Sunday, December 30, 2007

Out Come The Wolves

Well it's here, year's end. And what better (read: expected) way to cap off the year than with a list of shit that was good, bad, and oh so ugly about 2007. So, without further ado, after all the celebrity rehab stints, the drunken cheese burger-eating episodes, the gay republicans, the bad music and stupid movies, here it is; 2007, the good, the bad, and the ugly.


The Good:

  • No Country For Old Men - No movie this year can hold a candle to this remarkable adaptation on Cormac McCarthy's tragic masterpiece. The film was so perfectly executed (by far the most accurate novel adaptation I have ever seen) by the Cohen brothers that it almost seems as if McCarthy had them in mind when he wrote it. However, we live in a world obsessed with tits and guns and Norbit, so if the Academy passes this over for Best Picture, don't be surprised.
  • 300 - Another adaptation, this time from a graphic novel. Gerard Butler proves he can actually, you know, act in this bloody-as-hell badass movie. A little historically inaccurate? Maybe, but then again, think of all the other films that were saved by historical inaccuracies. Yes, 300 did spawn a lot of "This is Sparta!" jokes, but so what? It's got tits, blood, tits, gore, tits, bloody fight scenes, redheads with tits, and amazing graphics and cinematography. And tits.
  • Honorable Mentions - These are the films that, although not the best film of the year, helped wash the taste of Spiderman 3 out of our mouths; The Bourne Ultimatum, Gone Baby Gone, Zodiac, Grindhouse, Disturbia, Mr. Brooks, Rescue Dawn, 3:10 To Yuma, In The Valley Of Elah, Across The Universe, The Assassination of Jesse James..., Into The Wild, There Will Be Blood, We Own the Night, Charlie Wilson's War, and Juno.

The Bad:

  • Hitman - It's always hard to find a place to start when discussing the worst movies of the year, so I will start with one that could have been at least watchable, Hitman. Now don't get me wrong, I got nothing but love for Timothy Olyphant, but this movie was doomed the moment they picked a director who has directed zero movies. He hasn't even directed a fucking commercial, so why would they hand the Hitman franchise to him? It is obvious that this could have been a trilogy (not a good one, but a trilogy just the same), so why did they throw a confusing script at an unknown director? Because Hollywood hates us, that's why.
  • Spiderman 3 - This movie sucked. You know it, I know it, and judging by the acting (or lack thereof) displayed onscreen, the actors knew it too. The only trilogy that didn't lose it's soul while the director lost his mind was the Bourne trilogy, and in this year of third installments, the other 3rd's out there just got it all wrong. But none more than this piece of shit. Emo Spidey? Ok, I can handle that, Tobey Maguire is a whiney little bitch anyway. But damn, it's like he was handed the script to a chick flick and was told to "make it work". 3 hours of hellish suffering, that is what this movie is. There, I said it, now can we please not make another one? Please?
  • Honorable Mentions - Where to begin? Ok, let's just list the ones I actually watched; Primeval, Ghost Rider, The Number 23, Pirates of the Caribbean: At Worlds End, Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer, Captivity (Amanda, you NEVER get to pick a movie again), and The Mist. And those are just the ones I was sadistic enough to make myself watch. I won't even mention the others, as I fear that my laptop might actually throw up.

The Ugly:

  • Anna Nicole Smith - Why were we forced to watch 3 straight days of news coverage regarding some dead money-grubbing whore? This is a fact which may not surprise any of you; in the 3 days following the moment she died, Fox News spent more air time covering her death than the war in Iraq! I am not making this shit up! Who cares, she's dead. It's not like she made some amazing contribution to society. All this coverage did was help prove that we a country obsessed with death, whores, and money. Was there really nothing more important that they could have reported on?


The Good:

It's hard to choose a "best" album of the year. Unless there is a groundbreaking work of art released during the year (there wasn't), you pretty much have to find the needles in the haystack of shit. So, here it is, the records that were worth spending money on this year;

The Bad:

As for bad music, that is something even more difficult to determine, if only due too an abundance of selections. So, to match my fifteen choices of the best of the year, here are the fifteen records that I am sick of hearing about, sucked, or just honestly shouldn't have been released;

  • Of Montreal - Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?
  • Deerhoof - Friend Opportunity
  • Fall Out Boy - Infinity on High
  • Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
  • Insane Clown Posse - The Tempest
  • Good Charlotte - Good Morning Revival
  • Avril Lavigne - The Best Damn Thing
  • Nine Inch Nails - Year Zero
  • Paramore - Riot!
  • Korn - Untitled
  • Kid Rock - Rock N Roll Jesus
  • Radiohead - In Rainbows
  • Seether - Finding Beauty In Negative Spaces
  • The Hives - The Black and White Album
  • Gogol Bordello - Super Taranta!

The Ugly:

Here is a list of the musicians that we will miss. The music world is a lesser place without them;

Everything Else

The last of the good, bad, and ugly things that happened in 2007;

The Good:

The Bad:

  • President Bush is still in office.
  • Dick Cheney - Still an asshole.
  • The war in Iraq is still going on.
  • We actually have to vote for one of these idiots?
  • Gas still costs more than drugs.
  • I think the FBI might have tapped my phone (illegally, no doubt).

The Ugly:

  • We lost two of the world's greatest writers; Kurt Vonnegut and Norman Mailer.
  • Bush doesn't understand the meaning of the word "genocide".
  • I still drive a Mustang.
  • Britney: It's Marry Poppins Bitch!
  • K-Fed - Still alive, still irrelevant.
  • People actually wear shirts that say "Don't tase me, bro!"
  • I still have not had sex with the following people: Laura Prepon, Neko Case, or Mrs. Fields.
  • Sean Hannity - Still a douchebag.
  • The Killers - Please, please stop making music.
  • Lindsay Lohan.
  • Lindsay Lohan's dad.
  • The fact that I actually know what I am talking about when it comes to Lohan and her dad.
  • Crepes - Still not widely available in America.
  • Republicans who tried to ban gay marriage, only to get caught soliciting/fucking gay men.
  • Chuck Norris.

Well, that's it, my list. There is much more to add, but frankly all of this is making me kind of depressed. So, here's to hoping that next year is filled with some sort of meaning and joy, less Britney crotch shots/music, less stupid taser trends, and more tea, beer, redheads, snow, tits, crepes, and Pearl Jam. See ya in 2008.

take a breath and softly say goodbye

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Sunday, December 23, 2007

Terms Of Psychic Warfare

Before you read this post, please read this comment, as this is what I will be addressing today; all done? Good. Now, where to start? How does one break down a statement of such blatant hypocrisy? It seems the best way to do it would be in list form, so here it goes, my complaints to you Patty, and please don't take them personally, they are not meant to be hurtful, but they are pretty cut and dry. Here goes;

1 - You are 15; you know nothing of quality literature. Don't argue, just accept it. I have been an avid reader since childhood, and I am now 27 and I still know nothing about quality in literature, so don't try and belittle me for not liking Harry fucking Potter. You're wrong, and the reason you are wrong is the same reason you think I am wrong; we are arguing about a difference of opinion, and every man is right is his own eyes.

2 - You stated that you had a "deep passion for the complexity and depth...", and that is something I can appreciate. But tell me, do you so adamantly defend Stephen King the same way you would J. K. Rowling? He also writes with amazing complexity and depth, but many write him off as a hack because of his darker themed material. Pick an author that you do not enjoy and I guarantee you I can find someone who feels the exact opposite. I may piss you off, as you so cleverly put it, but you can't get mad at everyone who shares a different opinion than you now can you?

3 - I don't understand why you accuse me of being "annoyed" at people who "exercise their ability to read". I don't, I just don't like what they are reading. What I was trying to say was that the majority of people I have ever encountered who read Harry Potter books read only Harry Potter books. How can you (and by "you" I mean the readers I am talking about, not necessarily you personally) stand on your high pedestal and claim these books are such great pillars of literature when you have nothing to compare them too? What I mean to say is that most Potter readers read only Potter, and thereby have no basis to stand on when arguing their greatness. It is a biased opinion, at best.

4 - Yes, I agree that it has made a difference in child literacy, and that is something I will never condone unless the books preach hatred (which as far as I know they don't). But tell me, were these books a greater contribution to the literary world than Dumas, Wilde, Dickens, Vidal, Vonnegut, Tolkien, or Shakespeare? Because these writers and hundreds like them built the foundation of which all writers today stand on. What I mean to ask is have you bothered to look at the other side's point of view? There is no way, in my humble opinion, that the Potter books can compare to these other great authors I mentioned, and the only people who will argue that are the Potter fanatics you just don't know any better. When you start to argue quality literature, you had better study the past before you argue the present.

To cap all of this off, I am not angry nor am I trying to convince you to stop reading the Potter books. In fact, I hope you reply to this with another comment, as I rather enjoy friendly debates. But you have to understand where we anti-Potter people are coming from. Potter fanatics act like literature was nothing more than useless words before J. K. Rowling came along, and that makes us mad. You (again, not personally) talk down to us as if we are the ignorant ones for just not having any God damn interest in reading those books, when in fact you refuse to pick up anything else that does not involve a little boy and his wand. In my post I was attacking the fanatics, not the fans, but maybe you should take your own advice of considering things from someone else's perspective. And by the way, yes I could hurt a lot if people, but you know what? So what. I am not here to please people, I am here to state my random ramblings and debate with 15 year olds about books, not hurt people. I doubt anybody is going to throw themselves off a cliff because of my opinion. With that, I say happy holidays to you and all you other readers out there, and feel free to tell me I am right or wrong, I really don't care.

Is it something I said when I lost my mind? Temper too quick, makes me blind

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Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Tripping The Life Dancetastic

Hipsters are an unnecessary evil bestowed upon us by some angry Norse God that plague this Earth with their bad haircuts, their horn rim glasses, and their shitty taste in music. Every God damn time I want to purchase a CD by, oh I don't know, Husker Du or Pearl Jam or any other band that actually has music worth listening to, I always get some feeble-minded pathetic look of disappointment by the indie chick with a million body piercings and twice as many tattoos and the oh-so-clever ironic vintage rock shirt of some famous band from the 70's that they don't actually fucking listen to, but it's OK because they are cool and hip and in the know or whatever the hell street lingo you mindless, soulless minions are using these days. I hate hipsters. So allow me to monosyllabically spell it out for you in a language you can understand, like quoting lyrics from an indie band; in the words of Pavement, cut your hair. I don't care how you do it, just get it done. Walking around looking like you either just got out of bed or just got fucked isn't cool; especially since we both know that neither is the case. And the pants, oh my God, the pants. Please, please stop wearing pants that look like they are painted on. I have no desire to see your chap stick sized bulge as you stand there holding a twelve dollar mocha and try to look cool. You don't look cool, you look like you are smuggling Cheetos.

Finally, stop telling me what music to listen to. I don't give a shit if Pitchfork gave The Epileptic Frying Pan Monkey Spank Tourettes Attack's new album a fucking 9.8 and Foo Fighters new record a 4.2, I would still rather listen to, as you call it a "retread", than a bunch of philosophy students banging pots and pans together while shouting poetry at me. Just because something is "obscure" or "different" or "indie" doesn't necessarily make it fucking good! Stop rolling your eyes at me for hating the Arcade Fire or for thinking that the new Radiohead album actually kind of sucks. I don't want to hear about how great some obscure unsigned band is, I just want to buy my fucking CD. And you know what makes all this even worse? I'm the one people call an elitist! I'm not. In fact I am utterly convinced that most people do not really know the definition of "elitist". I do not believe that my musical tastes are so fucking important that the fate of the world hinges on my ability to convince you to buy a Sebadoh record. Do I recommend music? Yes, of course, anyone who knows me will agree, and I am pretty fucking good at tailoring my recommendations to your personal taste. If that makes me an elitist, then go buy a fucking dictionary. At least I am not a hipster. I want them to die. In a fire.

You want me to beg forgiveness, tender an apology. It's not my fault and you're not getting one from me.

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Thursday, December 13, 2007

Personality Crisis

I often sit at my computer and stare at my screen like I imagine Dorian Gray stares at his self portrait, seeing time slowly fade away only to himself and no one else. I hope that the words will type themselves out on their own, as if possessed by the spirit of Stephen King, or maybe a macabre writer who is actually dead. But alas, the buttons do not push themselves, and I obviously don't know how to push them right either. So tonight I will type the first thing I see when I look away from my screen and hope that a clever and coherent sentence forms itself out of my damaged brain cells and somehow oozes into my fingertips. So I look up and I see... the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. I am not joking. He is staring at me, as if to say "did you steal my chickens?", only in a cool Swedish voice. I did not steal his chickens, but I am kind of hungry. Are you not entertained? Does my slow decent into madness amuse you, am I funny like a clown? Why are you staring at me? I can explain everything... no really, I can. Don't worry, there's a donkey involved. What? No, I am not lying. Why the hell would I make this shit up? You can't make this shit up! Great, now I get to go to sleep tonight knowing that I just lost an argument to myself. Thanks, thank you so much for that. God damn heathens, I swear. Go, fine, be that way. I can make this salmon and blueberry pie on my own; I don't need your help... I have issues. That's right, plural.

all about that personality crisis, you got it while it was hot

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Thursday, December 06, 2007

Family Jewels

So I was watching the Henry Rollins Show yesterday, because that is the sort of thing I do, maybe 'cause that's just how I roll. Anyway, his guest for the show was the one and only Gene Simmons. I found this oddly funny seeing as how Rollins seems like a really humble guy, and there is no one in the world who loves himself more than Gene Simmons. He literally mentioned the fact that he had money no less than five times in the short interview. He then followed this up by feeling the need to prove his point by holding out his KISS credit card for the camera, and ultimately the world to see. Now it is no secret that I am not a KISS fan. In fact, it is safe to say that if given the choice between listening to KISS or Celine Dion, I would dust off that old copy of Titanic (no, I don't actually own it), pour a glass of cheap wine, grab a box of tissues for my tears and spend the rest of the evening slowly evolving into a total pussy. I hate KISS that much. Now don't get me wrong, I accept the fact that they influenced a lot of mediocre rock bands, but that isn't to say that music is what they cared about. I really don't think it was. They were rockstars, not musicians. Their songs didn't change anybody's life, but that's ok, because they got laid and did drugs and spit blood and made toys and comic books and all that shit that doesn't really involve talent so much as luck and a clever idea. Some call it fun, I call it stupid. But here's the punch line, and it couldn't have been worded more perfectly by Simmons' himself when he said that he is a fascinating person. Love him or hate him, you still can't stop watching him. And you know? I never once turned the damn channel during his interview. Son of a bitch, the old bastard was right after. Gene, you are a fascinating character. It isn't always a good thing, but you found a way to get rich off it, so what do I know.

I die trying just to keep myself from kissing you

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Sunday, December 02, 2007

Ridin' Dirty

As the leaves change colors and the sun shines rarely in these cold-as-fuck winter months, I find myself changing with the season. I shall no longer be known as "Bryan", "B", or "Oogie" if you're nasty. I shall now be known as "Brizzle". I will no longer drive the speed limit down Sunrise Avenue blaring At The Drive-In or Husker Du. My new tunes will consist only of lyrics containing the words "bitches", "ho's", "bling", and "fo' sheezee" even if I am not one hundred percent sure that I have spelled those words correctly. My slang will no longer be made of words like "gnarly" and "rad" and "dude", but be replaced with more hip and cool words like "shizzle", "bomb", "tight", and "nigga" (but only to my white homies), even if I do not know how to use those words correctly or even what they mean. I will now be seen looking fashionably cool driving twenty miles below the speed limit, ridin' dirty in my mustang, hat cocked to the left, sippin' on my jamba and juice as my 3 spinners spin like a spinning... spinner (I couldn't afford all 4, those fuckers are expensive). That's right; I will now and forever be gangsta. I'm trading my punk rock for hip-hop, my Jawbreaker for Master P, my Nixon watch for a tribal armband tattoo. Maybe now I will be cool. Just maybe.

damn it feels good to be a gangsta