The Articles of Rational Thought (The ART)
Today I find myself irritated. I know, me of all people... But nonetheless, I am irritated. I’m sure we’re all aware of the existence of people who don’t know when to shut the fuck up, but I’d like a moment to alert you to their continued presence and plague upon my blood pressure.
We all reside within a carefully constructed bubble made from layers of our own unique emotional craziness. When people start poking their asses around where they don’t belong, it puts pressure on that bubble, which is usually enough to make someone lose their shit. Recently, someone invaded my bubble; this is me losing my shit.
At the time of the incident, I decided to swallow my pride, which isn’t as easy as I thought it would be; it was salty and I had to chew it awhile. Washing it down every few minutes with some vodka didn’t hurt either. Anyway, someone decided to comment on a subject that they in no way had any credibility to comment on.
Now this person had the best of intentions, but but so did Hitler. If you have no frame of reference, opening your mouth is like a child walking into the middle of a movie and wondering what’s going on (“Big Lebowski” anyone?). Sometimes people don’t realize they’re pushing your buttons, I know this, but there are some signs that will tell you that you are, in fact, pushing someone’s buttons. However subtle, they’re there. Such as changing the conversation suddenly, fidgeting in their chair, or explicitly stating, “I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.” But apparently the latter is still too subtle for some.
The voice in my mind explained to my bubble-intruder “discussing this with you would be like asking my dick for advice; it may even stand in attention, but anything that comes out of its mouth is only useful in dressing up a tissue before it’s tossed in the garbage.” Would that have been to harsh to say out loud?
All venting aside, I don’t want to be misunderstood as to why I didn't lay into this person. If inclined to, they could put me in a body-caste with ease. That in no way lead me to keep my mouth shut. This was about respect and practicality.
Remember, sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will cause thirty to forty thousand dollars in long term psychological care. And I’m a fucking gangsta with words.
West, west y’all.
Peace, I’m out.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Film Review - The Crucible (1990) - In 200 Words or Less
3/5 Stars
Daniel Day-Lewis continues to prove he's worth his weight in gold to the movie industry's dignity. As seen in many of his more recent films, he has the ability to ascend a scene to a place just out of reach of credible negativity ("Because it is my name!").
Rather than pissing away another promising performance, Winona Ryder takes her role as Abigail Williams for a ride on the Crazy Train, which by the end has her looking far worse than Ozzy ever has. She dug deep on this one and deserves credit.
Puritan rage is the most terrifying form of passive-aggressiveness I have ever seen. Those little pilgrims are dangerous, it's no wonder the Indians bailed after a short fight. But in all seriousness, this window into the conservative "fear of what's different" state of mind is unnerving to say the least. History repeats itself as we all know, and it can't be denied by saying this was an isolated incident in a different time.
McCarthyism seems so much less original now...
Really the only problem I had with the film was how much of the dialogue seemed scripted. Apparently Arthur Miller was a better playwright than screenwriter.
Daniel Day-Lewis continues to prove he's worth his weight in gold to the movie industry's dignity. As seen in many of his more recent films, he has the ability to ascend a scene to a place just out of reach of credible negativity ("Because it is my name!").
Rather than pissing away another promising performance, Winona Ryder takes her role as Abigail Williams for a ride on the Crazy Train, which by the end has her looking far worse than Ozzy ever has. She dug deep on this one and deserves credit.
Puritan rage is the most terrifying form of passive-aggressiveness I have ever seen. Those little pilgrims are dangerous, it's no wonder the Indians bailed after a short fight. But in all seriousness, this window into the conservative "fear of what's different" state of mind is unnerving to say the least. History repeats itself as we all know, and it can't be denied by saying this was an isolated incident in a different time.
McCarthyism seems so much less original now...
Really the only problem I had with the film was how much of the dialogue seemed scripted. Apparently Arthur Miller was a better playwright than screenwriter.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The ART: Article 1 - "Preamble"
The Articles of Rational Thought (The ART)
I haven't decided if it's worthy audacity or chronic douchey-ness that possessed me to name a series of blogs (rants) The Articles of Rational Thought, but I'm doing it nonetheless.
Fighting pretentiousness with pretentiousness: One man's mission to change the diet of American personality. There's your one-liner.
I'll continue for those of you with attention spans immune to the current National Infection: Twitter.com. This epidemic of narcissism is a much more pressing issue than global warming, especially since I’m pretty sure Twitter is an Al-Qaedan plot empowering America to become so self-involved that we don’t notice them walk into the White House and take an Obama.
Twitter is to vanity what Viagra is to an aging sex-addict; it’s an enabler and we’re all junkies.
We need some rules here, something to guide us through this chaotic shit-storm communication has turned into. What happened to quality over quantity? Do we all think that everyone we know is so desperate for hourly auto-biographies detailing how we Scooby-Doobed the whether or not to have a bagel mystery from this morning? Either America suffers from a much more terrible case of the "wish-I-was-famous" complex than I thought, or Adam and Eve weren't mislead by a snake and we're all just descendants of two greedy naked people and self-indulgence is embedded in our DNA. (They were Americans... right? Of course, and Jesus would have been white. Hmm... I guess we're all still a little shaky on second grade geography and social studies).
Riddle me this: which is worse, the fact that we use text slang like LMAO (laugh my ass off) more regularly than we breathe, instead of wasting those precious seconds that go into creating an original response in our pseudo-conversations; or, the fact that we actually understand this growing vocabulary of neutered phrases being repackaged in this sudden obsession with acronyms?
Or that both incriminate my texting history? Hopefully my phone records are never subpoenaed for hypocrisy.
The English language is being refurbished and actual words may be just a bit too drawn out to survive. LOL is meaningless. It has the connotations of an ampersand. You did not make me "laugh out loud." You did fail to deserve more than an ampersand in return. Maybe keep it to yourself next time.
But here I am, blogging. I'm a contributor. Fighting pretentiousness with pretentiousness. I'll replace yours with my own. I've never said I wouldn’t preach to you about getting off your pedestal whilst climbing atop my own.
This is my point. The counter-culture is just as pretentious as the establishment they loathe, you know who I'm talking too: liberals, Democrats, progressive-ists, whichever pigeonhole you’ve decided to crawl into. We may be the lesser of two-evils, but that doesn't mean our own brand of bullshit is any less annoying. Organic isn’t a lifestyle just as much as “git-r-dun” isn’t an acceptable response to anything. I’m not telling you to eat pesticide soaked tomatoes, just tone it down a bit. Get off your free-range high-horses, but continue to not paint the Confederate flag on the hoods of your cars; I still appreciate that.
We all need to center ourselves a little closer to the proverbial ham of the sandwich; politically, socially, anything you can add -ly to the end of. Admit that both sides are full of shit and move on like a successful divorce; or marriage. Either way you'll probably only have sex a few more times in your life.
PS
Follow me on Twitter at Twitter.com/WordsofTheEnemy.
I haven't decided if it's worthy audacity or chronic douchey-ness that possessed me to name a series of blogs (rants) The Articles of Rational Thought, but I'm doing it nonetheless.
Fighting pretentiousness with pretentiousness: One man's mission to change the diet of American personality. There's your one-liner.
I'll continue for those of you with attention spans immune to the current National Infection: Twitter.com. This epidemic of narcissism is a much more pressing issue than global warming, especially since I’m pretty sure Twitter is an Al-Qaedan plot empowering America to become so self-involved that we don’t notice them walk into the White House and take an Obama.
Twitter is to vanity what Viagra is to an aging sex-addict; it’s an enabler and we’re all junkies.
We need some rules here, something to guide us through this chaotic shit-storm communication has turned into. What happened to quality over quantity? Do we all think that everyone we know is so desperate for hourly auto-biographies detailing how we Scooby-Doobed the whether or not to have a bagel mystery from this morning? Either America suffers from a much more terrible case of the "wish-I-was-famous" complex than I thought, or Adam and Eve weren't mislead by a snake and we're all just descendants of two greedy naked people and self-indulgence is embedded in our DNA. (They were Americans... right? Of course, and Jesus would have been white. Hmm... I guess we're all still a little shaky on second grade geography and social studies).
Riddle me this: which is worse, the fact that we use text slang like LMAO (laugh my ass off) more regularly than we breathe, instead of wasting those precious seconds that go into creating an original response in our pseudo-conversations; or, the fact that we actually understand this growing vocabulary of neutered phrases being repackaged in this sudden obsession with acronyms?
Or that both incriminate my texting history? Hopefully my phone records are never subpoenaed for hypocrisy.
The English language is being refurbished and actual words may be just a bit too drawn out to survive. LOL is meaningless. It has the connotations of an ampersand. You did not make me "laugh out loud." You did fail to deserve more than an ampersand in return. Maybe keep it to yourself next time.
But here I am, blogging. I'm a contributor. Fighting pretentiousness with pretentiousness. I'll replace yours with my own. I've never said I wouldn’t preach to you about getting off your pedestal whilst climbing atop my own.
This is my point. The counter-culture is just as pretentious as the establishment they loathe, you know who I'm talking too: liberals, Democrats, progressive-ists, whichever pigeonhole you’ve decided to crawl into. We may be the lesser of two-evils, but that doesn't mean our own brand of bullshit is any less annoying. Organic isn’t a lifestyle just as much as “git-r-dun” isn’t an acceptable response to anything. I’m not telling you to eat pesticide soaked tomatoes, just tone it down a bit. Get off your free-range high-horses, but continue to not paint the Confederate flag on the hoods of your cars; I still appreciate that.
We all need to center ourselves a little closer to the proverbial ham of the sandwich; politically, socially, anything you can add -ly to the end of. Admit that both sides are full of shit and move on like a successful divorce; or marriage. Either way you'll probably only have sex a few more times in your life.
PS
Follow me on Twitter at Twitter.com/WordsofTheEnemy.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Truth Time
My original intention as The Enemy was to sermonize my convoluted rants into the quasi-legitimate medium we know affectionately as the blog. Blog. Blawwg. The only fitting title for word-vomit. But as I am yet to develop an attention span that will deliver a book, I am forced to blog.
I haven't written anything of substance in such a long time and I worried my voice might be a little scratchy. I figured a few film reviews would be enough to get my chops back to a tolerable level. But decent material is starting to emerge (allegedly) and the floodgates that once protected the Internet from my prickery have opened. The shit has officially gotten real.
I'm not going to stop reviewing films entirely, I'm just going to write about whatever I want. A film review here, a series of ostentatious tirades there; a word-monger of narcissistic credibility.
So what can you expect? Hopefully a handful of satisfying incites peppering the massive amounts of bullshit abound, but no promises.
Until next time, I leave you with the immortal words of Al Gore: “I invented the Internet.”
I haven't written anything of substance in such a long time and I worried my voice might be a little scratchy. I figured a few film reviews would be enough to get my chops back to a tolerable level. But decent material is starting to emerge (allegedly) and the floodgates that once protected the Internet from my prickery have opened. The shit has officially gotten real.
I'm not going to stop reviewing films entirely, I'm just going to write about whatever I want. A film review here, a series of ostentatious tirades there; a word-monger of narcissistic credibility.
So what can you expect? Hopefully a handful of satisfying incites peppering the massive amounts of bullshit abound, but no promises.
Until next time, I leave you with the immortal words of Al Gore: “I invented the Internet.”
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Film Review - "Tremors" (1990)
3/5 Stars
Director: Ron Underwood
Valentine McKee: Kevin Bacon
Earl Bassett: Fred Ward
Length: 96 mins
Rated: R
I love this movie. Tremors is, in my mind, the defining film of the comedy-horror genre. It may be an homage to 50s monster B-flicks like Them and The Blob with its giant beasts, screaming faces and constant running, but that's where the similarities end. It isn't a comedic accident as a result of bad film-making, it's a unique and surprisingly competent spectacle of terrifying fun and excitement.
All 96 minutes take place in the peaceful (at first), isolated desert town of Perfection, Nevada, with a population of only 15. That population grows suddenly as some new residents appear in the form of 30 foot worms with unquenchable appetites for flesh. Sound like a good time already? Just wait, there's more. These graboids, as they are nicknamed, tunnel through the dirt faster than horses, chasing those willing to run and eating those who aren't. They spew forward tentacles from their gaping mouths (each with a little mouth of its own) that latch onto their prey, then retract, pulling it in for dinner; what more could you want from a monster. Ah yes, they have to have a weakness and that weakness is blindness. Don't make a sound and they can't find you. Silence is a virtue after all. Seems simple enough. That is until the refrigerator kicks on and one bursts through the floorboards and eats someone. Time to run again.
The dialogue is constantly producing quotables throughout, especially the witty banter between our two heroes Val and Earl, played by Kevin Bacon and Fred Ward (Earl: Is this a job for an intelligent man? Val: Well, show me one and I'll ask him.). I could have done with a little less of the shrill whine of Reba McEntire or the constantly annoying and awful performance of Melvin Plug, played by Robert Jayne, which if eaten, may have added at least another half-star to my rating.
Tremors was in-production at a time where the special effects aspect of the film industry was still on the wrong side of the competency barrier of computer generated effects. Wisely, director Ron Underwood decided not to ruin his movie with unrealistic, cartoonish digital effects and went the old-school route with puppets, robotics and very convincing makeup. If only more directors would consult with you before ruining their own movies Mr. Underwood. If only.
The excitement level is high, as is the cheese-level, but with tolerable acting and a consistent pace that keeps the adrenaline pumping, Tremors really is quite a gem. The story doesn't get too bogged down with ridiculous explanations, yet it isn't completely dependent on the audience's own speculation.
This is a great movie. It's not going to be winning any awards, but it isn't intended to. It's fun and funny. It's campy without being vulgar. And it's exciting as hell. It breaks one of the unofficial golden rules of monster movies by taking place almost exclusively in the daytime making it quite a unique perspective on the genre.
At the very least, where else are you going to see a certified multi-platinum selling country singer and the dad from Family Ties (Michael Gross) fire a few thousand rounds of ammo from a seemingly endless supply of weapons in a standoff with a giant worm-monster whose crashed through the wall of their basement? Scenes like that have lead to cult success, which in turn has lead to three sequels and a short-lived television series. One piece of advice: don't watch them.
Director: Ron Underwood
Valentine McKee: Kevin Bacon
Earl Bassett: Fred Ward
Length: 96 mins
Rated: R
I love this movie. Tremors is, in my mind, the defining film of the comedy-horror genre. It may be an homage to 50s monster B-flicks like Them and The Blob with its giant beasts, screaming faces and constant running, but that's where the similarities end. It isn't a comedic accident as a result of bad film-making, it's a unique and surprisingly competent spectacle of terrifying fun and excitement.
All 96 minutes take place in the peaceful (at first), isolated desert town of Perfection, Nevada, with a population of only 15. That population grows suddenly as some new residents appear in the form of 30 foot worms with unquenchable appetites for flesh. Sound like a good time already? Just wait, there's more. These graboids, as they are nicknamed, tunnel through the dirt faster than horses, chasing those willing to run and eating those who aren't. They spew forward tentacles from their gaping mouths (each with a little mouth of its own) that latch onto their prey, then retract, pulling it in for dinner; what more could you want from a monster. Ah yes, they have to have a weakness and that weakness is blindness. Don't make a sound and they can't find you. Silence is a virtue after all. Seems simple enough. That is until the refrigerator kicks on and one bursts through the floorboards and eats someone. Time to run again.
The dialogue is constantly producing quotables throughout, especially the witty banter between our two heroes Val and Earl, played by Kevin Bacon and Fred Ward (Earl: Is this a job for an intelligent man? Val: Well, show me one and I'll ask him.). I could have done with a little less of the shrill whine of Reba McEntire or the constantly annoying and awful performance of Melvin Plug, played by Robert Jayne, which if eaten, may have added at least another half-star to my rating.
Tremors was in-production at a time where the special effects aspect of the film industry was still on the wrong side of the competency barrier of computer generated effects. Wisely, director Ron Underwood decided not to ruin his movie with unrealistic, cartoonish digital effects and went the old-school route with puppets, robotics and very convincing makeup. If only more directors would consult with you before ruining their own movies Mr. Underwood. If only.
The excitement level is high, as is the cheese-level, but with tolerable acting and a consistent pace that keeps the adrenaline pumping, Tremors really is quite a gem. The story doesn't get too bogged down with ridiculous explanations, yet it isn't completely dependent on the audience's own speculation.
This is a great movie. It's not going to be winning any awards, but it isn't intended to. It's fun and funny. It's campy without being vulgar. And it's exciting as hell. It breaks one of the unofficial golden rules of monster movies by taking place almost exclusively in the daytime making it quite a unique perspective on the genre.
At the very least, where else are you going to see a certified multi-platinum selling country singer and the dad from Family Ties (Michael Gross) fire a few thousand rounds of ammo from a seemingly endless supply of weapons in a standoff with a giant worm-monster whose crashed through the wall of their basement? Scenes like that have lead to cult success, which in turn has lead to three sequels and a short-lived television series. One piece of advice: don't watch them.
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