Sounds like someone couldn't stand the wait.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
I know I shouldn't have expected much, but a small miniscule part of me almost wanted this to be good, not for Scarlett's sake (like good looking rich people really need indie cred) but for my beloved Tom Waits, in the hopes that a half way decent covers record by a well known celebrity would get more people on the "Waits-is-Genius/God" bandwagon.
Is it just me, or is that supposedly trademark sexy rasp of hers glaringly absent? Hell, I'd much rather hear more of this (which isn't saying much):
Now here's the master showing how it's done.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Like many writers, sometimes you come up with an idea that turns out to be surprisingly successful, then proceed to exploit and squeeze every ounce of cache out of it possible.
And sometimes you coincidentally stumble upon a variation of said idea...
...and thank God you put the nail in that fucking coffin.
As if Missed Connections needed anymore competition, here comes another addition to the wonderful metropolitan world of anonymous unrequited love/lust/stalking:
Now if only I could find that Mena Suvari/Lykke Li-lookalike who fell asleep on my shoulder on the F train back in February...
“I'm Good, I'm Gone” - the new video directed by Mattias Montero
Friday, April 18, 2008
I've alluded to my childhood fanaticism towards all things Roots related, so it somewhat pains me to see a recent series of underwhelming promotional moves in support of their new album, "Rising Down."
First, there was the somewhat disappointing appearance on the Colbert Report:
...which was more of an obligatory Philly showcase of the 'Roots band' ala "Jay-Z : MTV Unplugged" than an actual appearance of the Roots, with Black Thought in tow.
Then there was the official release of their new video for the Fall-Out Boy single "Birthday Girl" (that just happens to be featured on the Roots album and include some semblance of a Roots presence) :
...which is cute, pleasant, and mildly suggestive, but lo and behold, apparently has some edge to it as it features an underage-looking porn star Sasha Grey, cause nothing says legitimately serious hip hop act like catering to middle aged white male sexual fetishes.
Has it really come to this? Have the frustrating years of critical acclaim, a hardcore (albeit predominantly white) fan base, and fleeting momentary blips of commercial success really pushed the Roots to the depths of sophomoric pop punk porn promotion?
If it is, it saddens me to finally close a door on a part of my childhood that brought me so much joy, even ridiculous moments like this:
(What the hell am I talking about? Of course I've already pre-ordered my "Rising Down" gift set. And you should too. Damn childhood addictions.)
I'm not one to revel in the afterglow of another person's precipitous demise...
...so I'll allow a flurry of various videos chronicling the complete annihilation and humiliation of my blue and orange to convey my joy. (That, and my injured appendage continues to keep my blogging to a minimum):
Isiah Thomas, defender of women's rights:
Isiah Thomas, tortured balladeer:
Isiah Thomas, object of Britney-fanatic parody:
Isiah Thomas, victim of Eminem wannabes:
And my favorite, Isiah Thomas, victim of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air fantasy sequence:
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Nothing says giving back to the community like showing Boys & Girls Club kids how to look up pics of Jessica Simpson online in their new reading center.
Yes Shaq, "TWisM for Life," indeed.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
In other too good to be an actual April Fools Day joke news, families of the deceased can now view mean old Aunt Blanche's burial from the comfort of their laptops. With pay per view funerals, you too can now enjoy watching your loved/hated one being shoved into the ground or burned into a nice ash vase over and over on commemorative DVDs, CD-ROMs, and video files for easy transport onto a portable video player.
Who knew mourning could be so convenient?
If you can read this card:
get a GED, and a full-time job, apparently you can get acquitted from conspiracy robbery charges.
Somewhere in the world, Lou Dobbs is so not laughing at Wolf Blizter's April Fools joke.
For more, the always reliable source for left and right winged antagonism:
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Once a man begins to get up there in age and has been unsuccessful in finding a suitable wife, he begins to simulate the experience of fatherhood by filling his house with his rambunctious nephews.
The experience can be comical- kids tend to run into walls.
The experience can be painful- you can’t watch Cinemax when children are around. However, the experience can also be quite enlightening.
Just last week I was trying my best to keep my cool while my nephews systematically went about destroying anything of value inside my home. I figured the best way to get them to relax without giving them alcohol would be to take them to their version of the local pub, Gamestop.
While we were there we talked ad-naseum about the different games, platforms and what we would do if we made our own games. It wasn’t as bad as you would think. As we were about to leave, we heard some kids get into a debate about Ubisoft’s "Assassin’s Creed" and Take-Two Interactive’s "Bioshock." I will spare you the details and just say that video games are inspiring the kind of debate that movies haven’t since the 1970’s. When you add to the mix that the industry generates around $30 billion in revenue each year, it’s hard to understand why we frown on gamers so much.
When I was a child, my father used to play cricket with friends on the weekends. I used to look down on this because I thought that if you were playing cricket, you might as well just put on a dress and call yourself Tiffany.
What I’m trying to say is that I looked down on cricket not because of it’s athletic merit, but rather because I was looking at it through the close-minded prism of American sports culture. This is the same way that everyone, including myself, views video games right now. We hate the medium because we’re supposed to. So, what can we do about this?
It’s up to every gamer to turn at least two people onto video games. It probably goes without saying, but the games they introduce to people must be ones of very little difficulty. (If I can’t play it when I’m hammered, it’s too difficult!)
The second thing that gamers must do is organize the way movie fans and music fans do. We have Sundance for movie lovers and South by Southwest for music lovers, but where is the equivalent for gamers? (Editor's Note: Yes, we know there is one, and it's called the Electronic Entertainment Expo. The Brown Cary Grant was just uh,... checking if you were paying attention. We think.)
I find that we are too quick to dismiss the ideas and trends of the younger generations without giving them a proper hearing. If we continue to do this then everything they say about us older folks being hardheaded and stubborn will be right.
We can’t have that can we?
David Schwimmer's "Run, Fat Boy, Run" is that week old half empty box of Entenmann's cookies you have for breakfast hungover on a Sunday afternoon; appetizingly unsatisfying.
"Run, Fat Boy, Run" makes no claims or attempts at being more than the mediocre rom-com it is, but with some capable talent, it's disappointing that its not as funny as it could have been.
Written by "Brit-It Man" Simon Pegg and Michael Ian Black (Black's original story and screenplay was previously set in NYC before being optioned to the UK), it surprisingly lacks any bite or edge within the film's consciousness. As in his previous feature effort "Wedding Daze" Black's writing here curiously omits any semblance of his trademark comedic absurdity and gratefully forfeits it in favor of awkwardly sentimental, schmaltzy dialogue. Pegg, whose international critical and cult acclaim has been built upon the brilliance of parodying genre cliches seems right at home playing into rom-com nuance without any hint of a self aware wink or nudge.
It's a by the numbers romantic comedy that doesn't play the so bad it's horrifically good card (see "Serendipity") or the realistically plausible card (see "High Fidelity") but falls into the realm of mass produced mediocrity (damn near anything ever made).
While Pegg does his best to elevate what little there is he's written for himself, the rest of the cast seem like cardboard rom-com cut outs: there's the unrelentingly unsympathetic asshole boyfriend (Hank Azaria), the mindnumbingly aloof and easily swayed girlfriend that needs to be reacquired (the hot-to-trot Thandie Newton), the crazy/stupid/high/alcoholic/gambling best mate (scene stealing Dylan Moran), the cranky foreign landlord (painfully stereotyped Harish Patel), his manipulatively model hot daughter (India de Beaufort), and the adorably cute child who brings them together but will only grow up to develop a drug problem (Matthew Fenton).
All in all, "Run, Fat Boy, Run" is not the worst post-"Friends" move Schwimmer could have done (see LeBlanc, Matt) and aligning himself to projects such as this and "Duane Hopwood" (a cute Garofalo, and a gay nextdoor neighbor Dick Cavett? Yum) provide some hopeful prospects.
Yet like that empty cookie carton staring back at you, "Fat Boy" leaves you with a little bit of regret, and the feeling that you'd have been better served to stay in bed.