| RANDOM QUOTE | Forget your stupid theme park! I'm gonna make my own! With hookers! And blackjack! In fact, forget the theme park!
-Bender from Futurama | |
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| AMERICA... FUCK YEAH! |  As you have probably guessed by now, I saw Team America: World Police.
If you're wondering where the title of this post comes from, it's
lifted from the title of the movie's "theme song" of sorts, America, Fuck Yeah.
As a theme, the song accomplishes it job with thoroughness and
efficiency. I think I might even love it. I'm sure it can be found on
any major P2P network, not that I advocate that sort of thing, but you
know where to look.
The movie itself may be one of the funniest things I've ever seen. It
resides in that strange realm of humor where the fact that they
actually made it is half of the joke. There are scenes where nobody's
talking, or really doing anything for that matter, but you're just
cracking your ass off because there are fucking puppets on the movie screen.
There's been a lot of talk about the movie being pretty much the most
offensive thing ever made, but truth be told, I've never been able to
view things from a vantage point of being vulnerable to "offense", so I
can't help you there. I mean, sure, all arabic speech in the movie
sounds like "durka durka jihad mohammed!", and they have a scene of
full on, multi-positional, hardcore puppet sex, but in my eyes, that's
just comedy, baby.
If you're worried about not being able to laugh because of any politics
involved, don't. The guys didn't seem to have any agenda to push with
the movie outside of "outspoken Hollywood actors are big douche bags,"
and I can't see that sentiment rubbing anyone the wrong way. Well,
except outspoken Hollywood douche baggy actors that is, but who gives a
shit about them?
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| I HAVE DOOM III |  | Category: Games
Thursday, October 21st, 2004 @ 05:03 pm
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 I own Doom III. Actually I've owned Doom III for over a week now. Right about now, in this space, you would probably expect some kind of review. Well it's not going to happen. In its place, I'll be giving you a review on what it's like to own Doom III but not have the money to buy a video card capable of playing it.
So Brenda calls me from BestBuy the other day. She says that she's in the store and has some strange combination of coupons and gift certificates or something that could virtually guaranty me a good deal on a video card. Knowing how confusing the current state of the video card market is, I told her to hold off seeming as I'd have a hard time myself figuring out which one to buy if I were actually holding them in my hands reading the stats of the boxes. Trying this feat over the phone would be an exercise in futility.
But lo, the item that bore the desire for new pixel pushing hardware was there, on sale no less, for a paltry $39.99. Yes, I speak of the fabled Doom III, and after coupons, tax, title and license, it came to a meager $25.
So now we arrive at my present situation: I own Doom III, but have no means of actually playing it. In order to divine the least amount of it true nature, I will need to plunk down around $215+ bucks for a video card. I could spend less than that, but then there'd be a lot of the game's famous atmosphere I'd be missing. Besides, if I got a sub-par card, it's not like it would magically turn into wine and get better with age. Nope, I'd be starting out at shitty and working my way down from there as time went on.
So here we are, I have no new video card, and you all have no kindness in your hearts to buy me one, and Doom III has a nice little spot on my desk where it sits, mocking me.
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| SCREWED AGAIN! |  | Category: Personal
Thursday, October 14th, 2004 @ 11:05 am
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 Well, I'm fucked. As if it wasn't bad enough that I have no car and have to ride this rusty steed to work everyday, the gods saw fit to debase me further.
I was riding home along West Esplanade from my brother's house the other day, tooling along around 45mph, when I was greeted by the most curious sound emanating from the rear of my bike. It's hard to describe, but it sounded a bit like getting a small child caught in the spokes of my rear wheel. Well, basically what I heard was a lot of thumping and grinding, but one must be careful when one uses words like "thumping and grinding", so I shot for the baby analogy.
I pulled over to see if I indeed had a small child in the rear wheel area, but alas, I could find nothing, so I continued on my journey home. Once home I tried to reexamine my situation but still came up empty handed.
The next morning, buffeted by the light of day, I went out to finalize my detective work, but when I stepped out the door it was quite apparent from its state of inflatedness that my tire had been raped by some sort of debris. I had to get to work, so there was no time to worry about it just then, I would have to wait until that afternoon to operate.
When I got home, I opened up the ol' toolbox and got to work. Using a pair of pliers I got it out about a half inch, but it seemed pretty determined to stop there. Using my amazing powers of intellect, I realized that it was probably the threads on the screw stopping it, so I pulled out a flathead screwdriver and began unscrewing it out of my tire.
Four inches later, I freed this monster from its galvanized, rubbery tomb.
I had this tire replaced around 4 years ago, and I know the replacement costs with labor are around $200, so I'm a bit hesitant to replace it at this point. I don't want to keep sinking money into this pile of shit, so I guess I'll just go buy a tire plug kit and see how long it lasts me.
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| SHAUN OF THE DEAD |
 With the exception of Canada (America Jr) and Mexico/Central/South America (third world), we in America are separated from the rest of the world by two vast oceans. To the west, is the Far East (which is odd), and to the east, is Europe. Contained in this "Europe" place is a small Island, roughly the same size as the state of Texas, called "Britain." I know three things about Britain, only one of which I can actually verify:
- It rains all the time.
- The food is really bad
- They make really shitty movies
For anyone who's wondering which of these I can verify, well, let me introduce you to my good friend Billy, maybe he can explain it to you a little better than I can.
The strange thing about this rule is the caveat that comes with it. This caveat basically states that if a movie originates from Britain, and just so happens to be good, it is REALLY fucking good. Look to LockStock/Snatch (which I consider one movie) for a shining example of this law.
Well, I'm happy to report that Shaun of the Dead fits quite snugly into this small category of REALLY fucking good films from LimeyWood. Zombies? Check. Funny fat guy with slight cockney accent? Check. Reassuring message about man's journey through life in search of meaning? Check. They also have something that really hits below the belt as far as getting me to like a movie. Something that, if done correctly, triggers a subconscious need to like the movie even if it was utter "tripe," as the English would say.
You see, I am in some regards a "Movie Dork." I watch movies, I buy posters from movies, me and my friends sit around and try to "one up" each other with our vast mental encyclopedias of memorized movie quotes; and if there's one thing in a film that acts like Kryptonite to my movie cynicism, it's small, unexplained "nods" to other movies. I don't know what it is, but when I hear something in a movie that is quite blatantly a "nod" to another movie, and no one in the audience makes any audible cue that they "get it", I feel like I possess some intimate knowledge that the writer/director was trying to convey to only the few select people who could decode this cypher.
How am I supposed to resist a zombie movie with a fucking Reservoir Dogs homage slapped right in the middle of it? Simple: I don't.
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