I read Jeffrey Brown's graphic novel "Any Easy Intimacy."
Oh, how I hated this book.
For starters, it's an autobiographical work. I was -- and maybe still am -- a fan of independent autobiographical comics... provided they're interesting and not full of the solipsistic navel-gazing that has, unfortunately, come to define the genre. "Any Easy Intimacy" is nothing but navel-gazing.
The book consists of a series of vignettes delineating the gradual implosion of a romantic relationship. Love is a universal theme to which everybody can relate, but Brown's depiction of his own little melodrama is excruciating in its tedium. The book is an extremely quick read and yet it seems to take forever as you wade through the ups and downs and ups and downs between the two protagonists, "Jeffrey" and "Sophia." It's obvious that Brown finds each and every detail, each monochromatic facet of his pathetic existence, endlessly fascinating, but he is unable to convey that through his inept cartooning, which owes a gigantic debt to Chester Brown. But while Chester's style is simple and clean, Jeffrey's art is merely loose and sloppy. One would think that since Jeff places such obvious weight and significance on the events of "Any Easy Intimacy," he would have put a little more craft and effort into it, but that's not the case.
As mentioned above, the plot of the book follows the love affair between Jeffrey and Sophia, from their nauseatingly cutesy-poo introduction through their thoroughly boring relationship through its drawn out conclusion. There are several sexual interludes, which in Brown's expert hands are rendered with all the passion and eroticism of a trip to the post office.
(Incidentally, this book is the third book in Brown's Girlfriend Trilogy, the first of which is called "Unlikely: How I Lost My Virginity." I mean, SERIOUSLY, what possesses a douchebag like Brown to think that anyone besides himself wants to read about his first piece of ass?)
Brown helpfully includes a soundtrack at the end of the book, because if there's one thing that everybody loves, it's a mix tape made by an art fag who thinks every maudlin song he listens to was written about himself. Predictably, much of the music he recommends is of the self-pitying variety: Death Cab for Cutie, Elliott Smith, Pedro the Lion, Kissing Book. Golly, who would've thunk that a self-obsessed choad like Brown would have such atrocious taste in music? (Some good stuff is included as well, e.g., Low and Radiohead, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while.)
At the end of the day, "Any Easy Intimacy" is just so precious and sentimental and saccharine and cloying that you can't help but imagine, just for a little bit, how awesome it would be to, say, hit Brown in the face with a shovel or something. At one point in the book, Sophia tells Jeff, "My dad thinks you're gay." He's not the only one.
Oh yeah, I'm tremendously disappointed that Top Shelf published this worthless piece of shit -- they usually display much better taste in material.
16 April 2006
14 April 2006
Wedding Crashers
So apparently Storm and the Black Panther are getting married. Good for them; I hope that these two entirely fictional characters make each other happy. Jeepers, I hope the Ringmaster and his Circus of Crime don't disrupt the ceremony.
However, I think that this is kind of patronizing on the part of Marvel. Storm has been around the Marvel Universe since the mid-70s and the Panther has been around even longer but Marvel decided to retcon a romance into their past and now they're getting hitched. One can't help but think that the editors who dreamt this stunt up were thinking, "Hey, we've got two characters from Africa. One is male, the other female. Of course they'd be lovers!"
I like how Captain America and Iron Man are looking at each other like, "What the fuck, yo?"
11 April 2006
Snap, Crackle, Pop
Today I had two wisdom teeth pulled. This is something that I needed to have done since at least 2000. My left rear molar never fully erupted, as us dentist like to say, so from time to time, bits of food would get lodged under the gum back there and get inflamed. I could always tell when this happened because a) it was uncomfortable and b) I could occasionally smell pus. But since I'm a horrible procrastinator, I kept putting it off and putting it off.
Until yesterday, that is -- I was in quite a bit of discomfort-bordering-on-pain, so I made an appointment to get it taken care of.
Since I'm not a macho former drug addict like my dear friend James Frey, I had a local anesthetic. The doctor and his assistant then proceeded to basically yank the teeth out of my jaw. It took all of 15 minutes. It was entirely painless, but since I could easily hear the teeth cracking and popping like so many brittle twigs, it was a mite unsettling. Once everything was extracted, the put in some stitches, which I have to have removed next week.
I asked the doctor if I could keep the teeth as souvenirs. He said this was not allowed due to health regulations. However, they did let me look at them. They were awfully bloody.
Speaking of blood: I have to keep gauze over the wounds and replace them every 20-30 minutes. When I do, the pads are soaked with blood. It's fascinating for now, but if this persists, I will be concerned.
The Good: Ice cream for dinner, a day off work, a prescription for Vicodin.
The Bad: Bloody gauze, swelling, general discomfort:
The Ugly: The sockets where my teeth were.
Until yesterday, that is -- I was in quite a bit of discomfort-bordering-on-pain, so I made an appointment to get it taken care of.
Since I'm not a macho former drug addict like my dear friend James Frey, I had a local anesthetic. The doctor and his assistant then proceeded to basically yank the teeth out of my jaw. It took all of 15 minutes. It was entirely painless, but since I could easily hear the teeth cracking and popping like so many brittle twigs, it was a mite unsettling. Once everything was extracted, the put in some stitches, which I have to have removed next week.
I asked the doctor if I could keep the teeth as souvenirs. He said this was not allowed due to health regulations. However, they did let me look at them. They were awfully bloody.
Speaking of blood: I have to keep gauze over the wounds and replace them every 20-30 minutes. When I do, the pads are soaked with blood. It's fascinating for now, but if this persists, I will be concerned.
The Good: Ice cream for dinner, a day off work, a prescription for Vicodin.
The Bad: Bloody gauze, swelling, general discomfort:
The Ugly: The sockets where my teeth were.
10 April 2006
Phunnybook Photoblogging
My pal Jimmie hates it when I do this, but screw him -- he can start his own blog.
The above is Marvel's new, female White Tiger. I'm sure she's a spicy Latina firecracker (is there any other kind?).
The above is Marvel's new, female White Tiger. I'm sure she's a spicy Latina firecracker (is there any other kind?).
31 March 2006
I'm Lovin' It
When I was 18 years old, I worked at a McDonald's. Oh, how I hated it, but I did manage to have some fun.
Example: When a new cashier was closing the store for the first time, there was a special prank that was always good for a laugh. I present the following in the clean, wholesome spirit of April Fool's Day.
1. Take two or three quarter pound hamburger patties out of the freezer. Put them somewhere in the store where they won't be noticed (a locker in the break room, for instance). Leave them alone for a few hours so they get nice and soft.
2. When the patties are the right consistency, roll them all together into a cylindrical shape. You're going for girth and length. If you do it right, you'll get a "snake" that's between 12-15 inches in length.
3. Being as inconspicuous as possible, cook your prop in the deep fryer. This should take about three minutes or so.
4. Remove from oil; drain. It should look like a big, brown turd.
5. Wait until the store is closed and the manager is in the office counting the drawers. Take the prop into a restroom (your choice) and arrange it in the toilet, preferably with part of it draped over the rim of the bowl.
6. The new cashiers always get stuck with cleaning the restrooms. Wait until she heads in that direction.
Usually, a yelp of disgust will be heard and then the patsy will come running out of the restroom. At that point, you can laugh and explain the trick, but why cut things short? Fortune favors the brave...
If you can keep a straight face, accompany her back to the restroom. "There, there, sweetie. Let's see what the problem is."
Upon arrival, you can play it several different ways. You can purse your lips and say, "Boy, that's disgusting. Unfortunately, you are on bathroom duty..."
Or, you can walk over to the toilet and examine the specimen for a minute or so, then grab it and throw it at the cashier. Some people cry when you execute this maneuver, however.
If you really want to make a lasting impression, however, go the extra mile and prepare a second turd. Keep the extra one safe and clean. When you accompany your victim back to the bathroom, solemnly assure her that you'll take care of the mess and send her out. After a few minutes, walk back up front holding the CLEAN turd. Say something like, "I don't know what all the fuss is about," and then take a bite out of it.
I was never able to go that far, although I did have the second turd all fried up and ready to go. Perhaps someone out there in blog world will pull off this tasteful stunt and succeed where I failed.
Example: When a new cashier was closing the store for the first time, there was a special prank that was always good for a laugh. I present the following in the clean, wholesome spirit of April Fool's Day.
1. Take two or three quarter pound hamburger patties out of the freezer. Put them somewhere in the store where they won't be noticed (a locker in the break room, for instance). Leave them alone for a few hours so they get nice and soft.
2. When the patties are the right consistency, roll them all together into a cylindrical shape. You're going for girth and length. If you do it right, you'll get a "snake" that's between 12-15 inches in length.
3. Being as inconspicuous as possible, cook your prop in the deep fryer. This should take about three minutes or so.
4. Remove from oil; drain. It should look like a big, brown turd.
5. Wait until the store is closed and the manager is in the office counting the drawers. Take the prop into a restroom (your choice) and arrange it in the toilet, preferably with part of it draped over the rim of the bowl.
6. The new cashiers always get stuck with cleaning the restrooms. Wait until she heads in that direction.
Usually, a yelp of disgust will be heard and then the patsy will come running out of the restroom. At that point, you can laugh and explain the trick, but why cut things short? Fortune favors the brave...
If you can keep a straight face, accompany her back to the restroom. "There, there, sweetie. Let's see what the problem is."
Upon arrival, you can play it several different ways. You can purse your lips and say, "Boy, that's disgusting. Unfortunately, you are on bathroom duty..."
Or, you can walk over to the toilet and examine the specimen for a minute or so, then grab it and throw it at the cashier. Some people cry when you execute this maneuver, however.
If you really want to make a lasting impression, however, go the extra mile and prepare a second turd. Keep the extra one safe and clean. When you accompany your victim back to the bathroom, solemnly assure her that you'll take care of the mess and send her out. After a few minutes, walk back up front holding the CLEAN turd. Say something like, "I don't know what all the fuss is about," and then take a bite out of it.
I was never able to go that far, although I did have the second turd all fried up and ready to go. Perhaps someone out there in blog world will pull off this tasteful stunt and succeed where I failed.
29 March 2006
Auf Deutsch
Jen has been in Germany since March 18. I knew I would miss her but the things I miss are funny. For instance, she goes to bed much earlier than I do. But since she's not here, I'm staying up way too late -- i.e., when she's home, I end up going to bed between midnight and 1 a.m. Lately, I've been up till (ha ha) 2:30 a.m.
Furthermore, all my friends -- yes, I have more than one -- are split into two camps: Those who think I'm spending all my solo time getting drunk and those who think I'm spending all my solo time watching porn. And even though I am drunk right now and I have "Snatch Masters 4" cued up in the DVD player, I kinda resent the implication that without proper "supervision," my life quickly devolves into binge drinking and chronic masturbation.
Furthermore, all my friends -- yes, I have more than one -- are split into two camps: Those who think I'm spending all my solo time getting drunk and those who think I'm spending all my solo time watching porn. And even though I am drunk right now and I have "Snatch Masters 4" cued up in the DVD player, I kinda resent the implication that without proper "supervision," my life quickly devolves into binge drinking and chronic masturbation.
28 March 2006
I Blame Piven
Cargo magazine is shutting down.
Although the magazine was pretty dreadful, I still feel bad for all the people who have lost their jobs.
Although the magazine was pretty dreadful, I still feel bad for all the people who have lost their jobs.
19 March 2006
Technical Ecstasy
I bought a Mac mini. Why Mac? Why not?
I'm finding the switchover to be relatively painless, except for a few minor hurdles and one major hurdle: our monitor died, so I had to buy a new one. And the new monitor is much nicer than the old one (for starters, it works) but I had hoped to postpone the inevitable purchase for a few more months.
There is one final hurdle to overcome, and that's getting my internet shizzle up and running on the mini. I'm hoping that I can get it as close as possible to the Gateway's e-mail configuration, but seeing as we're on Microsoft Outllook Express, that might not be 100 percent realistic. I suppose I could just say "fuck it" and set up a new e-mail account but why mess with a good thing?
I'm finding the switchover to be relatively painless, except for a few minor hurdles and one major hurdle: our monitor died, so I had to buy a new one. And the new monitor is much nicer than the old one (for starters, it works) but I had hoped to postpone the inevitable purchase for a few more months.
There is one final hurdle to overcome, and that's getting my internet shizzle up and running on the mini. I'm hoping that I can get it as close as possible to the Gateway's e-mail configuration, but seeing as we're on Microsoft Outllook Express, that might not be 100 percent realistic. I suppose I could just say "fuck it" and set up a new e-mail account but why mess with a good thing?
16 March 2006
Foreign Affairs
For a politician, Yulia Tymoshenko is pretty damned hot. Heck, just for a regular female-type person, she's pretty damed hot. She's got a Catherine Denueve thing going on. She makes me want to pay more attention to world events.
The Swiss Miss hairdo is cute, too.
The Swiss Miss hairdo is cute, too.
14 March 2006
07 March 2006
Blast from the Past
Here's an old CD review that turned out well, I think.
YES
90215
(Elektra/Rhino)
Progressive rock superheroes Yes underwent a radical transformation when they regrouped in 1983. Hooking up with wunderkind guitarist Trevor Rabin, Yes largely abandoned the lengthy instrumental passages that made them famous in favor of a more streamlined, radio-friendly approach. The results: 90215, their highest charting album ever, and its accompanying #1 Billboard smash, “Owner of a Lonely Heart.” While Trevor Horn’s totally ‘80s production flourishes haven’t aged well, the underlying songcraft more than compensates on tunes like “Hold On,” “Leave It” and “It Can Happen.” The new, expanded version also features detailed liner notes, remastered sound and six bonus tracks. To the relief of Yes purists, the end of the Reagan years saw the group returning to their art rock roots, but 90215 is a sparkling – if atypical – jewel in their catalog.
YES
90215
(Elektra/Rhino)
Progressive rock superheroes Yes underwent a radical transformation when they regrouped in 1983. Hooking up with wunderkind guitarist Trevor Rabin, Yes largely abandoned the lengthy instrumental passages that made them famous in favor of a more streamlined, radio-friendly approach. The results: 90215, their highest charting album ever, and its accompanying #1 Billboard smash, “Owner of a Lonely Heart.” While Trevor Horn’s totally ‘80s production flourishes haven’t aged well, the underlying songcraft more than compensates on tunes like “Hold On,” “Leave It” and “It Can Happen.” The new, expanded version also features detailed liner notes, remastered sound and six bonus tracks. To the relief of Yes purists, the end of the Reagan years saw the group returning to their art rock roots, but 90215 is a sparkling – if atypical – jewel in their catalog.
05 March 2006
Pity Poor Piven
You know how you can like an actor or actress, even though you don’t know them personally? Certain individuals have a weird charisma that makes you enjoy their work, or they exude some quality that you find appealing? Well, I’ve always liked Jeremy Piven -- until recently.
Piven spent much of his career playing schlubby everyman types, hence his appeal. He frequently appeared in movies that starred his buddy John Cusack. He was really good in Ellen. He even provides the voice of the Elongated Man in Cartoon Network’s Justice League. So far, so good. But in the past few weeks, he’s also been profiled in a few publications and the interviews he gives just scream “asshole.”
Frex, as the cover star of the March 2006 edition of the generally useless magazine Cargo, Piven offers his advice on fashion, grooming and suchlike, which is pretty amusing in and of itself, but he waxes so pretentiously that you can’t help but chuckle at the vapid self-absorption he displays.
Plus, he repeats himself, with “If you let them, clothes will dictate how you move through space and how you hold yourself” followed a few grafs later by “…for me, it’s really how she moves through space.”
Moving through space: what a perfectly asinine turn of phrase. I’d like to slap the dogshit out of the Rodeo Drive sales clerk who contributed it to Piven’s vocabulary. You get the impression Piven thinks it makes him sound knowledgeable and sophisticated, but it merely makes him sound like a pompous jackass.
Furthermore, in all the pictures that accompany his interview, he's doing something fruity with his hands. He looks like he's trying to appear natural -- you know, like he's moving through space -- but he just looks stiff.
Also, dig this cover blurb: "Entourage's Jeremy Piven on How to Become the Most Valuable Playa [sic]." Even though he didn't write it, it still makes him sound like a douche.
But it gets better. In LA magazine’s nightlife issue (via Defamer), Mr. Moving Through Space offers up this following gem: “If I have a rapper like Common rolling hard with me at a club and I hand him a mic and he hits five songs in a row and the crowd goes crazy, I don't feel guilty about drinking on the house.”
Rolling hard with me? Oh, is that how you roll, MC White Bread? Jesus Christ, what a name-dropping tool.
And finally, what’s with the hairpiece, Piven? For serious. You’re not fooling anyone.
Piven spent much of his career playing schlubby everyman types, hence his appeal. He frequently appeared in movies that starred his buddy John Cusack. He was really good in Ellen. He even provides the voice of the Elongated Man in Cartoon Network’s Justice League. So far, so good. But in the past few weeks, he’s also been profiled in a few publications and the interviews he gives just scream “asshole.”
Frex, as the cover star of the March 2006 edition of the generally useless magazine Cargo, Piven offers his advice on fashion, grooming and suchlike, which is pretty amusing in and of itself, but he waxes so pretentiously that you can’t help but chuckle at the vapid self-absorption he displays.
Plus, he repeats himself, with “If you let them, clothes will dictate how you move through space and how you hold yourself” followed a few grafs later by “…for me, it’s really how she moves through space.”Moving through space: what a perfectly asinine turn of phrase. I’d like to slap the dogshit out of the Rodeo Drive sales clerk who contributed it to Piven’s vocabulary. You get the impression Piven thinks it makes him sound knowledgeable and sophisticated, but it merely makes him sound like a pompous jackass.
Furthermore, in all the pictures that accompany his interview, he's doing something fruity with his hands. He looks like he's trying to appear natural -- you know, like he's moving through space -- but he just looks stiff.
Also, dig this cover blurb: "Entourage's Jeremy Piven on How to Become the Most Valuable Playa [sic]." Even though he didn't write it, it still makes him sound like a douche.
But it gets better. In LA magazine’s nightlife issue (via Defamer), Mr. Moving Through Space offers up this following gem: “If I have a rapper like Common rolling hard with me at a club and I hand him a mic and he hits five songs in a row and the crowd goes crazy, I don't feel guilty about drinking on the house.”
Rolling hard with me? Oh, is that how you roll, MC White Bread? Jesus Christ, what a name-dropping tool.
And finally, what’s with the hairpiece, Piven? For serious. You’re not fooling anyone.
27 February 2006
...And McCloud Makes Three
A bad week for the TV Land set.
I've never seen an epsidoe of McCloud, but I can recall falling asleep as the theme from the NBC Mystery Movie played in the living room. And Dennis Weaver gets mad phat props for starring in Duel, which is arguably Steven Spielberg's best movie. Yeah, I said it.
I've never seen an epsidoe of McCloud, but I can recall falling asleep as the theme from the NBC Mystery Movie played in the living room. And Dennis Weaver gets mad phat props for starring in Duel, which is arguably Steven Spielberg's best movie. Yeah, I said it.
26 February 2006
Carl Kolchak, Ralph Furley Dead
No way this guy was older than this guy. Of course, now it's a moot point.
As with half the people, places and things that get mentioned on this piece of shit, I have warm and fuzzy childhood memories of Darren McGavin and Kolchak: The Night Stalker. One in particular: I had pneumonia when I was 6 and I had to stay in the hospital on a Friday night. Since I had been sleeping off and on all day, I was wide awake that evening and into the night, so I watched Kolchak. I later found out it was the episode "Demon in Lace." Good times.
As for Don Knotts, I hated The Andy Griffith Show when I was a kid (I didn't care for "country shows"). It wasn't until later on that I could appreciate how well-drawn its characters were. And then later on, Knotts and his hairpiece turned up in Three's Company as the pervy landlord Ralph Furley. In the early 1980s, ABC reran Three's Company weekday mornings, and I watched it every day on summer vacation before switching over to The Price Is Right. More good times. It wasn't until later on that I could appreciate just how truly awful program Three's Company was.
As with half the people, places and things that get mentioned on this piece of shit, I have warm and fuzzy childhood memories of Darren McGavin and Kolchak: The Night Stalker. One in particular: I had pneumonia when I was 6 and I had to stay in the hospital on a Friday night. Since I had been sleeping off and on all day, I was wide awake that evening and into the night, so I watched Kolchak. I later found out it was the episode "Demon in Lace." Good times.
As for Don Knotts, I hated The Andy Griffith Show when I was a kid (I didn't care for "country shows"). It wasn't until later on that I could appreciate how well-drawn its characters were. And then later on, Knotts and his hairpiece turned up in Three's Company as the pervy landlord Ralph Furley. In the early 1980s, ABC reran Three's Company weekday mornings, and I watched it every day on summer vacation before switching over to The Price Is Right. More good times. It wasn't until later on that I could appreciate just how truly awful program Three's Company was.
23 February 2006
Hitch Does Hulk
I don't even like Marvel's green giant all that much, but the cover to the latest issue is cool.
19 February 2006
Good Clean Fun, or: A Fistful of Vodka
A fun weekend. Went out with some friends to the Back Door last night. Since I had scored tickets to the Sigur Ros show at the Palace Friday night for one of those friends, he paid for several drinks in gratitude. And who am I to turn down a free beverage?
Neither Jen nor I had eaten since 5 p.m., which in retrospect was where it all went wrong. By 11 p.m., Jen was a little wobbly and she made me take her home. I was feeling fine so with Jen's blessing, I returned to the Back Door after tucking her in for the night.
Consequently, I was pretty fucked up when we finally called it a "night" at 2 a.m. I don't say this as a boast. I pride myself on being able to hold my liquor. Maybe it's time to dial it down a notch. For starters, I took a piss in the parking lot -- felt great, but how embarrassing would it be to get arrested for public urination? Then I decided that since I hadn't eaten anything since 5 p.m. (see above), I should go get something to eat. Then, back home for a little TV.
Come the dawn, I awoke with a bit of a hangover. Plus, my mouth tasted as if Godzilla had taken a shit in it. At least I didn't have to fly anywhere.
It's definitely time to dial it down a notch. Weekend benders are fun and games when you're in your twenties, but they're more than a little pathetic when you're as aged as I am. Don't worry, I'm not going teetotal just yet, but I'm going to work on pacing myself better.
Neither Jen nor I had eaten since 5 p.m., which in retrospect was where it all went wrong. By 11 p.m., Jen was a little wobbly and she made me take her home. I was feeling fine so with Jen's blessing, I returned to the Back Door after tucking her in for the night.
Consequently, I was pretty fucked up when we finally called it a "night" at 2 a.m. I don't say this as a boast. I pride myself on being able to hold my liquor. Maybe it's time to dial it down a notch. For starters, I took a piss in the parking lot -- felt great, but how embarrassing would it be to get arrested for public urination? Then I decided that since I hadn't eaten anything since 5 p.m. (see above), I should go get something to eat. Then, back home for a little TV.
Come the dawn, I awoke with a bit of a hangover. Plus, my mouth tasted as if Godzilla had taken a shit in it. At least I didn't have to fly anywhere.
It's definitely time to dial it down a notch. Weekend benders are fun and games when you're in your twenties, but they're more than a little pathetic when you're as aged as I am. Don't worry, I'm not going teetotal just yet, but I'm going to work on pacing myself better.
17 February 2006
Blogs Are Dead
Wait, you can make money doing this shit?
Well, apparently not much longer. (Towards the end of this piece, there's a nice little dig at neo-con puppy mill Pajamas Media -- even though I kinda like Vodkapundit.)
Guess I'll shut this turd down, then.
Well, apparently not much longer. (Towards the end of this piece, there's a nice little dig at neo-con puppy mill Pajamas Media -- even though I kinda like Vodkapundit.)
Guess I'll shut this turd down, then.
12 February 2006
Damaged Goods
I love Wild & Woolly Video. Great selection of oddball, foreign, psychotronic, obscure, cult and any other nerdy niche video category and subcategory you can name. Plus, they're less than a mile from my house.
Problem is, video stores that carry such a wide array of, well, wild and woolly titles tend to attract more than their fair share of -- how to put this delicately? -- social retards.
There's nothing on TV tonight that I'm dying to see, so I thought I'd pop in to W&W and see if anything looked interesting. Nothing caught my eye, but a few patrons caught my nose: there's nothing quite like looking for a movie next to some fortysomething endomorph with painfully assertive body odor as he paws through the anime selection, mumbling to himself, "Where's the hentai?" Truly heartwarming.
It's good to know that rather than spend his Taco Bell wages or Social Security on deodorant (or better yet, his meds), he's using his disposable income to fully enjoy cult cinema. Even better, apparently Sundays are now "Maladjusted Night" at W&W, because there were at least three of these specimens hastening my exit. I need to check out the TARC schedules and plan my visits accordingly.
Problem is, video stores that carry such a wide array of, well, wild and woolly titles tend to attract more than their fair share of -- how to put this delicately? -- social retards.
There's nothing on TV tonight that I'm dying to see, so I thought I'd pop in to W&W and see if anything looked interesting. Nothing caught my eye, but a few patrons caught my nose: there's nothing quite like looking for a movie next to some fortysomething endomorph with painfully assertive body odor as he paws through the anime selection, mumbling to himself, "Where's the hentai?" Truly heartwarming.
It's good to know that rather than spend his Taco Bell wages or Social Security on deodorant (or better yet, his meds), he's using his disposable income to fully enjoy cult cinema. Even better, apparently Sundays are now "Maladjusted Night" at W&W, because there were at least three of these specimens hastening my exit. I need to check out the TARC schedules and plan my visits accordingly.
07 February 2006
No "Face/Off" References, Please
I'm totally fascinated by the face transplant in France, which, incidentally, is where Eyes Without a Face is set. The patient appeared before the media yesterday and now the internets are awash with images. All things considered, I don't think she looks that bad. But now, of course, I'd like to see pre-surgery photos of her injuries out of morbid curiosity.
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