Craptastic Films of 2007 - my "Top-10"

Everyone has a list of their Top-10 favorite films. So, instead of boring you with my trivial list of good-to-go-for-the-year films, I thought I'd compile a list of not-so-fav's. It was rather difficult because, really, there were over 300 films released this year and a lot of them were just fucking crap. Fortunately, I didn't get to partake in all of this year's bad films but... I did see a few.
So here are my picks for Worst Movies of the Year 2007. They are in alphabetical order as to not embarrass anyone or make any of them seem worse than the others because, honestly, they all sucked pretty bad.

Blood and Chocolate
Who needs another werewolf film, and one with a love story with a.. human? We already saw it in a much better film called UNDERWORLD, which had a better leading lady, too (Kate Beckensale rocks my fucking world), not that I would kick Agnes Bruckner out of bed. I will have to hand it to the SFX people here; the transformations from human into werewolves were much more elegant than in other films. None of that painful, gut-wrenching, bone-snapping stuff here.. just a simple slip from human to canine. It was pretty. Lame.

Bratz
When I was dragged to this film, I thought, “Goody! A story based on slutty adolescent girls' dolls. This'll rock!” Of course, I was wrong. It didn't rock. It made me shutter. If it weren't made for 10-year old fashion-conscious girls, maybe I would have enjoyed the film more. Who am I kidding? No, I wouldn't have. Take MEAN GIRLS, strip it of any wit, talent and plot, add a bunch of clique-loving “BFF's” and a terrible sense of fashion and you get.. well, you get shit.

Delta Farce
Larry the Cable is funny, not so much. Maybe I'm a little snooty when it comes to fart jokes, but I prefer my humor with a little bit more intelligence and a little bit less 4th grade playground banter. The premise of the film is simply idiotic. How ANY American soldier can mistake a Mexican village for one in Iraq is beyond me. It was like someone wrote this in 20 minutes and hoped it would be carried by the “wit” and “chemistry” of the leads. Whoever green lighted this film should be taken to Iraq and shot. In the scheme of buddy films and things of that nature, this film makes ISHTAR and THREE AMIGOS look like masterpieces.

Epic Movie
The guys that brought you DATE MOVIE should have learned their lesson after that craptastic bomb. EPIC MOVIE is one of those lazy-ass films that parodies more popular ones and uses adolescent humor to get a laugh. Sorry, it didn't work. It's sad because Kal Penn is usually so fucking funny. He was brilliant in VAN WILDER (not so much in the second, though) but he was just a bore here. The WILLY WONKA parody, the SNAKES ON A (mother-fucking!) PLANE parody... It made little baby Jesus cry, I'm sure. It's no wonder Fox didn't even screen this film for critics prior to release.

Eragon
Seriously, a movie based on a book written by a 15 year old? If you didn't know that, you could certainly ascertain it from the poor dialogue in the film. You have to wonder if they did any re-writing at all of the script to make it more interesting. As a dragon film, it's okay for the kiddies but I just couldn't swallow the plot, the performances (that's the director's fault) and the fact that you could fly those dragons through the plot holes all over this film. Jeremy Irons, what were you thinking?! After seeing this on screen, we all know what Fox will do with the the rest of this trilogy - nothing, because the first installment sucked ass!

Kickin' It Old Skool
Jamie Kennedy is a pretty talented dude. He's a great musician, he's a funny comedian and he has actually made a few decent films (I won't say because I don't want to risk being made fun of for the lack of taste I may possess). What's most rad about Kennedy is that he rolls with Bob Saget. Props to that, yo! Unfortunately, he had to go and make a movie about a boy who lands in a coma after a breakdancing accident and wakes up 20 years later to find that cassette tapes have been replaced with iPods and that breakdancing has long passed its prime. So what does he do? He gets his sorry ass crew back together for one last showdown. Borrring. Stick to stand-up, dude.

Lions for Lambs
Did this movie actually come out? Even the squabbles between Redford, Streep and Cruise didn't generate enough hype to bring this film to the box office top-10. In fact, it didn't even gross enough in the box office to cover any of their commanding salaries. Sure, I'm against the war and terrorism like the next guy but I don't need Hollywood liberals to step up on their soapbox and preach to me on the big screen. Way too boring, way too preachy and way too long.

Norbit
If Eddie Murphy straps on one more fat suit, I'm going to become bulimic. He couldn't leave well enough alone after THE NUTTY PROFESSOR and he had to just fuck up his career post DREAMGIRLS. I'm not PC but fat jokes are just not funny. And watching a bitter, fat black “woman” who is married to a dimwitted orphaned wussy black man who pines after his childhood sweetheart is just fucking lame.

Rush Hour 3
If there's anything worse than water boarding, it would be watching RUSH HOUR 3. Having to sit through this film was like being subjected to torture that is banned in the Geneva Convention. Chris Tucker's amazingly annoying voice is somewhat to blame along with his lack of comedic talent. Jackie Chan is getting too old for his stunt routines and he should just retire. Expect a Rush Hour 4. I guess people like pain. Just a note - Michael Jackson dancing is so 1983.


Southland Tales
Oh. My. God. If ever there was a film that could stop careers in their tracks, it would be this one. I wonder if Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Mandy Moore, et al, got together one day, had a pow-wow and decided to do something that would quickly do just that. SOUTHLAND TALES is sooo bad, even the premise of Gellar being a pornstar doesn't save it. I don't know how any of the talent in this film became attached to it. Did they throw darts at bad scripts and land one on this? It's so sad because I loved DONNIE DARKO; it's one of my Top-10 favorite films of all time and Richard Kelly just completely dropped the ball on this one. Even Jon Lovitz as a bad-ass cop couldn't keep me interested. Seriously, someone's agent needs to be fired.

There you have it - my 10 craptastic films of 2007. I can't wait for what's in store for '08. What with the writer's strike and all, maybe we'll see some decently written films for once (suck it WGA).

Merry Christmas

I wish upon you all a very Merry Christmas.

I hope at this time of year you and yours are happy, safe and cheerful.





I'll put on the mask of cheer once again this year. But, really, it's just another fucking day.

Phllip K. Dick

Somewhere in the interweb world there will come along an article about Ridley Scott's Blade Runner (it's out there, just not released yet. It's ready to go but technology can be such a bitch sometimes). In this article, there is an interview with Phillip K. Dick's daughter, Isa.

I am a huge sci-fi fan, yet I HATE Isaac Asimov; oh, the irony (how can you not like the man who wrote the Three Laws of Robotics?). I love Orson Scott Card. My favorite novel is Double Exposure. I really do like William Gibson, though he can be very dry. I've read novels that totally bite on Gibson's work and I've loved them, too. So many different authors that I cannot remember. I thank my dad for his indirect influence (I just wish he would have helped me become more of a voracious reader like he was).

One author that I've never read is PKD. Getting back to the first paragraph, the reason why I mention the Blade Runner article is because, after reading that, I went and read Dick's brief autobiography and wow.. this man was brilliant. He wrote so much in such a short time. His ideas were off the wall and he wrote a fucking journal that's huge. Like, 8,000 pages-huge.

His ideas about reality and what shapes it are rather interesting. Why is it that people who are almost off their rocker (ie: John Forbes Nash - mathematician) are the most brilliant? It's one thing to wish for better articulation but to be so brilliant that you're crazy. Well, I wish to be brilliant, but not crazy. Anyway, I've become fascinated with the man and now I want to read his work.

I don't want to seem like I'm jumping on the PKD bandwagon. If my father'd had any of his novels, I'm sure I would have read them (after all, my favorite author is Dean Koontz.. again, thanks dad.. and he didn't even really like Koontz). But Dick is becoming more and more popular these days. We have seen a resurgence of him due to the popularity of Blade Runner (adapted from the novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?). We've seen A Scanner Darkly, Total Recall (adapted poorly from a short story, I understand), Paycheck (John Woo, bless his heart.. but Ben Affleck? What a nutter!) and a host of other films. We will see other films adapted from his stories and novels come to fruition soon. The man, who no one thought would ever be of any interest to mainstream society, is now one of the most influential science fiction writers of all time. It's what happens when you die prematurely.

Anyway, I will make it a mission to read the writings of PKD. His philosophy, his work, everything.. it interests me. I've got so much to read as it is. I need more time in the day! And more focus.

It is at these times I wish I were better read, more articulate and, simply, smarter. Though I'm not stupid, I wish I were just a little bit more intelligent.

Out with the old.. in with the new..

As the end of the year approaches, I just wanted to say what an interesting ride it has been. From amazing highs to some really fucked up lows, this year has been quite amazing.

Each year, I always tell myself that it will be a good one. And, every year, it turns out below expectations. This year was different.

I continued to grow my web assets. Though I didn't achieve what I thought I would this year, it was still pretty good. Next year should be much better. Also, I plan to build a few new assets for the coming year. I'm in the design phases right now.

I met this amazing woman. I can say she is one of but a handful of beautiful women I've come to know or recognize in my life. My concept of 'beautiful' is different than most. It was in high school that I decided that being 'beautiful' was not only about looks but about the overall package. And, one had to excel in so many attributes that being beautiful to me was a very hard thing to attain. I don't use the description lightly. Though we are just friends now, I view her to be an important part of my life and I cherish her immensely (I can just see her cringing as I type this). But what's really important -- she's an amazing person.

I've gained some wonderful insight on myself. The last 4 or 5 months have been some of the most brilliant I've ever experienced. I've learned to deal with personal issues in a more positive manner. I can't say everything's perfect (I still get depressed from time to time, but I think that's normal), and they never will be (perfection doesn't exist, sorry), but they're pretty damn good.

I have found employment, which is good. It's not what I want to do but.. hey.. I'm employed, right? It makes me money and I can do the things I want. When those things that I really want to do start to fruition, I'll be in a good place.

For the coming year, I have new plans. New ambitions. I need to get off of my procrastinating, lazy ass. Though we can start at any time to renew ourselves, it's just easier at the beginning of a new year. It's like passing Go, collecting $200 and just going round the board again. I have plans. I have goals. I have aspirations. I've forgotten what it's like to work my ass off. I've been complacent, but not really satisfied. I'm feeling excited again.

It's time to make a plan and stick with it, ya know? I want to be something more. I want to be bigger than who I am now.

2008 is going to be a fucking stellar year. And I plan to make it happen, Cap'n!

Sometimes..

..it's okay to wallow in self-pity.

Sometimes it's okay to be depressed. One cannot be happy all of the time.

That's creepy. And unnatural.

So, I'm taking the time right now to wallow. To examine what it is that depresses me so I can move on and center myself. It happens less frequently but it still happens. And I enjoy a good depression once in awhile. It's almost comforting.

What is it now, you may be wondering?

None of your concern.

Glenlivet with a Coke Back

"Glenlivet with a Coke back."

That's what I said to the bartender as I sank into the leather chair. I had searched for over a half-hour for a parking spot that wasn't over ten dollars an hour and now I just needed a drink. The city was cruel that way. There was a cute blond sitting next to me, yapping away to the two guys next to her. It was just one of those nights.

I couldn't be bothered with the formalities. I just wanted to crawl into a rocks glass. The brown liquid soothed.

Something was eating at me, something I couldn't place my finger on. Things were going well but, in an unfamiliar place, sometimes one can be thrown for a loop. I had gotten a tip from one of the guests at the hotel that the Lounge on 4th Street was the place to be. It was a cozy place. The clientele a mixture of the college crowd and the 50 something. I was focused on the in-between.

The girl was sipping on something green, probably something made of Midori. It was mild, I'm sure; she probably didn't want to get blitzed. After all, it was a school night. Upon inquiring, she said her name was Joan. 'Joan,' I thought. What a fucked up name. I hated that name. It was the name of the woman whom my father thought was his soul mate. She wasn't. But, I wasn't looking for what my father thought he'd found. I was looking for one night. And Joan was as good as any.

"What do you do?" I asked.

"I design buildings for a living," she said.

"Oh, you're an architect." I stirred my scotch with the white straw the bartender was nice enough to supply.

"Yeah. What do you do?"

"I do a lot of things." I made it a point to be vague. I'm not about being specific, especially to someone I knew I would never see again after the morning rolled around.

"Oh. How mysterious." She twirled her jet black hair in her finger. Her blue eyes piercing me.

"I try," was all I could manage.

"Do you live here?"

"No, I'm in town on business."

"Really?" She leaned in, her eyes engaging. There was something about her that screamed 'Fuck me. FUCK ME NOW!" I refused the the blatant invitation. I was going to play for a bit.

"Yeah. Advertising." It was a lie, but I didn't think she cared. As long as she thought I was important, it didn't matter.

"Advertising? What kind of advertising?"

"Internet. I'm meeting with a few people who want to advertise with me." This was true. I wasn't going to tell her I was the owner of a growing Internet company. The boom was over a long time ago. And this wasn't Silicone Valley. Again, I don't think she cared.

"Oh yeah? What kind of site do you have?" Her leg brushed up against mine. She was invading my space. It looked promising.

"Just something in entertainment. It pays the bills." Her eyes widened. God, they were inviting.

She sipped her drink. She was definitely interested. And that was a good thing. I knew I could close this deal and it was time to do just that.

"Are you here with anyone?" I asked.

"Why?" She smiled coyly.

"I thought, maybe, you'd want to join me for a night cap."

"What do you have in mind?" Her smile grew.

I paid the check and gave her directions to my hotel.

It was a good night.

Blah Blah Fuckity Blah

Armistead Maupin. Tales of the City.

Read it.



I have nothing today except gay people, big cities and bullshit.

Tequila??

Yeah, so I'm sitting at the hotel bar cos I needed food (who goes to the hotel bar for food??!) and there's a guy sitting there talking to the bartender and I knew he was gay just by listening to him and we strike up a conversation. Next thing you know, we're doing tequila shots and talking about life and relationships.

Doesn't matter if one's gay -- get two guys who are sensitive, hopeless romantics together talking and things get a little weird. But what a nice fella.. Twenty-five years with the same partner. He knows how to make a guy jealous.

Cheers to Ken!

Here I am Seattle!

I must say, it's pretty damn cold up here. I should have brought a jacket but.. meh, I couldn't fit it in my luggage.

Being up at 3:30am to catch a flight at 6:45am is not fun, either. I'm glad I was the only one on the Super Shuttle to the airport. It's amazing how little traffic there is on the freeway at that time.. not that I was surprised.

The flight was nice. Sitting in the emergency exit row gave me some room to stretch. And, not a lot of people onboard. Very nice, indeed.

The 2 hour flight gave me time to read - I finally got to get through most of my Buddhism book.

Anyway, the day was uneventful. The weather was nice, though. And let me tell ya.. LOTS of trees. LOTS. It's like the city planners built it in the middle of a forest. And the skyline is really neat, with downtown being right next to the Sound. It looks like LA or San Francisco but it's right next to the water. It's the best of two worlds.. nature AND the big city. I should have brought my camera.

I like it here.

But it's damn cold!

Off to the hotel gym. There's only so much one can do without transportation. I think I'll shell out for a rental sometime this week and go looking for Meredith Grey and maybe McDreamy.

My world's been hijacked!

Have you noticed AT&T Wireless' slogan? "Your World. Delivered."

Let's break that slogan down.

Your World.

My World? So, AT&T has my world. It knows my friends, family, co-workers. It has my interests, my likes and dislikes. It has my reality! So, in essence AT&T possesses my interests, surroundings and my way of life. All in my phone. Next.

Delivered.

It's like they're saying, "here you go! Have Your World." They are bringing it right to me. I don't have to go anywhere, do anything, strain or otherwise lift a finger. Here you go, your world and it's delivered right to ya.

I don't know about you but I do not want to be a complacent, lazy automaton thank you very much. I do not want to grant my mobile phone company control over my world and hand it to me on a platter when I need it. The slogan is almost subversive. It's saying, hey.. let us do your work for you. You just need to sit there and let us do it for you. Become lazy. Become stupid. Become a friggin' idiot. Because when you do, you'll become our little money bucket.

Your World. Delivered. Now if they could deliver pizza.. oh wait.. they can do that, too. Damn it.

Travel time

I'm going to Seattle next week. I haven't been in a few years but each time I go it's always a new experience. I really like Seattle, it's such a great town. There's a charm about the place that you won't find in LA. Los Angeles is so stale. It's just... there. I mean, I do get a sense of something with Los Angeles. That something says 'old' (a lot of history). Seattle conveys quirkiness, fun, fresh.

Anyway, it doesn't really matter except that I haven't traveled in a while and I really need to be somewhere else for a bit... get my mind on something different. I'm thankful for this time away.

Be good kids. I'm sure no one will miss me. Just make sure you turn the lights out when you're done.

Favorites...

I was thinking about something I read in a concert program booklet not too long ago. The band members were asked what their favorite things were. Kind of like the following...

Favorite Smell: This may sound strange but diesel exhaust. It brings back memories of my childhood in Japan.

Favorite Taste: Cherry Tomatoes

Favorite Memory: The quiet morning with the mountains on one side and the stream on the other and no one made a sound.

Favorite Wine: Any good Pinot Noir

Favorite Past Time: Learning/Exploring/Discovering

Favorite Feeling: Being loved

Favorite Place: Hakodate, Hokkaido, Japan

Favorite Time: Childhood

Favorite Color: Green

Favorite Book: Double Exposure by Piers Anthony

Favorite Artist: Mondrian

Favorite Song: Charlotte Sometimes by the Cure

Favorite Music Genre: Electronic/Techno/Ambient

Favorite Band: None.

Favorite favorite: Ghirardelli Hot Chocolate in San Francisco in December

A work of fiction ongoing

Here is something I've been working on. I really wanted to experiment with the first person narrative, telling the story from the main character's point of view. I really enjoyed the way Dean Koontz wrote, in first person, in his Odd Thomas trilogy. The following is an idea I had been playing with for a bit and it simply flowed out of me. I know it needs work and I will be updating periodically, revising, editing and adding to it. It will be an ongoing project on this blog page and I hope you enjoy it, or at least enjoy the concept. Please add comments as you see fit. The dashes in between some paragraphs indicate a possible new chapter. They are, at the very least, breaks. Thank you for reading! -S-

---

I often wondered what the universe had in store for me. One day, not too long ago, I was thinking about getting into the world of acting and not too long after that I bumped into some talent agent at the coffee shop. He said I had a great look and a vibe. What era were we in again? This doesn’t happen now; maybe in the 40’s but not now. And a vibe? What the fuck does that mean? Anyway, he asked me if I had a headshot and I told him I wasn’t an actor. He gave me his card and told me to send him a headshot when I decided to become one. Strange, but true.

I told my best friend Dave the other day that the universe wants me to be an actor. He just laughed and said that I certainly had a lot of drama in my life.

I threw a bagel at him.

It’s not drama. It’s just entertainment, I say. It’s what keeps us on our toes. But, Dave was right; I do have a lot of drama in my life. See, I attract attention. If drama were water, I’d be the lowest point. I’m a magnet to this shit. I don’t know why.

I slept on that business card for four straight days, wondering if the guy was full of shit or something. Maybe he does this to unsuspecting people each week just to deflate their egos. Or, he likes to get their headshots to make fun of the obviously fake poses and cheesy smiles that oblivious actor-wannabe’s have. Who knows, but whatever it was I was taking the bait.

The headshots came back two days later. My obviously fake pose and cheesy smile were more apparent than the ones in the family photos or in the snapshots posted on Match.com. The photographer said I was great to work with, that I did exceptionally well. Of course he’d say that after I paid him the money. I have to say though that he did make me look pretty snappy otherwise.

I drafted a letter of intent (more a letter saying that we bumped into each other at the coffee shop last week and that I should send a headshot) and mailed it off with my photographs.

His name was Drew Allen. One should never trust a guy that has two first names, I always said. He was your typical hotshot Hollywood agent (not that I knew what your typical hotshot Hollywood agent looked like). He wore Armani sunglasses, Canali and Armani suits (if he didn’t have them tailor-made), shoes “handcrafted” by Berluti and he probably paid more for each tie than I did for my monthly car note. He was a class act, if you were into shallow shit like that. But his clients loved him (so he says, anyway).

I visited his office in Beverly Hills where he worked for a prestigious talent agency. He had given me a call asking me to come down to discuss his plans for my future. His plans? My future? It all sounded odd to me but I was game. It’s not like being a barista at Starbucks was a superb career goal. But neither was acting. In any case, I was young and I had time to waste some of my youth. Why not give it a try? It’s not like I’d become a famous actor over night or anything. So when I sat down with Drew, we had a serious heart to heart.

“So, kid.. you wanna be an actor, huh? I can see it in you. I don’t do this all the time but I’ve found a few good ones here and there. Some have done well and the others, not so well. But who cares, right?” Drew laughed at his own funny.

Kid? Who the fuck was he calling a kid? He was probably, what, 3 or 4 years older than me? Talk about a blowhard.

“I don’t know if I want to be an actor but I was thinking about it before I bumped into you. It’s something different. I don’t have a lot of experience at it. A high school play here, a weekend with the friends in the backyard there… I dunno, it was just a thought.”

“I’m not worried about talent, son. You have a look. This is how it was done in the 30’s and 40’s…”

Yes, the 30’s and 40’s… Maybe it was a new marketing ploy or a way to use tactics so archaic that it would be laughable in any other profession. And there he went with that ‘son’ comment. Who did he think he was? George Burns? Shit!

“…Anyway, your look and my guidance and we can get you somewhere.”

“So, it doesn’t matter if I have no talent?” I just wanted to make sure I had this straight before I asked any other questions.

“Does Paris Hilton have any talent? Sure, she can suck a tennis ball through a garden hose really well, but she has the talent of a brick. You don’t need talent, kid. Talent’s for thespians and starving artists.”

Great. I'd be excited if I could muster it. Try picturing the jerk-off hand motion.

“So, how do I start? What can you do for me? Is this gonna cost me anything? Is this… a scam?”

“A scam?” he laughed. “No, kid, this isn’t a scam. Scam artists don’t work in one of the biggest talent agencies in the world. Did you see all the hot chicks working outside my office? If this were a scam, they’d be sitting in this office, not you. And, believe me; they’re all wet in the panties hoping for that chance.” His eyes gleamed with the idea that those girls, working for close to minimum wage and doing his dirty work, would do almost anything to just sit on this chair hoping he’d give them a mindfuck and a chance to suck his cock or something. What a prick. “So what’s it gonna cost you?” he asked. “I’ll have a contract drawn up. I know that, with my work and your good looks, I can get you far fast. Standard rate for an agent is forty percent but for you, I’ll take thirty-five, plus expenses and all of that other crap.”

Thirty-five percent. Yeah, like that wasn’t excessive. I later found out that the standard rate was around 10 to 15 percent. Talk about taking advantage.

“Cool, cos I don’t want to get screwed in the end, you know?” I was trying to play coy but I think he knew it.

“Sure, kid. If anyone’s gonna get screwed it’s me. I’m taking a chance in making you a star. Remember that there’s something more important than money. And that’s image and people’s perception of you. If they think you’re full of shit, you’re not gonna get shit. Remember that.”

---

I was sitting in front of the TV playing Halo 3 on the Xbox. I don’t know but there’s something totally Zen about blowing shit up on a video game. It’s even more Zen that you’re blowing other people’s shit up all over the world. I thought it was meditative and enlightening, though most would certainly disagree. Dave let himself in through the front door and sat beside me on the couch. Taking the second controller, he joined in on the fragging that was currently in progress.

“This game so rocks.” Dave was a master of the English language. “If it weren’t for your Xbox, I’d probably never come over.”

“I’ll be sure to get rid of it straight away then.”

“Fuck off.” He slapped me upside my head and proceeded to frag my ass off the map. Afterwards, he brought his character over mine and did multiple crouches over my face. Gamers would call this teabagging. I called it a display of childish domination.

“When are you going to stop doing that? It’s fucking stupid.”

“When you stop dying like a little pussy bitch. You know I’ll always own you. You’re such a newb!”

I’m such a newb? I’m the one that taught him how to play the fucking game. Just because I don’t sleep with my game console doesn’t mean I’m a newb. He might as well change his home address to mine, he’s here so much.

As Dave tapped the controller, his face seemed concentrated on the fast-paced action on the screen. I threw my controller onto the table in front of me and watched for a second. Then I told him about my day with my new agent.

“So you think you’re gonna be a movie star?” he asked.

“I dunno. I mean, he seemed like he knew what he was talking about, though he was talking out of his ass. He said the chicks in his office were wet with wanting him to make them stars. And he kept calling me 'kid'. The dude’s probably 26 and he thinks he knows everything. Whatever. I just want to see what happens.” I pointed to the screen at the guy who was about to shoot him from the rocks above him. His character jumped from one platform onto another where he picked up a grenade and threw it at his would-be killer.

“Fuck you dickwad! Eat that shit!”

Did I mention he has a great command of the English language?

“So he’s writing up the contracts and says he’s taking thirty-five percent from whatever I make.”

“Is that a lot?”

“I dunno. Maybe. But, if he can get me into the business... It’s not about the money, right?”

“Bullshit it’s not! If you make a million bucks, this guy takes 300 geez. That’s a lot of fucking dough, dude.”

Sometimes, his intelligence amazes me. He was right. That was a lot of money. But who said I was going to make a million bucks? I certainly didn’t expect it.

Dave got up and went to the kitchen. “Hey, tell your mom to buy more beer!” he yelled.

“Tell your mom to buy beer and bring it over. What do you think this place is the fucking pub?”

---

It was a week before I heard from Drew. He had an affinity for making things a bigger deal than what they really were. He had a talent, that’s for sure.

“Hey, Matt! How’s it going?”

Yeah, my name is Matt, by the way. I’m 22 years old, six foot one, 190 pounds. I have brown hair and blue eyes and I think I’m in pretty good shape. I used to surf, play water polo and I like long walks on short piers. Anyway, I’ve been told I could be a model. What kind of model, I don’t know but if I had the choice I’d want to be one of those 1970’s Trans Am’s that Burt Reynolds drove in Smokey and the Bandit.

"Everything's good. I've been promoted to head barista. It's.. well, it's cool." Yeah, I was stoked. Not.

"Sounds wonderful. Hey, I've been in all of these meetings, shopping you around, getting some feedback. Everything's been fucking great, man. You're making a great impression! People like you. Anyway, I sent you your resume. I took the liberty."

He took the liberty? Great. I can't wait to see what talents I possess. It'll probably say that I can speak in several non-essential accents, I'm great with kids, I can ride a mountain bike - down hill - and that I've been trained by some top-notch acting coach. I'll have to wait and see. Of course, it doesn't matter if one has talent or not, right? Right.

"Great, thanks for looking out. I can't wait to see it. So, where do we go from here?

"I'll let you know. But things are looking good for you kid. Things are looking good."

Fucking aye, I need to tell him to stop calling me kid!

It was such a nice day..

In spite of a cold and some dreaded head pains, I decided to go out and enjoy the beautiful day. Since I woke up early and, well, didn't want to go back to sleep, I thought I'd take a drive. To Malibu. With a camera. Well, I actually went a little further than Malibu but not that far. I went to a few beach areas and took a hike up through the trails nearby. It was nice. It wasn't too hot and the walk gave me my cardio for the day. And the quiet. Oh, the quiet. It was nice. I thought it would be a perfect time to test out the black and white mode on the camera. I think these turned out well. The camera can mimick a red filter on the lens, that's why the images are dark and somewhat full of contrast. Please. To enjoy!

Islam + Teddy Bear == Tragic

What the fuck is this noise about a woman getting sentenced to 15 days in a Sudanese jail because her students named a Teddy Bear ‘Muhammad’? Sure, it’s better than the lashings she should have gotten or even death that those backwards fuckwads are calling for but.. seriously? Do we not see how religion completely stunts the mental and intellectual growth of people around the world; especially poor, ignorant folk who are brainwashed by clerics who twist the word of their god into something that spews hate and intolerance?

These backwards motherfuckers are distressed beyond all reason because a British woman allowed a stuffed toy to be given the same name as their beloved religious prophet. It’s also the name of 90% of all male children of the Islamic faith. This woman’s claim is that the bear was named after one of the children in her class.

This would make more sense. It’s more reasonable.

But, NO! These illiterate, ignorant, archaic dumbasses tried her, gave her what the hardliners there call a lenient sentence and will eventually deport her when she gets out of the slammer because they think it was intentionally done to insult their beliefs. Tards.
It’s a sentence of absurdity and intolerance. The only reason why she isn’t being lashed is because the Sudanese government wants to be in the good graces of Britain. Had it not been for that, this woman would have probably been killed without delay by roving bands of intolerant idiots.

Maybe I should name my dick ‘Muhammad’ and shove it in the ass of their brand of Islam. That’s much more offensive and is much more deserving of death. To all you who are offended by me even suggesting that -- go fuck yourselves. These Islamic fundamentalist twats (and all other religious fundamentalists for that matter) should be blown off the face of the earth and I relish in offending people like that because their complete and utter ignorance offends me.

To know...

So I was at work today thinking really hard and talking to someone about my beliefs and philosophy. I was talking about Buddhism and a simple quote came to me:

To Know Yourself is to Know the Universe.

I thought to myself, I couldn't be that original so.. I Googled it. Turns out someone already said it.. The originator of the martial art known as Aikido is believed to have said it first. I've always wanted to learn Aikido. It is a martial art that is used in defense only. There are no offensive moves. It is the art of using the opponent's force against them to defend yourself. The founder's philosophy is profound as is the martial art. The only bad thing about Aikido is..

Steven Segal.

Another path..

I've noticed that whenever I don't care, whenever it doesn't matter to me, things seem to work out better. This doesn't apply to everything but it does apply in areas I feel are important to me at the moment. So..

From this moment on, I'm going to not care anymore. I will treat everything as if I don't care because I've had some great results from being that way.

It's not that I don't care, because I do... a lot. But I think that it's the wrong vibe to send. I don't think anyone cares that you care. But they do when you don't.

Sad? Maybe. Effective? Definitely.

--addendum--

I had something to say here.. it was long, drawn out and kind of thoughtful. But fuck it. Who the fuck cares anyway? Let me get back to the enjoyment of singing to Men at Work songs at the top of my lungs.

People Watching Over Some Pinot..

Have you ever just sat somewhere and watched people? It's an interesting thing, let me tell you. And after reading an article on flirtation and interaction between the sexes, it's even more interesting.

I was at a place tonight waiting for a take out order, drinking some wine at watching the sports highlights (not that it was interesting or anything, cos it wasn't. Oprah, which came on afterwards, was more interesting) and these guys were sitting down the bar from me. One in particular stood out because he was the talkative one. It was interesting to watch him work because he was the guy who 'attracted' others. Along comes the cute server, Kimberly (I overheard her telling this guy her name when he asked) and it was on. Said guy was talking up a storm and Kimberly was taking it in, smiling, laughing and twirling her hair (a sign of interest). As an observer, I was interested in the exchanges between this girl and these guys. What was most interesting was that she and I made eye contact a few times. Eye contact over a second is promising. Multiple eye contact over a second means there is an interest.

I need to go back.

I know I'm an attractive guy. Why not use it to my advantage?

Just being acknowledged, regardless of outcome is nice. It made my day.

Now.. if I can bring out the asshole in me.. I'll be set.

Just Rememberin'...

Last night was Thanksgiving. I hope everyone had a decent time feasting. I know I did. Being with family, we tend to talk about family and this was no exception. My mother was brought up when we were talking about different foods. She made THE BEST gyosa, or potstickers as some people would call them, EVER. I mean, these were to die for. Everyone in the family loved them. But, this entry isn't about my mom's gyosa.

It's about my mom.

My mom passed away over 10 years ago but there isn't a day or two that goes by that I don't think of her. You can call me a momma's boy all you want, I don't care. She raised me when my father was out getting drunk. She took care of me when my father couldn't be bothered with thinking about his family. My mother protected me when my father got beligerent from being drunk. I'm proud of being a momma's boy.

In my life, I never knew anyone as strong as my mother. My mother was brave, leaving her home country for a new life. She was strong as she put up with a man who didn't love her in a relationship held together only by her love for her son. She was tolerant because she put up with a son who took her for granted. She was tough because, in the face of adversity, she left all she knew to regain a semblence of something she lost so long ago.

All I have of my mom are a box of photographs, a few trinkets and a lot of memories. Many good but many bad. A lifetime of regret has made me part of who I am today. As I sit here remembering her, picturing the images I have of her and looking back to only what I can speculate was her youth that she never told me about, I am humbled and awed by the shear strength my mother possessed. The rock, no, the mountain she was. I've only seen my mother cry once. Once. It was because she was taken far beyond her limits, limits I thought were boundless. It still breaks my heart to think of that moment.

My mom grew up in a country at a time where tradition and culture kept women in back. My mom was a progressive woman. I can only gather this through the images I have in that box. The ones where she is dressed in fancy clothing, taking in fancy parties, where she is with friends and making herself look important and.. just being a modern woman in a traditional world. The youth were just being Westernized, after the War (WWII), and she was one of those brave and open-minded women, taking on the challenge to break barriers and set new standards. This is what I'd like to think anyway.

My mom will never know how sorry I am about how I treated her. She'll never know how much I love her. And, she'll never know how much of my respect she has commanded over the years. You will never find anyone more proud of their mom as I am. You will never find anyone more humbled by the experiences had.

This is a lesson for those of you who look at your mothers and think that they're just mom; a nag, a blowhard, someone who just doesn't understand. No, they aren't. They are our support system, our caregivers, our security. They are the backbones of our families. They are the backbones of our society and everyday is Mother's Day. Appreciate your mother. Don't wait until they're gone before you do. This is the biggest regret I'll ever have. One that will die with me.

It's that time of year.. again.

Well, it's that time of year again. Turkey in the oven, family and friends sitting by the fire, sharing stories of old. No, I'm not talking about Thanksgiving (which is coming up, I know), I'm talking Christmas!

As you fans may know, I'm not into Christmas. I hate it. And, this year, it's coming in faster than a Kamikaze diving into a battleship. Halloween didn't even have time to see children get sick from all that candy before we saw decorations and heard Christmas carols in our local Hordemarts.

If you've been following the economic updates on your local cable channels at all, you'd know that this year isn't going to be a good one for the retail sector. They're expecting the public to be tight with their purse strings and humbug to their loved ones. Well, no shit. Have you seen how many people have gone into foreclosure?

So, this year, the corporate juggernauts have gone into high gear by starting the Christmas season a lot sooner than normal, hoping to get the people into a frenzy only Pavlov could appreciate.

So, why do I hate it all? Well, aside from the religious implications- Jesus was NOT born in December. If he was born at all, it would have been somewhere in March or April. The significance of December is that it's a PAGAN ritual. Winter Solstice, worshipping trees (What exactly does a tree have to do with the birth of the savior?), dancing naked in the moonlight... what, you don't do that? Um, strike that.. Giving gifts (well, that could be a three wise men thing.. maybe) and all of that. Why else do I hate it? Because it's become a tool for the corporate greedfucks in their need to make a buck that has them completely bastardizing the one holiday that gets people together for nothing other than to just have a family get together (aside from Thanksgiving, of course).

There's another reason why I hate Christmas - it's because it's the one time of year that everyone's nice to each other. Why not be nice all year round? Why can't you be curteous to your fellow man all of the time and not because of a stupid holiday? Did you know that in Manhattan Beach they turn off all of the parking meters for the Christmas season? Why not do that all year round?? It's not like you'd be missing the money - look at all the rich fucks living in those beachfront homes. I think Peter Brady and his wife Adrian live there, too, if I'm not mistaken. I digress. I'm getting off the subject.

Anyway, love your fellow human, eat a lot of turkey (I'm a vegetarian now, so I won't.. How sucky for me) and just be happy that you're able to celebrate a happy time. There are plenty of people out there who won't be able to for one reason or another. Donate your time to shelters or something. I know I'll be looking into that this year.

My Journey from Redondo to Santa Monica

I've wanted to ride from Redondo Beach to Santa Monica for some time. I used to do it every weekend when I lived in the area but since moving away, it's become one of those things you wish you could do again. Well, I broke out the bike from storage, filled up the tires, got my camera and some energy bars (chocolate chip cookie dough - right on!) and drove out for the day.

First and foremost - My. Ass. Hurts. C'mon, do the bike manufacturers not know how to make a comfy seat? My ass is killing me. Maybe the seat wasn't made to be traversed upon for a distance of over 35 miles (approx from Redondo to SM and back). All I know is, I'm buying a new seat. Those last 5 miles were just a killer. I didn't think I was going to make it! If I start spurting blood outta my ass, I'm suing.

Second, the day sucked. It was overcast all the way there and back. I didn't see the sun all day. I was rather disappointed by this because, during the ride, there is this one spot where one can watch the planes from LAX take off and I wanted pictures of the big 747's flying up and away. Maybe next time. (provided I get a seat for my sensitive ass)

Other than that, the ride was good, I got a good cardio workout from this and I got to photograph stuff. I'm not saying they're great - they're more of a documentation of what I came across.. There was nothing that stood out to say... 'take a pic of me in a really obscure angle.' Nope.. nothing. So anyway, with out further adieu.. pictures of my journey.

Though I started at Redondo, I didn't get a picture off until Hermosa Beach.

Hermosa Beach pier. With people included.

I guess these people were going to do some sort of percussion thing. Nifty.

Next. Manhattan Beach pier. Yeah.. boring, I know.

I took a picture of my bicycle.

There's something about unmanned lifeguard towers that make me just.. photograph.

Volleyball anyone?

A lone seagull greets me as I enter Marina Del Rey.

Wookit all duh pwetty boats!

C'mon! I had to buy $8 worth of shit just to use my CC. WTF is up with that noise?

When I got to Venice, I spied some performers performing.

These guys totally rocked. Amazing gymnastic stuff.

All your balances are belong to us.

Wee!

This dude was totally fucking ripped. I swear I'd sell my soul to the devil to get a physique like this. I don't have the years it would take to get it.

He jumped over 10 people and flipped in mid-air. Unfortunately, my camera was set to single shot and I missed all the fucking action. I was pissed.

This girl had a better camera than me. I was coveting it. And I thought she was cute.

Santa Monica looms ahead.

I had to get a picture of these teens swinging. So youthful.

This is the North Entrance. Where's the South Entrance? In the water?

There was a memorial at the Santa Monica pier for our fallen soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. Called Arlington West, it's put on by a group of anti-war veterans who want this war (it's not a fucking war, it's a conflict. Congress NEVER declared war) to end. I was actually moved by this. Almost to tears.

Somebody placed a bubble machine on the sand. It reminded me of a woman I had a fling with who, within 2 weeks, said she fell in love with me. I hope you're well Jasey.

This kid was trying to pop the bubbles.

Said Bubble Machine.

This fucking rocks. Where do I get me one?

This was pretty cool. I didn't stop in but it looked like a nifty place.

The shirt was cool, too.

OMG, this guy had to have lost a bet or something. Or he has balls the size of China.

That's GLASS, people. GLASS! What they'll do to make a buck down there..

This act is sooo played. Get a new one buddy. The dog was a nice touch though.
But you still sucked.

I thought these poems were cool. They were inscribed on the shower wall next to the Muscle Beach workout facility.

Well, that's it. I need to get some work done. And my ass still hurts. Fucking Christ, the next time I do this, I'm drinking beer at the watering holes along the way. With a new seat.

Oh and.. days like today make life worth living.