Author's Note: I've found that the more I write, regardless of what it is, the better my writing seems to be. Reviewing the various pieces of media I consume is a cheap, easy way to keep myself stretched out and limber.
All scores out of 10.
Plot: "Drive" is a slightly formulaic action thriller following an unnamed protagonist who winds up on the wrong side of the local crime lords. There are few surprises here; things proceed in an orderly, predictable fashion, with no leaps in logic or suspension of disbelief required. That's not to say it isn't interesting and engaging; our hero and those he cares about are royally fucked, and the brutality and body count leave you unsure of their ultimate fates until the conclusion. This is not the feel good Hollywood action movie the trailers lead me, and seemingly the rest of the theater, to expect. It is vicious and sudden and blunt in its delivery. Score: 7.
Cast: Ryan Gosling is extremely effective as the Driver. He cares even less about smalltalk than yours truly, but beneath that awkward exterior is a man with both a kind heart and a wicked mean streak. When it's time to bring the pain, he does so efficiently and remorselessly. He's obviously done so before. I can't decide if his demeanor and ease with violence were due to innate mental problems or if they were the result of a troubled past. I suspect the latter, but the movie doesn't tell.
Carey Mulligan is excellent as Irene, the object of the Driver's affections. She is the rarest of all modern female leads: the attractive woman who is never, ever objectified by the director. The one instance of physicality between Irene and the Driver is not there to titillate but to progress the development of the characters, to show the Driver's acceptance of his likely fate and his desire to do something he will probably never get another chance to do. That's right, I'm more than just poop jokes.
Bryan Cranston, as always, plays the down-on-his-luck, in-over-his-midlife-crisising-head role to a T. Ron Perlman almost steals the show as a vicious mob boss. I was surprised at Christina Hendricks's relatively small role, given her name recognition and "It Girl" status. Score: 9.
Cinematography: Director Nicolas Winding Refn presents his story slowly and deliberately, making us give a crap about the Driver and especially Irene before the shit hits the fan. The New Wave-y soundtrack is jarring; in theory the movie's main theme, College's "A Real Hero," should not work in a movie like this. It's something you'd hear at the end of an 80's prom. I kept wondering when the Driver was going to find Molly Ringwald crying on the side of the road in a poofy pink dress. But the more I heard it the more I felt it fit. It's catchy as shit, and I've been listening to it nearly nonstop at work since buying it Monday morning. There were a few too many awkward, brooding, lingering glances for my taste, especially from Irene. Score: 8.
Ending: The final fight feels a little quick and anti-climactic, but it makes sense within the scope of the film. I was surprised at how relatively well things turned out for our heroes given the overall brutality of the plot. Score: 8.
Add 'em all up, divide by 4, and we get an 8. That sounds appropriate. "Drive" is a very good movie, but it's not one I want to sit through again anytime soon. Think the new "True Grit" or "The Wrestler."
Bests: Irene; the Driver's awesome jacket; absolutely everything about the elevator scene; the soundtrack.
"Bests:" No matter how much blood gets on the Driver's jacket, he never bothers to wash it.
Worst: If the characters would stop staring at each other and fucking say something you could knock at least twenty minutes off the movie's running time; realizing I'm a pussy when I couldn't watch someone get forked in the eye; I'm not sure why the Driver bothered to disguise himself at one point.
Go see this movie if: You made the mistake of going to "Cowboys & Aliens" and/or "Conan" and need something to reaffirm your faith in the modern action movie.
Don't bother if: You're expecting something fun; you can't deal with realistic violence.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Back to School, Back to School
We professional barflies don't need a calendar to know what time of year it is. Like Native Americans reading the sun to tell time, we can use the environment to deduce the current month. This weekend was obviously back-to-college weekend. Here are the signs:
- Skanks on the train. If I were a lady, I would avoid wearing skirts that barely cover my ass whilst taking public transportation to lessen the chance of catching a disease from the nasty ass seats. Sunday certainly set a sales record for the morning after pill.
- Everybody gets carded. During the summer, I can stroll right into most bars with naught but a nod in the bouncer's direction. This time of year? No dice. I do not appreciate having to wait an extra thirty seconds to get a beer.
- Long ass lines to get into dumb places. The Burren. The Phoenix Landing. Whatever the hell was next to the Miracle of Science. These young shitheads don't know any better, and I'm not going to teach them. Thankfully they seem to be afraid of Sligo Pub.
- Shitty seasonal brews. Pumpkins belong on your front porch, not in my beer.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Let's Rank Wrestlers, September 2011
Because nobody cared about my August version, here's the September edition.
Five Guys Who Make Me Look Up From My Laptop
5. AJ Lee
Ok, so she's not a guy. She's also not your typical boring, siliconed up Diva. This girl can go. She's quick, her moves are crisp, and she sells better than any other woman on the roster. More AJ on my TV, please.
4. Ricardo Rodriguez
You are damn right I enjoy the work of Alberto Del Rio's personal ring announcer more than I enjoy the work of ADR himself. Ricardo is a creepy looking fuck who's probably the long lost cousin of Gomez Adams. And he's got a better dropkick than most of the full time wrestlers and every Diva not named AJ.
3.The Formerly Dashing Cody Rhodes
Brilliant as always. His matches with Randy Orton feel like a tryout for a bigger stage. Orton busted him open big time during their match on Smackdown - I haven't seen anybody bleed like that since the last time I watched a Ric Flair match.
2. Zack Ryder
The Long Island Iced Z is probably the feel-good story of the year. Relegated to jobber duty on Superstars, Ryder built his own following with his highly successful (and very funny) Z: True Long Island Story series on YouTube. Random "We want Ryder!" chants have been springing up during boring matches for months, and his victory over US Champion Dolph Ziggler implies that he might be in line for a push. Woo, woo, woo, you know it!
1. Mark Henry
The big man did it - he beat Randy Orton to win the first World Championship of his 15 year career. More importantly, he did relatively cleanly. No shenanigans. No run-ins. No unconscious referees. This is typically the time of year WWE tries out new champions. Hopefully they'll give Henry a little run and then have Sheamus finally beat him.
Five Guys That Make Me Bury My Face in the Interwebs
5. Sin Cara
4. Sin Cara
Evil impostor story lines never work. Especially when the hero doesn't speak English.
3. Kelly Kelly
I'll watch her entrance. I won't watch her matches. The women's division is one place TNA has a definite advantage. I miss you, Velvet Sky.
2. Triple H
Nobody fires the Miz and avoids my wrath. John Laurenaitis obviously summoned Kevin Nash into the ring via text message, and yet Hunter doesn't confront him? At all? C'mon, WWE, you can do better than that. At least do me a solid and reform the nWo with the Miz at its head.
1. Jack Swagger
He can't talk and he's missing something in the ring. He hasn't hit that running Vaderbomb in six years. Get him away from my boy Dolph.
Quote of the Month
Sheamus, the WWE's first ever Irish-born World Champion, after tasting the potato with which Christian tried to bribe him: "This isn't from Ireland! This is from Idaho!" Later in the show he got his revenge by tossing Christian to Mark Henry for a World's Strongest Slam. Do not fuck with an Irishman's potatoes.
Five Guys Who Make Me Look Up From My Laptop
5. AJ Lee
Ok, so she's not a guy. She's also not your typical boring, siliconed up Diva. This girl can go. She's quick, her moves are crisp, and she sells better than any other woman on the roster. More AJ on my TV, please.
4. Ricardo Rodriguez
You are damn right I enjoy the work of Alberto Del Rio's personal ring announcer more than I enjoy the work of ADR himself. Ricardo is a creepy looking fuck who's probably the long lost cousin of Gomez Adams. And he's got a better dropkick than most of the full time wrestlers and every Diva not named AJ.
3.The Formerly Dashing Cody Rhodes
Brilliant as always. His matches with Randy Orton feel like a tryout for a bigger stage. Orton busted him open big time during their match on Smackdown - I haven't seen anybody bleed like that since the last time I watched a Ric Flair match.
2. Zack Ryder
The Long Island Iced Z is probably the feel-good story of the year. Relegated to jobber duty on Superstars, Ryder built his own following with his highly successful (and very funny) Z: True Long Island Story series on YouTube. Random "We want Ryder!" chants have been springing up during boring matches for months, and his victory over US Champion Dolph Ziggler implies that he might be in line for a push. Woo, woo, woo, you know it!
1. Mark Henry
The big man did it - he beat Randy Orton to win the first World Championship of his 15 year career. More importantly, he did relatively cleanly. No shenanigans. No run-ins. No unconscious referees. This is typically the time of year WWE tries out new champions. Hopefully they'll give Henry a little run and then have Sheamus finally beat him.
Five Guys That Make Me Bury My Face in the Interwebs
5. Sin Cara
4. Sin Cara
Evil impostor story lines never work. Especially when the hero doesn't speak English.
3. Kelly Kelly
I'll watch her entrance. I won't watch her matches. The women's division is one place TNA has a definite advantage. I miss you, Velvet Sky.
2. Triple H
Nobody fires the Miz and avoids my wrath. John Laurenaitis obviously summoned Kevin Nash into the ring via text message, and yet Hunter doesn't confront him? At all? C'mon, WWE, you can do better than that. At least do me a solid and reform the nWo with the Miz at its head.
1. Jack Swagger
He can't talk and he's missing something in the ring. He hasn't hit that running Vaderbomb in six years. Get him away from my boy Dolph.
Quote of the Month
Sheamus, the WWE's first ever Irish-born World Champion, after tasting the potato with which Christian tried to bribe him: "This isn't from Ireland! This is from Idaho!" Later in the show he got his revenge by tossing Christian to Mark Henry for a World's Strongest Slam. Do not fuck with an Irishman's potatoes.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Istoleyourlunchanomics
I am not an economist. I just play one on the Interwebs. And sometimes in video games. That said, I have an opinion on all this talk of increasing taxes on the rich. Like anyone else with such an opinion, I just can't keep it to myself. MSNBC hasn't returned my calls, so I'll lay it out for you here.
On one side of the argument, we've got a bunch of stuffy rich white people screaming to the high heavens "Do not tax me, brother!" accompanied by the politicians and talking heads they've bought and paid for. On the other side, we've got poor people who don't think Scrooge McDuck needs another money bin accompanied by the politicians and talking heads who are trying to curry their favor. Despite the negative effect raising taxes on the rich will have on my plans to marry some rich old broad and move into her giant yacht, I've aligned myself with the latter.
The main argument against such a change is straight out of Ronald Reagan's playbook: taxing the rich, the people who own the companies that give us jobs, will mean fewer jobs because they won't have as much money to invest in said companies. Trickle-down economics at its finest. And its most short-sighted. Reagonomics is to economic theory what Starter jackets are to fashion, what MySpace is to social networking, what single-ply is to personal hygiene, what excelling at the Macarena is to picking up women: it's just not relevant anymore. In an economy based on manufacturing, where the only way to make more money is to make more and better shit faster and cheaper, Reagonomics makes sense. You need people to make the shit, and the more people you have the more shit you can make. Ours is not a manufacturing based economy. It's built on shit that doesn't really exist, on intellectual property and patent portfolios and suing the shit out of people and stock options no one understands. You don't need a huge workforce for any of those things.
It's that last item, specifically capital gains, that lawmakers who pretend to like poor people are targeting. You see, capital gains are taxed at a rate of 15%. Joe Blow Middle Class's income is taxed at a rate closer to 30%, depending on his state of residency. No one will ever convince me that INVESTING (you should read that word in a ridiculous high pitched voice with your pinky out, because that's the way I'm saying it in my head every time I write it) is any better than heading on down to Mohegan Sun and dropping $20 on red. If my number comes up, I owe the Man 30% of it. If I screw over a bunch of poor people by INVESTING in a bunch of shit ass mortgage-backed securities and then selling them at a profit to some dumb schmuck, the man gets 15%. The idea here is that the rich fuck who made that money INVESTING is going to turn around and INVEST it elsewhere, greasing the wheels of commerce and creating jobs. This is asinine.
Creating more ridiculous stock options does not create jobs. Buying politicians does not create jobs. Ending up a joke on a reality show does not create jobs. And, despite my previous post, neither does buying a giant yacht and staffing it with bikini models and a private army. INVESTING in manufacturing would, but whereas all the manufacturing is done in countries where they can pay their workers in hugs and compliments, this does little to help us.
You know who creates jobs in this kind of economy? The guy buying shit at Wal-Mart. The family paying a contractor to work on their home. The people who trade their money for real live shit, and not a bunch of theoretically bull pucky. And they'll have more money for real live shit if taxing rich twats leads to improvement in schools, health care, and public infrastructure.
Rich people have every right to protest taxes levied against them. It's a democracy, folks, and everyone gets a voice. Even the selfish idiots like Bill O'Reilly and that asshat Republican from Louisiana who claims he can't feed his family on $400,000 a year. All I ask is that they're honest with their protests; don't hide behind a bunch of bullshit about creating jobs when you're just a greedy shit. Just say you're a greedy shit and you need a new golden toilet. That's the American Dream, after all.
On one side of the argument, we've got a bunch of stuffy rich white people screaming to the high heavens "Do not tax me, brother!" accompanied by the politicians and talking heads they've bought and paid for. On the other side, we've got poor people who don't think Scrooge McDuck needs another money bin accompanied by the politicians and talking heads who are trying to curry their favor. Despite the negative effect raising taxes on the rich will have on my plans to marry some rich old broad and move into her giant yacht, I've aligned myself with the latter.
The main argument against such a change is straight out of Ronald Reagan's playbook: taxing the rich, the people who own the companies that give us jobs, will mean fewer jobs because they won't have as much money to invest in said companies. Trickle-down economics at its finest. And its most short-sighted. Reagonomics is to economic theory what Starter jackets are to fashion, what MySpace is to social networking, what single-ply is to personal hygiene, what excelling at the Macarena is to picking up women: it's just not relevant anymore. In an economy based on manufacturing, where the only way to make more money is to make more and better shit faster and cheaper, Reagonomics makes sense. You need people to make the shit, and the more people you have the more shit you can make. Ours is not a manufacturing based economy. It's built on shit that doesn't really exist, on intellectual property and patent portfolios and suing the shit out of people and stock options no one understands. You don't need a huge workforce for any of those things.
It's that last item, specifically capital gains, that lawmakers who pretend to like poor people are targeting. You see, capital gains are taxed at a rate of 15%. Joe Blow Middle Class's income is taxed at a rate closer to 30%, depending on his state of residency. No one will ever convince me that INVESTING (you should read that word in a ridiculous high pitched voice with your pinky out, because that's the way I'm saying it in my head every time I write it) is any better than heading on down to Mohegan Sun and dropping $20 on red. If my number comes up, I owe the Man 30% of it. If I screw over a bunch of poor people by INVESTING in a bunch of shit ass mortgage-backed securities and then selling them at a profit to some dumb schmuck, the man gets 15%. The idea here is that the rich fuck who made that money INVESTING is going to turn around and INVEST it elsewhere, greasing the wheels of commerce and creating jobs. This is asinine.
Creating more ridiculous stock options does not create jobs. Buying politicians does not create jobs. Ending up a joke on a reality show does not create jobs. And, despite my previous post, neither does buying a giant yacht and staffing it with bikini models and a private army. INVESTING in manufacturing would, but whereas all the manufacturing is done in countries where they can pay their workers in hugs and compliments, this does little to help us.
You know who creates jobs in this kind of economy? The guy buying shit at Wal-Mart. The family paying a contractor to work on their home. The people who trade their money for real live shit, and not a bunch of theoretically bull pucky. And they'll have more money for real live shit if taxing rich twats leads to improvement in schools, health care, and public infrastructure.
Rich people have every right to protest taxes levied against them. It's a democracy, folks, and everyone gets a voice. Even the selfish idiots like Bill O'Reilly and that asshat Republican from Louisiana who claims he can't feed his family on $400,000 a year. All I ask is that they're honest with their protests; don't hide behind a bunch of bullshit about creating jobs when you're just a greedy shit. Just say you're a greedy shit and you need a new golden toilet. That's the American Dream, after all.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Tweet This
Lately it seems like we can't go fifteen minutes without some athlete/celebrity/hasbeen/neverwas logging into Twitter and pissing everybody off in 140 characters or less. Fifteen minutes later a bunch of talking heads go off and demand an apology. An hour after the original post we get a half-assed apology. I feel like I could set my watch by this shit.
The prevailing "wisdom" is that these people need to think more before they put their thoughts out in the public eye. How dare they give an opinion that hasn't been emasculated by a Public Relations Department so that it says absolutely nothing! They should be ashamed! Think of the children! And the old people who don't fucking get it!
You know who's really in the wrong here? Not the Tweeters. The assholes who manage to take 83 characters, five or six misspellings, and two hash tags and turn it into Hiroshima. I am so sick and tired of their shit and I demand an apology.
Let's look at a recent case, a tweet from Chad Ochocinco in regard to how impressed he was with the Patriots' offense. And I quote:
"Just waking up after a late arrival,I've never seen a machine operate like that n person,to see video game numbers put up n person was WOW"
To which all-time great Patriots linebacker Tedy Bruschi opined:
"Drop the awe factor, OK, Ocho, Chad, drop the awe factor. You're not a fan, all right? You're not someone who's on another team or watching TV. You're not an analyst. You're a part of it. They want you to be a part of it. So get with the program because obviously you're not getting it and you're tweeting because you're saying, 'It's amazing to see'? It's amazing to see because you don't understand it! You still don't understand it and it's amazing to you because you can't get it."
Tedy, I love you. You are pretty much my most favoritest Patriot ever. I would take a bullet for you. But you need to shut the fuck up. Ocho didn't say anything negative. He didn't say anything stupid. He didn't lie. He didn't brag. You would be completely in the right had you criticized his punctuation, but you completely missed that part. All Ocho did was heap praise on his teammates. That's it. Get over it.
And then we have the case of Arian Foster, who whipped up a shitstorm of epic proportions by tweeting the MRI of his injured hamstring. How could he do such a thing? Wasn't he thinking? OH GOD THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!! That's almost as bad as tweeting a picture of genitalia!
Someday we'll all be able to look at things objectively and stop making mountains out of mole hills. Ok, probably not. I was trying to give this a happy ending. But let's be honest: this bullshit generates advertising dollars for gossip sites and 24/7 news agencies looking to make a quick buck, so it isn't going away anytime soon. That off-the-grid cabin in the woods is looking better and better every day.
The prevailing "wisdom" is that these people need to think more before they put their thoughts out in the public eye. How dare they give an opinion that hasn't been emasculated by a Public Relations Department so that it says absolutely nothing! They should be ashamed! Think of the children! And the old people who don't fucking get it!
You know who's really in the wrong here? Not the Tweeters. The assholes who manage to take 83 characters, five or six misspellings, and two hash tags and turn it into Hiroshima. I am so sick and tired of their shit and I demand an apology.
Let's look at a recent case, a tweet from Chad Ochocinco in regard to how impressed he was with the Patriots' offense. And I quote:
"Just waking up after a late arrival,I've never seen a machine operate like that n person,to see video game numbers put up n person was WOW"
To which all-time great Patriots linebacker Tedy Bruschi opined:
"Drop the awe factor, OK, Ocho, Chad, drop the awe factor. You're not a fan, all right? You're not someone who's on another team or watching TV. You're not an analyst. You're a part of it. They want you to be a part of it. So get with the program because obviously you're not getting it and you're tweeting because you're saying, 'It's amazing to see'? It's amazing to see because you don't understand it! You still don't understand it and it's amazing to you because you can't get it."
Tedy, I love you. You are pretty much my most favoritest Patriot ever. I would take a bullet for you. But you need to shut the fuck up. Ocho didn't say anything negative. He didn't say anything stupid. He didn't lie. He didn't brag. You would be completely in the right had you criticized his punctuation, but you completely missed that part. All Ocho did was heap praise on his teammates. That's it. Get over it.
And then we have the case of Arian Foster, who whipped up a shitstorm of epic proportions by tweeting the MRI of his injured hamstring. How could he do such a thing? Wasn't he thinking? OH GOD THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!! That's almost as bad as tweeting a picture of genitalia!
Someday we'll all be able to look at things objectively and stop making mountains out of mole hills. Ok, probably not. I was trying to give this a happy ending. But let's be honest: this bullshit generates advertising dollars for gossip sites and 24/7 news agencies looking to make a quick buck, so it isn't going away anytime soon. That off-the-grid cabin in the woods is looking better and better every day.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
My X Step Plan That Will Work To Make America Work Again
Everybody and their brother seems to have a plan to reduce our unemployment numbers to an acceptable level. Most of those plans are bullshit. Mine isn't. Here's my X Step Plan That Will Work to Make America Work Again. X represents the number of steps this eventually ends up being. It's a placeholder that I will change when I'm done. Unless I forget. Or unless my sense of humor has degraded to the point that I think joking about plugging a number into a variable is funny and that joking about forgetting to do that is even funnier, in which case you should just find me and punch me in the face.
And yes, this list needs numbers. Bullets won't do it. If any of these steps are done out of this exact order, the whole thing will fall apart worse than Manny Ramirez. Somebody needs to get that dude some 'roids for his brain.
And yes, this list needs numbers. Bullets won't do it. If any of these steps are done out of this exact order, the whole thing will fall apart worse than Manny Ramirez. Somebody needs to get that dude some 'roids for his brain.
- President Obama loans me $1 million. Don't scoff, he's totally going to do it. This is a fart in the wind compared to the national debt. What's another million bucks compared to the eleventy kabillion dollar deficit we're running? Pocket change, that's what.
- Briefcase full of Benjamins in hand, I turn my attention to a massive open wound inflicted upon the American Dream by a vile foreign interest. That's right, you dirty fucking Swedes, I'm bringing back the Good Times Emporium. The eagle shall not be grounded beneath the weight of square furniture and lingonberries! But it's not going back in its original Somerville location. Oh, no. I'm buying the hole in the ground that used to be the Filene's building in Downtown Crossing and putting this bitch right in the heart of the city, and I'm going to use the two walls that are still standing to do it. Four floors of booze and decadence and debauchery and Dance Dance Revolution. I estimate that this venture will require 15 fry cooks, 37 bartenders, 15 bar backs, 50 burly security dudes, 5 guys to maintain the wrestling ring and optional steel cage, 50 cocktail waitresses, 10 guys to manage the carnival rides, and 30 assorted office support staff. I just created 212 jobs and brought a smile to the face of every wannabe guido and disgusting skank in the greater Boston area (not to mention the barflies who have nothing better to do than to watch the magic).
- It doesn't end there. My tremendous Good Times profits cannot be left to rot in the bank! For the good of America, it must be reinvested! What's the one thing absolutely everyone on the planet needs? A place to take a dump, of course! That's why I'm going to create Cozy Commodes, the first ever line of luxury port-a-crappers. With my in depth knowledge of the Boston bar scene, I will be able to strategically position my Cozy Commodes outside every pub in which no one wants to touch the seat. Would you pay $5 to drop a deuce in a spacious, granite-lined privy well-stocked with quilted two-ply and attended by a friendly man servant who offers you a hot towel and compliments your hair when you're done? If the alternative were catching the syph in An Tain or Sligo, of course you would! I estimate that this venture will require 60 friendly man servants, 30 truck drivers, 25 of the nation's best scientists for Research and Development (I bet we can recover the corn and sell it to the ethanol manufacturers!), and 50 assorted office support staff. That's another 165 jobs, for a grand total of 377! What's that I hear? Why, it's Fergie working a new verse about me into the Star Spangled Banner!
- But I'm not done yet! As my business ventures spread their sticky fingers into Worcester, Springfield, Providence, and Hartford, it'll be time for me to kick back and reap the fruit of my labors. One 200 foot mega-yacht, please. I estimate that my new toy will require 5 chefs, 20 crew, 2 housekeepers, 1 bikini model to make sure I'm always well sunscreened, another to rub my feet, another to tell me how nice my hair looks today, a fifteen man security force to fend off pirate attacks, and 5 bartenders, one for every floor. But no captains. Because I'm the fucking captain. That's 50 more positions to fill, for a grand total of 427 positions! I'm creating more positions than the guy who wrote the Kama Sutra! But his jokes were probably better.
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