepted as a (semi) normal pop song, have that whiff of cheese that all Bond movies must, by law, contain, have some strings in there somewhere (preferably playing the "Bond Theme" or something very close to it).
I think a few have met all these criteria. They include: You Only Live Twice (covered by Coldplay and Bjork), Live and Let Die (covered by Guns N Roses), A View to A Kill, The Living Daylights, Goldeneye, The World Is Not Enough and You Know My Name.
I have an affinity for most of them since I am a HUGE Bond fan. If I ever become a zombie, putting on a Bond movie would be a good way to distract me.
Speaking of which, would anyone be up for seeing the new one the weekend it's out (the 17th)? We could make a dinner and a movie thing out of it.
I'm craving a Dallas BBQ Pulled Pork Sandwich...and human brains.
FUCK YOU GOD!
Also, I just checked out the new Bond movie theme, "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell. VERY solid.
When it comes to Bond theme music you can go terribly wrong very quickly.
You can pick the wrong voice (Sheryl Crow - Tomorrow Never Dies) or the wrong lyricist (Don Black -The Man With The Golden Gun) or just completely fuck up and go with the most popular artist at the time (Madonna - Die Another Day).
The key to a good Bond theme is to have a song that can fit into your usual catalog as an artist and be accepted as a (semi) normal pop song, have that whiff of cheese that all Bond movies must, by law, contain, have some strings in there somewhere (preferably playing the "Bond Theme" or something very close to it).
I think a few have met all these criteria. They include: You Only Live Twice (covered by Coldplay and Bjork), Live and Let Die (covered by Guns N Roses), A View to A Kill, The Living Daylights, Goldeneye, The World Is Not Enough and You Know My Name.
I have an affinity for most of them since I am a HUGE Bond fan. If I ever become a zombie, putting on a Bond movie would be a good way to distract me.
Speaking of which, would anyone be up for seeing the new one the weekend it's out (the 17th)? We could make a dinner and a movie thing out of it.
I'm craving a Dallas BBQ Pulled Pork Sandwich...and human brains.
11.08.2006
Gwan.
11.06.06
7:26 PM
I’m sitting here minding my own business, reading my book (Moving Pictures by Terry Pratchett) when I hear three what can only be zoologists discussing the ground speed and endurance of a cheetah. Why (you may ask) am I so sure of the vocation of these three individuals? Well that’s simple: because they all sound so ABSOLUTELY SURE of themselves. They aren’t guessing the speed of these magnificent beasts, they are asserting (in the way only a professional in the field under discussion can assert) the speed of these magnificent beasts.
Can you just imagine how slack-jawed with surprise I was when I realized that these three professors of Cheetahtology were, in reality, three security guards here at the Hospital? I don’t know if you can, folks. I don’t know if you can.
The only thing more surprising about their dichotomous occupational history is that there are actually three sides to said occupational history.
Not only are these men security guards AND Cheetahtologists, but they are also political scientists. Twelve minutes around these intellectual giants will tell you that.
I feel dwarfed by the IQs in this room. I mean, I only went to college for four years (and for ACTING! How fucking pointless/useless is THAT?!) and I don’t even remember a quarter of what I learned during my time there, but these guys didn’t even GO to college and yet they have mastered three aspects of our modern society.
Fuck, man.
Holy fucking fuck.
I’m sorry to revert to plain old vulgarity, but that’s what they teach us faggy actor types at our faux educational institutes.
Not like the security/Cheetahtology/political science institutions. That are real. Totally real.
On a topic having nothing to do with smarm: I bought another slew of vinyl again today.
Bad Paul-with-super-combustible-money!! Bad!!
I do enjoy the aesthetic of the medium though.
I love having a 12” by 12” versions of the cover art to my favorite albums.
And I’ve discovered that Beck was made for vinyl. The gentle whisper underlying each track goes so well with his voice.
Anyway, I’m learning to shop smarter for what I need, so I’m burning less money.
At least my fear that I would never use the records/record player I bought has been allayed.
I use it, and I enjoy it.
And that is what life is all about.
Enjoying.
So, please, whoever you are, enjoy life for just a moment.
Thanks.
7:26 PM
I’m sitting here minding my own business, reading my book (Moving Pictures by Terry Pratchett) when I hear three what can only be zoologists discussing the ground speed and endurance of a cheetah. Why (you may ask) am I so sure of the vocation of these three individuals? Well that’s simple: because they all sound so ABSOLUTELY SURE of themselves. They aren’t guessing the speed of these magnificent beasts, they are asserting (in the way only a professional in the field under discussion can assert) the speed of these magnificent beasts.
Can you just imagine how slack-jawed with surprise I was when I realized that these three professors of Cheetahtology were, in reality, three security guards here at the Hospital? I don’t know if you can, folks. I don’t know if you can.
The only thing more surprising about their dichotomous occupational history is that there are actually three sides to said occupational history.
Not only are these men security guards AND Cheetahtologists, but they are also political scientists. Twelve minutes around these intellectual giants will tell you that.
I feel dwarfed by the IQs in this room. I mean, I only went to college for four years (and for ACTING! How fucking pointless/useless is THAT?!) and I don’t even remember a quarter of what I learned during my time there, but these guys didn’t even GO to college and yet they have mastered three aspects of our modern society.
Fuck, man.
Holy fucking fuck.
I’m sorry to revert to plain old vulgarity, but that’s what they teach us faggy actor types at our faux educational institutes.
Not like the security/Cheetahtology/political science institutions. That are real. Totally real.
On a topic having nothing to do with smarm: I bought another slew of vinyl again today.
Bad Paul-with-super-combustible-money!! Bad!!
I do enjoy the aesthetic of the medium though.
I love having a 12” by 12” versions of the cover art to my favorite albums.
And I’ve discovered that Beck was made for vinyl. The gentle whisper underlying each track goes so well with his voice.
Anyway, I’m learning to shop smarter for what I need, so I’m burning less money.
At least my fear that I would never use the records/record player I bought has been allayed.
I use it, and I enjoy it.
And that is what life is all about.
Enjoying.
So, please, whoever you are, enjoy life for just a moment.
Thanks.
11.04.2006
The place to be.
11.3.06
4:31 PM
Very, very excited about tomorrow’s shoot. I just got off the phone with Ray and we have birthed yet another idea. Fucking rock.
Also, today I finished 99% of the filming for “Donation” and the titles and background have been sketched out as well. I’ll need Chris to reshoot something from before and then it will be ready for editing and authoring.
This forward momentum is like some wonderful drug…administered anally by beautiful French women.
Holy blue!!
I have had the “Green Acres” theme song in my head all day and I believe it comes from the tail end of a dream I had last night. That worries me, but only a little.
I found out about 25 minutes ago that I have Tuesday off. Something about an election. I don’t know.
So unless you want me just lying about all day, masturbating to “Green Acres”, get in touch and maybe we can do something…like watch “Green Acres”.
Within a few hours (knock four-leafed rabbit’s foot) I will have a full length, pro shot They Might Be Giants concert ready for burning.
But the best part of everything is that over the past few days I have been having a very interesting pain inside my right arm. It felt like something was trying to push its way out of a long, thin crack in my femur (that’s the upper arm bone, right?). Anyway, the best thing about all this is that the pain has ceased. That makes me feel happy. Happy and invincible, like usual.
That low thrumming noise you hear is my heart trying to vibrate its way out of my rib cage.
It’s a good feeling.
P.S. I am going to celebrate my happiness with a huge fucking burger from Burgers, Inc. (Phat Burger that was) and maybe some crazy, heart-incinerating side dish like chili.
God bless beautiful downtown Grozny.
4:31 PM
Very, very excited about tomorrow’s shoot. I just got off the phone with Ray and we have birthed yet another idea. Fucking rock.
Also, today I finished 99% of the filming for “Donation” and the titles and background have been sketched out as well. I’ll need Chris to reshoot something from before and then it will be ready for editing and authoring.
This forward momentum is like some wonderful drug…administered anally by beautiful French women.
Holy blue!!
I have had the “Green Acres” theme song in my head all day and I believe it comes from the tail end of a dream I had last night. That worries me, but only a little.
I found out about 25 minutes ago that I have Tuesday off. Something about an election. I don’t know.
So unless you want me just lying about all day, masturbating to “Green Acres”, get in touch and maybe we can do something…like watch “Green Acres”.
Within a few hours (knock four-leafed rabbit’s foot) I will have a full length, pro shot They Might Be Giants concert ready for burning.
But the best part of everything is that over the past few days I have been having a very interesting pain inside my right arm. It felt like something was trying to push its way out of a long, thin crack in my femur (that’s the upper arm bone, right?). Anyway, the best thing about all this is that the pain has ceased. That makes me feel happy. Happy and invincible, like usual.
That low thrumming noise you hear is my heart trying to vibrate its way out of my rib cage.
It’s a good feeling.
P.S. I am going to celebrate my happiness with a huge fucking burger from Burgers, Inc. (Phat Burger that was) and maybe some crazy, heart-incinerating side dish like chili.
God bless beautiful downtown Grozny.
11.02.2006
O Menina
11.2.06
10:?? PM
Is it fucking winter yet? God damn.
Either this weekend or next weekend, Leah is coming to town for brunch. Woo! I enjoy Leah.
This weekend, I am shooting the “Snack Tragedy” portion of the Doritos commercial.
You know, one of the greatest things about having Ray as a friend is that when he and I come up with a great idea, we actually follow through with it. It goes from idea to realization in the blink of an eye when compared to a lot of ideas I have collaborated with people on. Was that terrible grammar or what? Check me out.
Now, just to elaborate: that comment about idea realization was not a shot at Phil or Will, (with whom most of the best ideas in the world are created. They are hundreds and hundreds of miles and several hours away from me and when we are all together, we are so limited as far as time that we end up just having excellent fun rather than slaving over the blast furnaces that are our collective minds. I’m sure if the three of us were allowed a much longer period than one measly weekend together that we would carry out one or several of our ideas and sink a continent or two. Or cure AIDS. Or both. Perhaps we would find a way to gather all the people with AIDS onto a continent, and then sink it. Hmmm...)
No, this is less of a negative comment towards anyone as much as it is a positive comment on how wonderful it feels to have an idea and then see the idea brought to its full potential within a set time period.
I feel like people who sit around and say, “Oh! Dude! We should TOTALLY film that!! That would be AWESOME!!!” and do nothing about it are maybe a dot above the wastrels that are potheads.
Fucking idiot potheads.
Stealing my oxygen.
Anyway, it just feels good is all.
Like me with the short films.
I am still working on the second cycle but I just can’t seem to find all the scene partners I need.
I might also need a guest cameraperson again.
But within a week or so “Donation” should be released.
I honestly don’t think it’s as good as “Taken From Me”, but then again they come from two totally different places in my mind and both were written using different methods so who knows.
Certainly you don’t.
Ball.
Had an excellent shower today.
Refreshing.
On a totally unrelated note, I watched “Transamerica” a few days ago. Very good movie. It was a lot less heavy than I thought it would be. That’s good.
I finished the second most new Gaiman book (Anansi Boys). Not American Gods by any measure, but it was pretty good. I’m going to read some Pratchett before I read Fragile Things, the new Gaiman (a collection of short stories). His short stories are some of the best I have ever read. I mark a good short story by how much I want it to continue. Gaiman scores high.
10:?? PM
Is it fucking winter yet? God damn.
Either this weekend or next weekend, Leah is coming to town for brunch. Woo! I enjoy Leah.
This weekend, I am shooting the “Snack Tragedy” portion of the Doritos commercial.
You know, one of the greatest things about having Ray as a friend is that when he and I come up with a great idea, we actually follow through with it. It goes from idea to realization in the blink of an eye when compared to a lot of ideas I have collaborated with people on. Was that terrible grammar or what? Check me out.
Now, just to elaborate: that comment about idea realization was not a shot at Phil or Will, (with whom most of the best ideas in the world are created. They are hundreds and hundreds of miles and several hours away from me and when we are all together, we are so limited as far as time that we end up just having excellent fun rather than slaving over the blast furnaces that are our collective minds. I’m sure if the three of us were allowed a much longer period than one measly weekend together that we would carry out one or several of our ideas and sink a continent or two. Or cure AIDS. Or both. Perhaps we would find a way to gather all the people with AIDS onto a continent, and then sink it. Hmmm...)
No, this is less of a negative comment towards anyone as much as it is a positive comment on how wonderful it feels to have an idea and then see the idea brought to its full potential within a set time period.
I feel like people who sit around and say, “Oh! Dude! We should TOTALLY film that!! That would be AWESOME!!!” and do nothing about it are maybe a dot above the wastrels that are potheads.
Fucking idiot potheads.
Stealing my oxygen.
Anyway, it just feels good is all.
Like me with the short films.
I am still working on the second cycle but I just can’t seem to find all the scene partners I need.
I might also need a guest cameraperson again.
But within a week or so “Donation” should be released.
I honestly don’t think it’s as good as “Taken From Me”, but then again they come from two totally different places in my mind and both were written using different methods so who knows.
Certainly you don’t.
Ball.
Had an excellent shower today.
Refreshing.
On a totally unrelated note, I watched “Transamerica” a few days ago. Very good movie. It was a lot less heavy than I thought it would be. That’s good.
I finished the second most new Gaiman book (Anansi Boys). Not American Gods by any measure, but it was pretty good. I’m going to read some Pratchett before I read Fragile Things, the new Gaiman (a collection of short stories). His short stories are some of the best I have ever read. I mark a good short story by how much I want it to continue. Gaiman scores high.
10.18.2006
To my "friends".
10.18.06
5:10 PM
I took a short nap today and it was fucking awesome.
I went to work at 4:30 today and when I stepped outside to head over, I noticed that the weather was perfect. No, wait…Perfect. Yes, Perfect, with a capital “P”.
It was so Perfect that it brought back every memory of every Perfect day I have ever had in my life, climatically speaking.
Days in Central Park mostly, although a few in Florida popped up as well.
I smiled a six year old’s smile and dug it. Dug it xmax.
On a less Perfect note: myspace.
I have several friends. Some friends I consider closer than others. Some people started off as friends of friends and then became friends. I don’t need to explain this.
People I see on a regular basis I usually consider close friends, although there are some friends I see once or twice every few months, and yet they are closer than these friends I see on a weekly or even bi-weekly basis. Then there are the acquaintances. I consider these people the friends of my friends that I never became friends with. Are you still following my gravy train (avec biscuit wheels) of thought? There are people I hung out with who hung out with other people. It’s these other people I am talking about. I don’t hate these people, or even strongly dislike them for that matter, but I certainly don’t consider them my friends and in some cases, I don’t really know them very well at all. They are friends of my friends who never became anything more or less.
Now, in the case of NEW friends of my friends, there is still a very real possibility they might become my friends if my friends and their friends and I continue to hang out together, but in the case of the friends of my friends in college, for instance? That ship has pretty much sailed. You had four years to get to know me, to befriend me, if you will.
Now, I’m sure the smarter among you can see where this is going, but for the friends of my friends’ friends, let me break it down:
As it relates to myspace, I now have these aforementioned “other people” sending me highly coveted and seldom awarded “friend requests”.
I was just then being facetious.
I wonder if there was ever a moment, even the briefest shimmer of an instant when this meant something, ANYTHING to anyone before it became as unimportant and banal as deleting dick enlargement spam from your inbox.
I wonder if anyone out there over the age of twelve really believes that when someone sends you a “friend request” that they care about you as much as friends are supposed to.
I wonder of anyone still (or ever) gives a second thought before sending out dozens of these nonexistent, meaningless “friend requests” a day.
Don’t misunderstand, if I was someone’s acquaintance in school or at some other point in my life, sure, send me a “friend request”, but if you were a friend of my friend who knew my thought them and didn’t really hang out with me unless they were around because in reality you didn’t really like meat all, why the fuck would you send me a “friend request”? So that all the names on your friends’ “friend list” match up with yours?
Fuck that.
You don’t want to be my friend. You could have done that easily back when we were hanging out with the same people for the better part of four years (college) or six years (high school). You want the poor, bored bastards who trawl the Internet at three o’clock in the morning waiting for their Hentai to download so they can bust their greasy nut and go to sleep to see your “friend list” and fucking balk. You want them to say, “437 friends?! I don’t even KNOW that many people!” Chances are that you don’t either though.
You don’t know them, but they’re your “friends”. They leave comments and messages and blogs and they all know you and love you.
You’ve certainly met them all face to face and had long-lasting, meaningful relationships with them.
You’ve read all their journal entries, you share all their interests and you know everything there is to know about them.
In fact, you probably know them so well that you don’t even NEED to see them face to face or even talk to them on the phone! You know them so well that you can just click and clack on your keyboard and that relationship just gets stronger and more meaningful with each and every click of the mouse.
Hey, you profile picture and the song you have on your page say it all. We were meant for each other.
I fucking loathe what things like myspace have done to human relations. Myspace has actually managed to make the word “friend” mean less. That is fucking amazing.
Sure, you can now hang out with people you didn’t hang out with in high school, but what the fuck for? If you really wanted to see someone, you’d see them. If you really wanted to talk to them, you’d call them. You wouldn’t have to Google their goddamn user ID and cross reference it with their AOL screen name. And DO NOT mumble any weak shit about how it takes so much time and effort to keep in touch with people when your spending HOURS of your life pimping out your fucking blog.
Myspace has made it even easier to not give a shit about people.
Just “click”, now you’re my friend and I don’t have to do anything else.
It’s depressing, but then again, it’s where we’re headed.
I can bitch and bitch and post my angry little entries right here on myspace AND the underappreciated and Amish-by-comparison LiveJournal and the best part is that no one will ever read it.
Why would you? You’ve got more “friend requests”, e-cards, e-vites and video posts to make.
Well, prove me wrong “friends”. All you people on whose periphery I was when you knew me as a flesh and blood person and not as a picture, screen name and headline, read this and tell me why I’m your friend. Why the fuck do you want a whiny, hypocritical, Luddite, spastic ganglo-freak as your friend? Is it because you’re trying to rival that unspeakable techno-twat Tila Tequila? (If that is the case, by the way, kill yourself) How about I just assume so until you prove me wrong.
If you prove me wrong, excellent, I will hopefully find in you a new friend and our surface relationship that we’ve had thus far can deepen into something that means something.
If not? Fuck it. It isn’t like I’ve seen you in years, ever see you now or plan to see you ever again. You’re not even going to read this because it’s more than a paragraph, you lazy anus.
True friendship matters to me.
A true friend is more valuable than anything in this world.
5:10 PM
I took a short nap today and it was fucking awesome.
I went to work at 4:30 today and when I stepped outside to head over, I noticed that the weather was perfect. No, wait…Perfect. Yes, Perfect, with a capital “P”.
It was so Perfect that it brought back every memory of every Perfect day I have ever had in my life, climatically speaking.
Days in Central Park mostly, although a few in Florida popped up as well.
I smiled a six year old’s smile and dug it. Dug it xmax.
On a less Perfect note: myspace.
I have several friends. Some friends I consider closer than others. Some people started off as friends of friends and then became friends. I don’t need to explain this.
People I see on a regular basis I usually consider close friends, although there are some friends I see once or twice every few months, and yet they are closer than these friends I see on a weekly or even bi-weekly basis. Then there are the acquaintances. I consider these people the friends of my friends that I never became friends with. Are you still following my gravy train (avec biscuit wheels) of thought? There are people I hung out with who hung out with other people. It’s these other people I am talking about. I don’t hate these people, or even strongly dislike them for that matter, but I certainly don’t consider them my friends and in some cases, I don’t really know them very well at all. They are friends of my friends who never became anything more or less.
Now, in the case of NEW friends of my friends, there is still a very real possibility they might become my friends if my friends and their friends and I continue to hang out together, but in the case of the friends of my friends in college, for instance? That ship has pretty much sailed. You had four years to get to know me, to befriend me, if you will.
Now, I’m sure the smarter among you can see where this is going, but for the friends of my friends’ friends, let me break it down:
As it relates to myspace, I now have these aforementioned “other people” sending me highly coveted and seldom awarded “friend requests”.
I was just then being facetious.
I wonder if there was ever a moment, even the briefest shimmer of an instant when this meant something, ANYTHING to anyone before it became as unimportant and banal as deleting dick enlargement spam from your inbox.
I wonder if anyone out there over the age of twelve really believes that when someone sends you a “friend request” that they care about you as much as friends are supposed to.
I wonder of anyone still (or ever) gives a second thought before sending out dozens of these nonexistent, meaningless “friend requests” a day.
Don’t misunderstand, if I was someone’s acquaintance in school or at some other point in my life, sure, send me a “friend request”, but if you were a friend of my friend who knew my thought them and didn’t really hang out with me unless they were around because in reality you didn’t really like meat all, why the fuck would you send me a “friend request”? So that all the names on your friends’ “friend list” match up with yours?
Fuck that.
You don’t want to be my friend. You could have done that easily back when we were hanging out with the same people for the better part of four years (college) or six years (high school). You want the poor, bored bastards who trawl the Internet at three o’clock in the morning waiting for their Hentai to download so they can bust their greasy nut and go to sleep to see your “friend list” and fucking balk. You want them to say, “437 friends?! I don’t even KNOW that many people!” Chances are that you don’t either though.
You don’t know them, but they’re your “friends”. They leave comments and messages and blogs and they all know you and love you.
You’ve certainly met them all face to face and had long-lasting, meaningful relationships with them.
You’ve read all their journal entries, you share all their interests and you know everything there is to know about them.
In fact, you probably know them so well that you don’t even NEED to see them face to face or even talk to them on the phone! You know them so well that you can just click and clack on your keyboard and that relationship just gets stronger and more meaningful with each and every click of the mouse.
Hey, you profile picture and the song you have on your page say it all. We were meant for each other.
I fucking loathe what things like myspace have done to human relations. Myspace has actually managed to make the word “friend” mean less. That is fucking amazing.
Sure, you can now hang out with people you didn’t hang out with in high school, but what the fuck for? If you really wanted to see someone, you’d see them. If you really wanted to talk to them, you’d call them. You wouldn’t have to Google their goddamn user ID and cross reference it with their AOL screen name. And DO NOT mumble any weak shit about how it takes so much time and effort to keep in touch with people when your spending HOURS of your life pimping out your fucking blog.
Myspace has made it even easier to not give a shit about people.
Just “click”, now you’re my friend and I don’t have to do anything else.
It’s depressing, but then again, it’s where we’re headed.
I can bitch and bitch and post my angry little entries right here on myspace AND the underappreciated and Amish-by-comparison LiveJournal and the best part is that no one will ever read it.
Why would you? You’ve got more “friend requests”, e-cards, e-vites and video posts to make.
Well, prove me wrong “friends”. All you people on whose periphery I was when you knew me as a flesh and blood person and not as a picture, screen name and headline, read this and tell me why I’m your friend. Why the fuck do you want a whiny, hypocritical, Luddite, spastic ganglo-freak as your friend? Is it because you’re trying to rival that unspeakable techno-twat Tila Tequila? (If that is the case, by the way, kill yourself) How about I just assume so until you prove me wrong.
If you prove me wrong, excellent, I will hopefully find in you a new friend and our surface relationship that we’ve had thus far can deepen into something that means something.
If not? Fuck it. It isn’t like I’ve seen you in years, ever see you now or plan to see you ever again. You’re not even going to read this because it’s more than a paragraph, you lazy anus.
True friendship matters to me.
A true friend is more valuable than anything in this world.
10.17.2006
PMDG to see TMBG
Yo. I just found out that They Might Be Giants are playing at Southpaw in Brooklyn on Saturday, December 16th at 4pm (kid show) and 8pm (adult show). Since I haven't seen them in so long, I'm going to both. The shows are $25 each and tickets and info are here. I'm going to have a great time no matter what, but if anyone wants to see me have a great time, you should come.
Rock on.
Rock on.
Put Your Hand Near The Bug (we are so much like him)
10.17.06
3:36 PM
The Rite of First Refusal
Prepare the tear-stained cannons.
Fire sorrow in salute.
Dark and brooding; the candles’ flames are blue.
The rain stings your face.
Sharpen the dolorous dagger.
Bring your tears as offerings.
Your reward will be dissatisfaction.
Uncertainty.
Sleeplessness.
Regrets and questions.
Unasked and unanswered.
Unimportant and unremarkable.
The silence heard is yours.
I found out today I was put on hold for a booking. What that means is that I should keep the day of the shoot (10/25) open. Usually, the term used is “on hold”, but today I was told that I had “the right of first refusal” for this thing. That got in my head. It sounded awesome and archaic, like something inscribed on the inside of a sacrificial victim’s skull. Then I thought, what if it was “rite” instead of “right”? Then I wrote this.
I don’t write poetry well. I remember something I wrote in 8th grade or so…it was so laughably terribly ATROCIOUSLY bad is gives me goosebumps to this day. I think there was only that one though, a fact for which I am VERY grateful.
One of the only things worse than bad poetry, in the literary world, is bad poetry that you yourself have written.
3:36 PM
The Rite of First Refusal
Prepare the tear-stained cannons.
Fire sorrow in salute.
Dark and brooding; the candles’ flames are blue.
The rain stings your face.
Sharpen the dolorous dagger.
Bring your tears as offerings.
Your reward will be dissatisfaction.
Uncertainty.
Sleeplessness.
Regrets and questions.
Unasked and unanswered.
Unimportant and unremarkable.
The silence heard is yours.
I found out today I was put on hold for a booking. What that means is that I should keep the day of the shoot (10/25) open. Usually, the term used is “on hold”, but today I was told that I had “the right of first refusal” for this thing. That got in my head. It sounded awesome and archaic, like something inscribed on the inside of a sacrificial victim’s skull. Then I thought, what if it was “rite” instead of “right”? Then I wrote this.
I don’t write poetry well. I remember something I wrote in 8th grade or so…it was so laughably terribly ATROCIOUSLY bad is gives me goosebumps to this day. I think there was only that one though, a fact for which I am VERY grateful.
One of the only things worse than bad poetry, in the literary world, is bad poetry that you yourself have written.
10.14.2006
All the B-boys are naked…and the hot tub’s looking real dope.
10.13.06
9:40 PM
Went to Best Buy to get all 11 “Friday the 13th” movies but the collection (1-8) was $64 and the only other one they had was “Freddy Vs. Jason”.
It was all or nothing for me, but even I wouldn’t pay $64 for those pieces of shit.
I found them on Amazon for like $47 plus all the others for $6.97 each, I shit ye not.
I might reconsider since they are so bad.
I think what I really need is a financial advisor to slap me when I come to him with potential expenditures like this.
Disposable income indeed.
10:23 PM
I am currently pumping the “Sexxlaws” single. It has a remix and it is funky. In fact, it has put me in the mood to quote and then expand upon a joke that I made up based on the quote that I think is funny-poos.
First, the quote:
“Brief encounters in Mercedes-Benz
Wearing hepatitis contact lens
Bed and breakfast getaway weekends
With Sport Illustrated moms”
Now, it goes without saying that this is an excellent line, period.
However, Beck has a habit of sort of slurring his words, blurring letters into something they were never intended to be and a word might come out sounding different than how it is written.
For example, in the above quote, “brief encounters” comes out sounding like “beef encounters”. I know it is “brief encounters”, but every time I think of the context of the song and then insert “beef encounters”, I fucking lose it. I love to sing it as such.
I think you should try it too; it will brighten up your day.
“Beef encounters in Mercedes-Benz”
Brilliant.
Also, the cover of the Sexxlaws single portrays Beck and some chick in their underwear sitting on a bed. You can see her boob.
It rocks.
9:40 PM
Went to Best Buy to get all 11 “Friday the 13th” movies but the collection (1-8) was $64 and the only other one they had was “Freddy Vs. Jason”.
It was all or nothing for me, but even I wouldn’t pay $64 for those pieces of shit.
I found them on Amazon for like $47 plus all the others for $6.97 each, I shit ye not.
I might reconsider since they are so bad.
I think what I really need is a financial advisor to slap me when I come to him with potential expenditures like this.
Disposable income indeed.
10:23 PM
I am currently pumping the “Sexxlaws” single. It has a remix and it is funky. In fact, it has put me in the mood to quote and then expand upon a joke that I made up based on the quote that I think is funny-poos.
First, the quote:
“Brief encounters in Mercedes-Benz
Wearing hepatitis contact lens
Bed and breakfast getaway weekends
With Sport Illustrated moms”
Now, it goes without saying that this is an excellent line, period.
However, Beck has a habit of sort of slurring his words, blurring letters into something they were never intended to be and a word might come out sounding different than how it is written.
For example, in the above quote, “brief encounters” comes out sounding like “beef encounters”. I know it is “brief encounters”, but every time I think of the context of the song and then insert “beef encounters”, I fucking lose it. I love to sing it as such.
I think you should try it too; it will brighten up your day.
“Beef encounters in Mercedes-Benz”
Brilliant.
Also, the cover of the Sexxlaws single portrays Beck and some chick in their underwear sitting on a bed. You can see her boob.
It rocks.
10.13.2006
The Pun'kin Patch
10.12.06
9:32 PM
Had two auditions today, one just fine and the other was a gem.
What I thought was to be a voiceover turned out to be an on screen.
Good thing I am always camera ready.
The Twinings (pronounced TWINE-ings) thing turned out to be a lot more rocking than I expected. I picture some soft faux-British accent whispering about how soothing their teas are.
I have GOT to learn to stop underestimating the tea companies.
Twinings is introducing something called “Options”, which appear to be a set of flavored teas.
I really don’t know.
The plot of the commercial is a woman (Stacey) goes on a speed dating thing and meets several types of guy, each with a flavor of tea on a sign on their chest. There was a Black guy, a Latino guy, a fireman, an older guy and a bunch of others. Basically, all of them have something wrong with them except for the last guy who is listed as the “good looking guy”.
I was brought in as…the really tall guy.
BUT
It was much more than the typical “be tall” audition. I was brought in and the camera chick was playing the girl. I was a bad choice for Stacey because I constantly brought everything back to my height. In other words, I got to improv and it went great. The director and the camera chick seemed to dig it.
I know in the end that no matter HOW good it felt, it really has more to doing with the color of my hair, but whatever the result, it was an awesome audition.
The one later on was some breathy, vaguely European perfume ad.
L’Occitane en Province.
It went well, but it was more straightforward.
Whatever.
Probably smells like the vaginas of French prostitutes.
I’ll take two.
After that I swung by Best Buy and picked up the second season of Harvey Birdman and the re-release of Depeche Mode’s “Songs of Faith and Devotion”, my favorite album of theirs. They have been suping up and re-releasing a lot of their older albums. They are all remastered and come with a DVD with the album in 5.1 with bonus tracks, remixes, b-sides etc. Also each album comes with a documentary about the making of and touring for that particular album. It is very well done. Apparently this album almost ended Depeche Mode because of all the crazy shit going on at the time. I also learned that Flood produced this album. I should have known by the feel of it.
After SOFAD he worked on a little project called “The Downward Spiral” with Trent Reznor.
My next project (in the world of video games) is to finish Resident Evil 4 on super fucking hard mode. I expect trouble ahead…
And, last night I checked out “Click”. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. I’d say there was maybe a good solid half hour of funny scattered throughout the movie, but that’s about it.
Be forewarned.
Again I find myself listening to “The Information”.
If you haven’t already, fucking buy it.
Fucking buy it and then fucking make your own album art.
I am about 100 pages or so into the new King book. It is one of the most adult things he has ever written and it’s weird. Very mature. The writing is sooo much better than “The Ruins”, but I’m a huge fan of King and that is a little unfair.
But “The Ruins” is pretty bad.
So are “The Runs”.
You know.
Liquid poop.
Chocolate water.
Hershey squirts.
Also, I just now heard a VERY stereotypical Hispanic gentleman threaten someone with a switchblade…jokingly?
*Sigh*
There were so few stereotypes in Oregon…just a bunch of fragrant hippies.
I can handle the hippies.
I can dig the hippies.
I groove with the hippies.
And if I didn’t think that potheads were worthless crab scabs on the rotten testicles of society, I’d probably join them.
I like Phish.
I’ve heard a song or two by the Happy Dead…no, that’s not it…the Groovy Dead?
Eh. Whatever.
Fucking hippies.
Get a goddamn job.
10:14 PM
Just realized that tomorrow is Friday the 13th.
I feel like celebrating it.
Anyone up for watching all eleven “Friday the 13th” movies?
It’s all or nothing people, no flaking.
You pussies.
You make me sick.
Go fucking smoke up with the hippies.
Douchebags.
Organic granola douchebags.
9:32 PM
Had two auditions today, one just fine and the other was a gem.
What I thought was to be a voiceover turned out to be an on screen.
Good thing I am always camera ready.
The Twinings (pronounced TWINE-ings) thing turned out to be a lot more rocking than I expected. I picture some soft faux-British accent whispering about how soothing their teas are.
I have GOT to learn to stop underestimating the tea companies.
Twinings is introducing something called “Options”, which appear to be a set of flavored teas.
I really don’t know.
The plot of the commercial is a woman (Stacey) goes on a speed dating thing and meets several types of guy, each with a flavor of tea on a sign on their chest. There was a Black guy, a Latino guy, a fireman, an older guy and a bunch of others. Basically, all of them have something wrong with them except for the last guy who is listed as the “good looking guy”.
I was brought in as…the really tall guy.
BUT
It was much more than the typical “be tall” audition. I was brought in and the camera chick was playing the girl. I was a bad choice for Stacey because I constantly brought everything back to my height. In other words, I got to improv and it went great. The director and the camera chick seemed to dig it.
I know in the end that no matter HOW good it felt, it really has more to doing with the color of my hair, but whatever the result, it was an awesome audition.
The one later on was some breathy, vaguely European perfume ad.
L’Occitane en Province.
It went well, but it was more straightforward.
Whatever.
Probably smells like the vaginas of French prostitutes.
I’ll take two.
After that I swung by Best Buy and picked up the second season of Harvey Birdman and the re-release of Depeche Mode’s “Songs of Faith and Devotion”, my favorite album of theirs. They have been suping up and re-releasing a lot of their older albums. They are all remastered and come with a DVD with the album in 5.1 with bonus tracks, remixes, b-sides etc. Also each album comes with a documentary about the making of and touring for that particular album. It is very well done. Apparently this album almost ended Depeche Mode because of all the crazy shit going on at the time. I also learned that Flood produced this album. I should have known by the feel of it.
After SOFAD he worked on a little project called “The Downward Spiral” with Trent Reznor.
My next project (in the world of video games) is to finish Resident Evil 4 on super fucking hard mode. I expect trouble ahead…
And, last night I checked out “Click”. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. I’d say there was maybe a good solid half hour of funny scattered throughout the movie, but that’s about it.
Be forewarned.
Again I find myself listening to “The Information”.
If you haven’t already, fucking buy it.
Fucking buy it and then fucking make your own album art.
I am about 100 pages or so into the new King book. It is one of the most adult things he has ever written and it’s weird. Very mature. The writing is sooo much better than “The Ruins”, but I’m a huge fan of King and that is a little unfair.
But “The Ruins” is pretty bad.
So are “The Runs”.
You know.
Liquid poop.
Chocolate water.
Hershey squirts.
Also, I just now heard a VERY stereotypical Hispanic gentleman threaten someone with a switchblade…jokingly?
*Sigh*
There were so few stereotypes in Oregon…just a bunch of fragrant hippies.
I can handle the hippies.
I can dig the hippies.
I groove with the hippies.
And if I didn’t think that potheads were worthless crab scabs on the rotten testicles of society, I’d probably join them.
I like Phish.
I’ve heard a song or two by the Happy Dead…no, that’s not it…the Groovy Dead?
Eh. Whatever.
Fucking hippies.
Get a goddamn job.
10:14 PM
Just realized that tomorrow is Friday the 13th.
I feel like celebrating it.
Anyone up for watching all eleven “Friday the 13th” movies?
It’s all or nothing people, no flaking.
You pussies.
You make me sick.
Go fucking smoke up with the hippies.
Douchebags.
Organic granola douchebags.
10.12.2006
I Am A One-Armed Duck Fucker.
10.11.06
4:57 PM
Yesterday Ray was handed a copy of Lisey’s Story, the new as-yet-to-be-released Stephen King book. He has lent it to me. That fucking rocks.
I am going to do my best to give away as much of the book as I can at the talkback on the 24th (the actual release date of the book).
In other news, I have started filming my second short films collection. It is tentatively titled “Donation”.
Once I have finished filming and editing them, I must wait for my DVD burner to be returned to me by the HP fucktards over in Cali. Then the heads will roll.
I am speaking literally about the heads.
Tomorrow I have an audition for Twinnings, the British Tea Company. I am very excited because not only do I use their product, I support it wholeheartedly.
I think that will come through in the audition.
Their Earl Grey is delicious.
You should try it.
5:31 PM
Ray just got invited to participate in a make your own Doritos commercial contest for the Super bowl by the people he did the Yahoo! Spot for. He and I are going to win this. You just wait.
7:54 PM
When I have to be, I can be pretty funny.
Funny and marketable.
4:57 PM
Yesterday Ray was handed a copy of Lisey’s Story, the new as-yet-to-be-released Stephen King book. He has lent it to me. That fucking rocks.
I am going to do my best to give away as much of the book as I can at the talkback on the 24th (the actual release date of the book).
In other news, I have started filming my second short films collection. It is tentatively titled “Donation”.
Once I have finished filming and editing them, I must wait for my DVD burner to be returned to me by the HP fucktards over in Cali. Then the heads will roll.
I am speaking literally about the heads.
Tomorrow I have an audition for Twinnings, the British Tea Company. I am very excited because not only do I use their product, I support it wholeheartedly.
I think that will come through in the audition.
Their Earl Grey is delicious.
You should try it.
5:31 PM
Ray just got invited to participate in a make your own Doritos commercial contest for the Super bowl by the people he did the Yahoo! Spot for. He and I are going to win this. You just wait.
7:54 PM
When I have to be, I can be pretty funny.
Funny and marketable.
10.09.2006
10.09.06
7:03PM
I got on a plane at 11:55 pm in Portland, Oregon, and I got off at 8:10 am in New York.
No fun.
However, the trip rocked stones.
The H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival received about 225 film submissions.
Fifty were chosen to be screened.
We got best short film and dominated.
It was pure excellence.
After the screening, total strangers were coming up and praising me like a Fatboy Slim song. This festival was good for my withered ego. I’m still unsure but this definitely helped.
Also, Lauren and I had some of the best brunch ever eaten.
I took pictures.
And I got some rare vinyl while I was there.
I now have a finished copy of the movie too (complete with bloopers, behind the scenes stuff and production stills of me in my underwear), so some time (if anyone gives a shit) we can watch it.
I am still feeling pretty fucked up and looking forward to sleep so…yeah.
Very good stuff.
Much better than Philly in July.
Right now I am unwinding with Beck and pondering some Su Doku since I can’t handle “The Ruins” right now. I’m only about 50 pages in but the writing isn’t very good.
ALSO
Big news, Binding Silence will be at the New York Horror Film Festival on Sunday, October 22nd at 3pm. I would love for people to come out and see it. I think tickets are $15 (for a block of films, not just mine). Since not many people read this, I’ll probably be letting people know about this individually, but if you want to be a bit more autonomous, you lazy, infected whore douche go here and buy your tickets for the NYHFF.
7:03PM
I got on a plane at 11:55 pm in Portland, Oregon, and I got off at 8:10 am in New York.
No fun.
However, the trip rocked stones.
The H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival received about 225 film submissions.
Fifty were chosen to be screened.
We got best short film and dominated.
It was pure excellence.
After the screening, total strangers were coming up and praising me like a Fatboy Slim song. This festival was good for my withered ego. I’m still unsure but this definitely helped.
Also, Lauren and I had some of the best brunch ever eaten.
I took pictures.
And I got some rare vinyl while I was there.
I now have a finished copy of the movie too (complete with bloopers, behind the scenes stuff and production stills of me in my underwear), so some time (if anyone gives a shit) we can watch it.
I am still feeling pretty fucked up and looking forward to sleep so…yeah.
Very good stuff.
Much better than Philly in July.
Right now I am unwinding with Beck and pondering some Su Doku since I can’t handle “The Ruins” right now. I’m only about 50 pages in but the writing isn’t very good.
ALSO
Big news, Binding Silence will be at the New York Horror Film Festival on Sunday, October 22nd at 3pm. I would love for people to come out and see it. I think tickets are $15 (for a block of films, not just mine). Since not many people read this, I’ll probably be letting people know about this individually, but if you want to be a bit more autonomous, you lazy, infected whore douche go here and buy your tickets for the NYHFF.
10.02.2006
Snickerpuss
10.02.06
10:36 PM
Goodness gracious, all those zeros in the date…I feel like I am in the future.
Found out last night that Binding Silence was accepted into the New York City Horror Film Festival. It runs October 18th through the 22nd at Tribeca Cinemas (54 Varick St.) . How fucking awesome is that?
Prepare to be penetrated New York City…
God I hope they don’t think I suck.
See, with instances in which I actually “act”, I can never tell if what I’m doing is good or not. I mean I don’t think I’ve really done any acting in any of my commercial things, but when I was in theatre at Fordham and now with Binding Silence, I can’t tell if I’m doing good or not. When people I know tell me it’s good, it’s nice to hear, but there’s always uncertainty. I think going to the Lovecraft thing with total strangers seeing the film with be a telling experience. And hopefully it will tell me what a part of me has always believed…I am the shit.
Tomorrow (after a Disney VO audition) I am going to pick up the new Beck (and possibly Thank You For Smoking and the second season of Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law if they are out). I have had a chance to listen to it a few more times and I think this album is going to prove to be one of his best. So far I like it better than “Guero”. “Guero” had a bunch of good songs, but “The Information” has a more cohesive feel to it. I dig that.
Also, my folks sent me some Japanese White Sauce from Kobe steak house in Florida. I am planning on celebrating soon at Benny Hana’s.
I think that is all.
10:36 PM
Goodness gracious, all those zeros in the date…I feel like I am in the future.
Found out last night that Binding Silence was accepted into the New York City Horror Film Festival. It runs October 18th through the 22nd at Tribeca Cinemas (54 Varick St.) . How fucking awesome is that?
Prepare to be penetrated New York City…
God I hope they don’t think I suck.
See, with instances in which I actually “act”, I can never tell if what I’m doing is good or not. I mean I don’t think I’ve really done any acting in any of my commercial things, but when I was in theatre at Fordham and now with Binding Silence, I can’t tell if I’m doing good or not. When people I know tell me it’s good, it’s nice to hear, but there’s always uncertainty. I think going to the Lovecraft thing with total strangers seeing the film with be a telling experience. And hopefully it will tell me what a part of me has always believed…I am the shit.
Tomorrow (after a Disney VO audition) I am going to pick up the new Beck (and possibly Thank You For Smoking and the second season of Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law if they are out). I have had a chance to listen to it a few more times and I think this album is going to prove to be one of his best. So far I like it better than “Guero”. “Guero” had a bunch of good songs, but “The Information” has a more cohesive feel to it. I dig that.
Also, my folks sent me some Japanese White Sauce from Kobe steak house in Florida. I am planning on celebrating soon at Benny Hana’s.
I think that is all.
9.27.2006
And in the end...
9.27.06
10:47 PM
You know how there’s that long standing joke about never being able to dry your hands thoroughly on those air blowing things in public bathrooms? Well, all those people just don’t throw themselves at the problem head on; they don’t give themselves over to the task fully. If you have a minute, maybe a minute and a half, you can get your hands bone fucking dry. If I, one of the MOST impatient people I have ever known, can take a moment (literally) to do this, all you can too.
Soon it will be cold again and I will say goodbye to sweat for another 7 months.
Also, my new laundry bag is working out great. I feel like the headmaster of a well-to-do private school in New Hampshire.
10:47 PM
You know how there’s that long standing joke about never being able to dry your hands thoroughly on those air blowing things in public bathrooms? Well, all those people just don’t throw themselves at the problem head on; they don’t give themselves over to the task fully. If you have a minute, maybe a minute and a half, you can get your hands bone fucking dry. If I, one of the MOST impatient people I have ever known, can take a moment (literally) to do this, all you can too.
Soon it will be cold again and I will say goodbye to sweat for another 7 months.
Also, my new laundry bag is working out great. I feel like the headmaster of a well-to-do private school in New Hampshire.
9.23.2006
This jam is real.
9.22.06
7:03 PM
I feel like something changed while I was on my break. I lay on my bed for about 30 minutes or so then my alarm brought me fully back from the strange place between wakefulness and full sleep. Outside, the sky is a thick gray/blue, full of clouds. I feel something approaching. Something with teeth.
Some of this might be attributed to a few cuts off the new Beck (leaked, d’oh). While he isn’t redefining music anymore (he stopped with “Sea Change” in my opinion), he is still doing interesting things with what has already been created in his musical universe (although not as interesting as he used to, but then again this is my first impression of my first half listen and it needs time to grow on me). “Guero” didn’t grab me like “Sea Change” or “Midnite Vultures”. Some tracks did, but not the whole thing. We’ll see how “The Information” fits into this pattern.
************************************
Also, don't ever watch "Dune". Ever.
7:03 PM
I feel like something changed while I was on my break. I lay on my bed for about 30 minutes or so then my alarm brought me fully back from the strange place between wakefulness and full sleep. Outside, the sky is a thick gray/blue, full of clouds. I feel something approaching. Something with teeth.
Some of this might be attributed to a few cuts off the new Beck (leaked, d’oh). While he isn’t redefining music anymore (he stopped with “Sea Change” in my opinion), he is still doing interesting things with what has already been created in his musical universe (although not as interesting as he used to, but then again this is my first impression of my first half listen and it needs time to grow on me). “Guero” didn’t grab me like “Sea Change” or “Midnite Vultures”. Some tracks did, but not the whole thing. We’ll see how “The Information” fits into this pattern.
************************************
Also, don't ever watch "Dune". Ever.
9.19.2006
I can't decide whether you should live or die...
6:50 PM
Over my hour and a half break, I have consumed 6 Smirnoff Ice's. Let the fun begin...
7:02 PM
Everything is a bit sway-y. Coming down the stairs was fun. I brought a few CD’s with me. Any updates will be made as they appear necessary.
Xmax.
7:08
I have to do this more often.
I wouldn’t say drunk, I’d say…blurry.
7:10
Dialing numbers is 17% more difficult than usual.
The rolling office chair I use is 38% more entertaining than usual.
7:13
I have developed hiccups.
The age old question of how many drinks would it take to make my job challenging has yet to be answered, sadly, but the day old question of how many drinks would it take to make my job more fun has indeed been sufficiently answered: 6.
7:18
I have cured my hiccups. SHAMAN! HEALER OF THE PEOPLE! THAT IS I.
Okay. A crack in my façade. I just announced a Narcotics Anonymous meeting and couldn’t help but laugh a little. Whoops.
7:21
I just held a conversation and at no point did the other person suspect I was tipsy. By which I mean they didn’t say: “Hey…are you tipsy?”
Move confidently into their midst.
I am reminded of the first time I was ever really noticeably affected by alcohol. It was on Brut champagne at the cast party for “Charley’s Aunt” (a play I was in) in my Junior or Sophomore year. I knew I was affected by alcohol when it became fun to jump. I was just in the bathroom and, friends, it is fun to jump.
7:32
I am 20% more friendly on the phone than usual.
7:34
I should have brought more fun music. Right now Cake’s Pressure Chief is the hip-hopinest thing I have. DEAL WITH WHAT YOU HAVE.
10:05
Sober. Chris showed up and we had dinner. After she left I spent a quiet time reading Blender and refocusing on the world. Security now has cameras that allows home invasion. I fear.
I’m going to put on Sea Change and by the time it’s over I will be home.
This was fun and shall be done again.
Over my hour and a half break, I have consumed 6 Smirnoff Ice's. Let the fun begin...
7:02 PM
Everything is a bit sway-y. Coming down the stairs was fun. I brought a few CD’s with me. Any updates will be made as they appear necessary.
Xmax.
7:08
I have to do this more often.
I wouldn’t say drunk, I’d say…blurry.
7:10
Dialing numbers is 17% more difficult than usual.
The rolling office chair I use is 38% more entertaining than usual.
7:13
I have developed hiccups.
The age old question of how many drinks would it take to make my job challenging has yet to be answered, sadly, but the day old question of how many drinks would it take to make my job more fun has indeed been sufficiently answered: 6.
7:18
I have cured my hiccups. SHAMAN! HEALER OF THE PEOPLE! THAT IS I.
Okay. A crack in my façade. I just announced a Narcotics Anonymous meeting and couldn’t help but laugh a little. Whoops.
7:21
I just held a conversation and at no point did the other person suspect I was tipsy. By which I mean they didn’t say: “Hey…are you tipsy?”
Move confidently into their midst.
I am reminded of the first time I was ever really noticeably affected by alcohol. It was on Brut champagne at the cast party for “Charley’s Aunt” (a play I was in) in my Junior or Sophomore year. I knew I was affected by alcohol when it became fun to jump. I was just in the bathroom and, friends, it is fun to jump.
7:32
I am 20% more friendly on the phone than usual.
7:34
I should have brought more fun music. Right now Cake’s Pressure Chief is the hip-hopinest thing I have. DEAL WITH WHAT YOU HAVE.
10:05
Sober. Chris showed up and we had dinner. After she left I spent a quiet time reading Blender and refocusing on the world. Security now has cameras that allows home invasion. I fear.
I’m going to put on Sea Change and by the time it’s over I will be home.
This was fun and shall be done again.
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