HOT LESBIAN ACTION!!!

I answered that indeed they are; my father is one of four children and my mother is the second youngest of five.

Nicky (1) comments

I have to admit that I liked it. Yes, Zach Braff makes an assured directorial and writing debut. Natalie Portman is charming, if irritating. She's a much better scatterbrained, epileptic, pathological liar than galactic princess-turned-senator. But something seems a little generic about this indie hit of 2004.

Garden State is a good example of its rapidly emerging genre of overtly quirky coming-of-age stories. All the elements are in place. The script is sprinkled with clever cultural allusions and liberal "fucks" (it is New Jersey), and the pop soundtrack nicely fills out the indie vibe. Some scenes occur in fast-forward while our numb hero sits, well, numbly. There is the hyperactive, outgoing girl, who brings hero out of his stupor by stumbling endearingly over her thoughtlessly-phrased sentences. A sequence in which high school acquaintances do a variety of decadent drugs and play spin the bottle. There is our numb hero. Beautiful World, by British indie stars Coldplay. Behold the hyperactive girl's quirky household: three dobermans, a forest of hamster tubes and a backyard cemetery for the tiny deceased. A large African man who is referred to as girl costar's brother. He is is applying his forensic investigation skills to discover who keeps peeing on his Gamecube (it is a dog).

What I'm trying to say is that this sorta new sorta old genre, or modified genre is already cliché-ing itself, and I can't even explain how. But it's there. You see. I mean, the adopted African guy? That is so done. I Heart Huckabees, another 2004 movie that is very similar in style if not in content, (and is the content really so different?) utilized the tired "American Family adopts large African man" cliché. Okay, fine, Garden State came out first, and it doesn't really matter because I'm sure Huckabees was in production before Garden State came out, but something is going on here! I don't know man, but I'm going to get to the bottom of this!

In conclusion, Garden State is a very enjoyable movie.


Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer (0) comments

My Silence is not a product of laziness. It is a political statement about YOUR cause. (0) comments

This is unrelated to Episode II on TV, but did you hear about this Star Wars TV show George Lucas was going to do?

From Ain't It Cool News:
The show follows a young Luke Skywalker (computer generated, with the voice of Phantom Menace star Jake Lloyd) and his best friend Muifitt (L'il Romeo), a Jawa orphan with a taste for trouble. Says Lucas, "This is the story I always wanted to tell. "Tatooweenies is the moving story of two young orphans, searching to define themselves and to break species borders in a time of galactic confusion and turmoil." Tatooweenies is set to premiere next Fall on UPN.

I'm kind of skeptical about this, but it could be kind of good. (5) comments

So, Mace Windu is all like, "I think we should tell the Senate that our powers are diminished," or something uninteresting, and then Yoda says something with really poor English that isn't cool anymore, and then they fade out, and then this door opens and these storm troopers step aside and Darth Vader walks in, and I'm like, shit yeah they added a scene that takes place in the future for some reason! but not really because it's just an add for M&Ms. Fuck. (0) comments

This is so humiliating. I had forgotten how stunningly bad Episode II is. Jesus. Everything is making me cringe! Lucas, why did you let Jar Jar Binks write this movie? He's terrible.

All the Star Wars prequels do this bizarre thing where all the actors, even good ones, especially the good ones, totally lose their ability to speak or move in a convincing way. The scenes snap and crackle with no energy or rhythm.

It is not interesting or clever to juxtapose a discussion in which Obi Wan and Anakin discuss Senator Palpatine with a scene in which some millipedes get up in Amidala's bed.

The decisions George and his actors made here constitute a crime. But on the plus side, this film has already doubled or tripled my appreciation of Episode III. Who knows what an entire film's worth of watching will do. (0) comments

I saw Star Wars: Episode III this Friday. It was definitely as funny as I hoped. There was plenty of good stuff in there, and all the terrible stuff was really hilarious instead of in the other movies, where it was just embarassing.

I might write more later, but I'm so busy this week I literally can't write anything. And I say literally because all the other times I've said this I was totally exaggerating. But not this time. I have to watch Episode II on TV for the next three hours. Then I have to work. (1) comments

Now, that is a poorly written commercial. (0) comments

So, I've been watching that HBO show, Carnivàle on DVD. And it's pretty great as far as Depression-era apacalyptic dramas go. But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about a legend.

His name is Clancy Brown, and he plays the preacher in Carnivàle, a man with great presence and a very deep voice. All through the six episodes I watched last night, I wondered, "Who is this man? Where have I heard this voice?" So of course, I went to my friends at the IMDB, the Internet Movie Database. Clancy Brown, how could I forget! Why, I've been hearing his voice my entire life!

This is the voice behind countless characters from Gargoyles, The Real Adventures of Johnny Quest, Batman Beyond, Buzz Lightyear of Star Command, Extreme Ghostbusters, The Incredible Hulk, Batman: Gotham Knights, Godzilla: The Series, Samurai Jack, The Zeta Project, Justice League, Kim Possible, Mortal Kombat: The Animated Series, the Mighty Ducks TV show, and The Batman/Superman Adventures, The Batman and the Jackie Chan Adventures!

This is the voice that has played Lex Luthor in countless DC-related TV shows since we were born!

And video games? Fallout: A Post-Nuclear Role-Playing Game Jak II, Jak 3, Spyro the Dragon, and basically every Crash Bandicoot game ever.

Oh, and Spongebob Squarepants! He's been in that loads of times!

Do you realize that if you were a child of the 90s like me, you probably heard this guy's voice growing up more than you ever saw Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt or that, that Gary Coleman? This is a miracle man!


Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer (0) comments

I saw Weezer at the Roseland Ballroom on Wednesday. Hell, I didn't even know they were playing New York, but Kosar Bishop hooked me up with some sweet tickets. Well, one sweet ticket. More would have been redundant.

I'd never really been to a rock concert, so I wasn't sure what to expect. I was like, "Yeah, maybe we should be there half an hour early or whatever." We got there at 5:00. The doors were set to open at 6:45. Line was around three corners of the block when I got there. Weezer's person guy was there. I don't know his name or his job, but he goes around with a video camera and videotapes the fans. It was cool.

Anyway, the doors finally opened after an hour and 45 minutes and we came teeming in like insect metaphors. I don't know how many kids there were, maybe two, maybe three thousand. I can't really count things, so I don't know. But I was unsurprised to notice that they all seemed to have very similar tastes in fashion. Pretty stereotypical kind of emo, which I can't really describe. So I kind of fail as a journalist here. Just imagine whatever you would imagine and that's probably about right.

After getting searched for professional recording equipment and pausing to let Kosar buy an overpriced T-shirt, we bum rushed the stage, the way bums do. Got to within about 15-20 feet of it too. About 200 people were compressed into the remaining 15-20 feet, which I thought was pretty impressive. As we continued to wait, teenagers from all over just kept pouring in in a big way.

One thing I didn't really get about these rock shows is the monumental amount of time spent waiting for stuff to happen. After standing in line for an hour and 45 minutes, which probably isn't that long compared to other lines or whatever I don't care, we waited another hour and some amount waiting for the opening band, not Weezer mind you, but the opening band to start playing. Of course, by then, we didn't really care who was playing as long as it was someone, and I don't think I was the only one chanting, "We want Ringside, we want Ringside!"

We were pretty bored and my Gameboy was low on batteries. And I didn't have it with me, having paid $6 to give my backpack to some irritable coat check ladies. To pass the time, we fantasized about sitting down—Roseland doesn't really have chairs, which, I guess, are a luxury at this kind of thing—talked about how we were going to kick Rivers Cuomo's ass for delaying the band, and smacking around a number of inflated condoms that they were passing out when we entered the building. I don't really know why they were handing out free condoms. I guess we were packed together really tightly and under some improbable but quite possible circumstances, people might get into situations where they were kind of, accidentally, having sex. But even that got boring pretty quickly because the condoms popped pretty quickly, which isn't really a testament to their reliability.

Anyway, this band Ringside comes out and the guy sings some angsty song and everyone cheers because they are already very tired and desperate. After six or seven songs, the applause is pretty weak and it's pretty sad. It's not that they were even particularly bad, but no one wants to see the opening band, unless they're a big name too. Being the opening act is just a terrible, terrible thing to do. People will hate you for existing and wasting there precious hours. After Ringside finished up their sordid programme, we waited another 45 minutes or an hour. We began to doubt that Weezer was even coming and made numerous asenine jokes about Rivers Cuomo, but who can blame us. Kosar said that if they didn't bring out the big =w= soon he was going to demand his money back. And then, of course, they came.

There was Rivers walking on in his suit or whatever it was and he picked up the guitar, and there was Pat and Brian and that other guy! Scott? It was pretty awesome. When Weezer came on there was a massive surge and the crowd halved its volume as gallons of scattered hormones synchronized and synthesized themselves into a massive, pulsating swamp of flesh and sweat. It was awesome. I felt like part of a jungle.

They opened with My Name is Jonas, and the air filled with the sound of two thousand voices unified into a single entity. When they finished, hundreds of hands raised into the air to form the =w=, the symbol of allegiance to the band. Behind them, the giant =w='s lightbulbs flashed wildly.

I know what you're thinking: I did kind of feel like I was at a Hitler Youth rally. There is just something frighteningly powerful about a band's ability to mobilize hundreds, thousands of impressionable teens. Think about it. We're all chanting the same words, we have a special sign that we make frequently and emphatically while caught up in a fervor of hysterical passion. I always thought that =w= looked kind of Fascistic. Fortunately, Rivers Cuomo is hardly the next Adolf Hitler. Keep in mind that Hitler was an unsuccessful artist and he had a lot more charisma than Rivers.

Which was probably the major problem about this concert. Weezer isn't really in touch with the audience. Yeah, the bassist, I guess that's Scott, he kind of smiled towards the audience sometimes and threw some stuff at us, but there was really a kind of invisible wall between the band and the audience. You would think that hundreds of rabid, screaming fans would have some effect on the frontman, on Cuomo, but sure enough he got out there, planted his feet on the ground, and didn't take another step. He never addressed the crowd except to mutter, "Thanks. You guys are the best."

My theory is that he hasn't felt the need to adapt his performance since he was a pimple-faced teenager getting up at open mics, uncrumpling a balled up sheet of looseleaf paper and announcing, "Hi, my name is Rivers Cuomo, and I wrote... I've got a couple songs that I'd like to perform."

But all problems aside, it was a lot of fun. We did all the stuff you do at rock concerts. We screamed along to pretty much everything anyone knew the words to, smoked (or in my case, recognized the odor of) some fine Jamaican herb, there was even some light mosh pit work. Every once in a while, some brave youngster floated on the Dead Sea of arms and shoulders below him. For the occasional quiet-down song, there was swaying and lighter waving, plus the unfortunate new technique of waving a backlit cell phone back and forth like it's even the same thing. But if the cell phone were on fire, that would be like, a kickass statement.

As this was my first concert, I felt kind of self-conscious sometimes. Like, I always seemed to be out of sync with all the other guys that were jumping up and down. I didn't want to be the only guy going up when all the other two thousand kids were crouching and snickering at my neophytism. I think I was also swaying in the wrong direction sometimes and it was embarassing because I had to pause and then jump into a sway when it was gonig my way, like in double dutch.

So, the concert closed around 10:30 and I went back to get my bag. At baggage check counter 4, which didn't have a line I asked, "Which of the two counters to my right should I go to?" He looked at my ticket and said, "The second one over," to which I replied, "Four or five?" "The second one over!" he said. So, I guess the morale of this story... is very low.

After about five hours standing, my legs were pretty sore. They still are. It's probably good for me in some way. I just hope I didn't get a disease from someone else's sweat, because it was everywhere.


Nicky


MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer

For those interested, here are some of the songs they played on Wednesday:

My Name is Jonas
Buddy Holly
In the Garage
Say it Ain't So
Getchoo
Tired of Sex
Hash Pipe
Island in the Sun
Undone (The Sweater Song)
Beverly Hills
We Are All on Drugs

There were others that I don't remember right now, but if you name one I can tell you if they played it. (3) comments

Women are objects, and so are high-tech guns that blow up nunneries. I think we all know which is cooler.

MY E-MAIL! I'm Going to Hell.
AIM: Jake Aimer (1) comments

It comes in a black, metallic container. It promises to attract women like Ag+ ions to a fork. It's name is short and succinct, memorable and extreme.

Yes, these are the selling points of two body sprays with different names but nearly identical attributes. What's the difference? I fear it can be only in name. What is doubtless, however, is that in a free-market society, competition is welcome. Americans are given choices. But are they really? You can have a Coke or you can have Pepsi. McDonalds or Burger King. One wonders if the battle between Axe and Tag is more than a friendly rivalry between two companies assured of their success in an economy in which choice is only an illusion. (1) comments

(2) comments

Hola, Amigos. They treated me well in the Lower Territories, although my usual girl had found an older man (following, perhaps, the sound of jingling coins.)

During my one week sabbatical from my high school (we won't discuss the unfortunate circumstances under which this was arranged), I had ample time to relax, to see the sites around my sunny location just south of Cancùn, and to ruminate upon modern life in our 51 states.

Whoa! You know Area 51 and how no one knows where it is? Maybe it's in the 51st state, Mexico! I knew I was supposed to be doing something over there!

Anyway, I woke up bright and early a couple of Saturdays ago around 6:00 AM, which disappointed me. Nothing is more exciting to me than an early morning escape by taxi cab. It makes me feel like a high powered diplomat trying to escape assassination. But I'm not, and it's important that you all remember that.

The flight to Miami, our layover, was mainly uneventful, although I was charmed to discover how little willpower I have. See, I had intended to study for my rigorous AP test, but preferred to study the buoyancy of ice and its application to Mr. and Mrs. T's Bloody Mary Mix. Who is Mrs. T? We all know Mr. T, but when did he get married? I pity the fool who marries Mr. T. He's too much man for one woman.

After the plane landed in Miami, before we all got out the exit holes, these two big guys got in a fight. One called the other a "fucking cunt", it got pretty nasty. Have you ever seen a fist fight inside an airplane? Those aisles are really small and it is just dangerous. But I was listening to that part of Jesus of Suburbia where its all loud and angry, so it was pretty cool. Next to Air Force One, this was probably the best airplane fight I've ever seen. Except for the part where one of the guys almost fell down and crushed my dad. At least the plane wasn't actually in flight at the time. Hey, you wanna take this outside?

When we got to Mexico, I suddenly remembered what a hot and muggy country it is. In entering the airport, I caught the unforgettable scent of a Mexican airport; part cigarette, part detergent, part stale air conditioning. My mom's sister, who lives in California was flying down to meet us. While we waited, a small man (as most natives are) offered us $150 and a free buffet breakfast in exchange that we come to their hotel the next day to listen to their sales presentation. We go to Mexico about once a year so we're quite experienced and know how to work the system, sometimes getting two or three free breakfasts in a week. But that $150 U.S. dollars cash is not a normal offer. I don't even know how that's legal, but it's Mexico and the way they do stuff down there is different. All I know is that the system works. I wondered if there is a steady job like this, where you make $150 a day, eat free breakfast, steal pastries, all in exchange for a 90 minute sales presentation. That's what I'm aiming to do with my future.

I didn't even have to really listen to the sales presentation; that's my parents job. My job was to go to a small room and play Ninja Gaiden on one of the hotel's Xboxes. Unfortunately, the game wasn't in Spanish, which is too bad because the world desperately needs a Mexican ninja.

A dark shadow passes in the night. Children shrink beneath their covers at the sound of a creaking board. The world's warlords pace the halls of their palatial mansions. Their fear knows no bounds, because there are no bounds to the power of... Sanchez.

Flash forward a few days. We are visiting the tourist-driven town of Playa Del Carmen. I see a store called Deli and Drug and am overcome by awe. To get one's drugs and food at the same convenient location, that's the American Dream.

There was a restaurant of indeterminate name. It's mascot was a powerful Mayan man who held a giant, pointy lobster in front of him as off to ward off the invading Spanish army. I felt too intimidated to enter the restaurant, fearing attack by the subjects of marine biology. What cruel irony it would be if I were to become the main course for a party of ravenous seafood, skewered on the "human fork" of some vile crustacean.

All the restauraunts had samples of their meals covered with plastic wrap on display for the potential diner. I felt that that would be a very frustrating way to eat.

Another thing that makes food frustrating is my aunt Peggy, who joined us on our trip. She is a vegetarian, which is trouble enough when one spends a substantial portion of the week at restaurants. But there is nothing more haunting than a vegetarian who also seems to be engaged in a brutal war against vegetables. Imagine a woman who opposes meat but also refuses to eat onion, pepper, cucumber, and anything spicy, plus a variety of other things I plan to compile into a sort of negative cookbook. Onion, pepper, anything spicy. Mexican cuisine is ideally suited to someone that is not my aunt Peggy. I am so glad that she can subsist indefinitely on a diet of tofu, brocolli and soy sauce.

I got a bad sunburn on my chest and shoulders, but there was one irregular section on my chest left wholly unburned. Its strange formation reminded me that I am the anti-Christ, and I was briefly overcome by melancholy. I felt better after I dug a large hole in the beach and buried a human baby. Not really. But I did dig a hole in the sand and it was, now that I think of it, of the approximate dimensions of a medium-to-large sized infant. This was, most likely, a manifestation of my ultimate evil and the misery I will eventually bring to mankind. As the fire and brimstone of hell reign down on our world and the unholy armies of darkness bear down upon their human victims, recall that this was foreseen by the rays of the sun. Or, you know, I was holding my book over my chest and it blocked the sun.

You know, they have a lot of American chains in the more metropolitan areas of Mexico. McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Dominoes. I don't know how Pizza Hut and Dominoes got in there; I just can't see the necessity in that. I don't think I saw a Taco Bell, which is really too bad because the irony would have just been delicious, no pun intended. But these places make me so sad, even more so than those inside the United States. Mexicans are going to live their whole lives thinking, "Yes, this is what pizza is supposed to taste like," and that's just such a God damn shame.

I also saw a Hooters in Mexico, and it really got me wondering for the first time: what's the big idea behind Hooters? I mean, right, sex sells. Everyone loves busty girls in halter tops. But exactly what prodigy, what spectacular hot shot first realized that the industries of sex and nourishment, while individually quite successful, had never been satisfactorily fuzed. When the first Hooters opened, from whence came the man who said "Yes! I do like to be aroused while I eat. A set of large knockers is the perfect complement to a jumbo basket of buffalo wings." Am I the only person who finds this juxtaposition a little bit purposeless? I want a Philly Cheesesteak and I want to look at some boobies. This is why the world loves our country.

Some of you may be curious about the honeys; I was near Cancùn and it is one of those "spring break destinations" where frat people can drink until they vomit, then go skinny dipping in the ocean. Well, my spring break is not the spring break of the average student, so the count of viable ladies was disappointingly low. I will however note that if there are any honeys do be found, one should look no further than Tulum (where—Danish tourists, take note—my cousins Rye and Japh are running a modest hotel). I can't really explain this, but the beaches of Tulum seem to attract a fair amount of nubile, topless women from countries with exotic names like Venezuala and Desmoines. Actually, I don't know where these sandy angels were from but they made my eyes very nervous and limited the places I could look and not feel that I would be pummeled by a large blond man with shaved legs.

Finally, my sentimental journey came to its end and I boarded the plane back to the beloved Fatherland. And, a funny thing happened when I arrived in Miami; I felt glad—inordinately glad given my upbringing—to be back in America. So maybe this had been the entire point of my voyage. After the beautiful terrors of a large and malicious sun, fly-sampled pastries for 20 and 30 cents, and a Cartoon Network that plays Tom and Jerry in Spanish, I was ready for my return. As our plane broke gravity's spell on the Miami runway and its wheels retracted into their metal abode, I stared down at the glowing lights, at millions of watts of what I could only be sure was wasted, undeserved electricity, and it felt good to be home.


Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer (7) comments