suavely deranged

So, Twitter, huh? Yeah, that was me.

Much love to Denver Nuggets heavily inked SG J.R. Smith and San Diego Chargers CB Antonio Cromartie for running into the same sort of opposition for expressing their views online as I, my ownself. Although with much smaller repercussions. Love me the censorship, can't you tell? Adolf Hitler is alive and well and living wherever a thought, a word, a work of art or what have you is forbidden. Verboten, as it were.

 

I was thrilled to discover that Australian sensation The Veronicas are going to be opening up for Kelly Clarkson when her tour finally rolls into Calgary in November. Love me some The Veronicas. Saw them open for Natasha Bedingfield at the House of Blues in Vegas last year. Only because they were playing. Never thought they'd make it out here. Thrilled they are. Although after the divine Ms. Clarkson (skim the archives, as time and legal ramifications don't permit me to go into the effect her music has had on me over the years) has already cancelled one Canadian tour and pushed back this show from July to November...

Fingers, toes, and eyes are crossed on this one. Wires, too.

 

Contrary to word on the street, G.I. Joe doesn't need to be courtmartialed. It is what it is, mindless kickass excitement with shit getting blowed up hither, thither and yon for no apparent reason (which just adds to the appeal) brought to you by the good folks at Hasbro. I'm just surprised Michael Bay didn't direct it.

Marlon Wayans as an action star? Really? Damon, maybe. Hell, even Keenan Ivory, but Marlon? My suspension of disbelief only goes so far. Now, if it'd been Shawn, I'd have stormed the projection booth. Do they even still HAVE an actual projection booth? Sorry, being unemployed has caused my pretty little head to go in all sorts of directions of late. My dissolution of self, however, is progressing nicely, so there's that.

Stormshadow's still my favorite.

If I were gay, boy, Channing Tatum's poster would totally be up on my wall. Liked him in She's The Man, though.

Didn't Sienna Miller play Edie Sedgwick once? I'm not judging. Hot snatch on the hoof has to eat, too. And there's so many ways to prostitute oneself, most of which are even legal. Believe me, I've checked. Again, unemployed.

I totally need me some nanomites. Just to further my new career path as megalomaniacal supervillain. What? I went to college. Liberal Arts, so it ain't like I have a whole lot of potential gigs in my chosen field. Although I did get that A in Women's Studies oncet upon a time.

 

I totally leave my shiny new iPhone on in the theater because:

a) I'm kind of a prick. But not a complete one. I can't even do THAT right. Sigh.

2) I have no clue how to transition the fucking thing from sleep mode to off, being a simple country boy and all.

c) Since I've completely blanked on the first 3 digits of my number (991, by the way) and told everyone they were something else, I'm not overly concerned about folks calling me at inopportune times. Again, simple. Country. Read:hick.

On the plus side, the chick what has the number I've been giving out sounds kinda Fly. When life gives you lemons, make PIE. We likes pie.

 

A remake of Fame. Because folks just couldn't get enough of the original and are still talking about it lo these 20 some odd (for some of us more odd than for others) years since. On the positive tip, Irene Cara will have a career again, I'm quite looking forward to that. AND...wait for it...the long anticipated return of legwarmers. I'ma, being a total androgyne and all, get me some pink ones.

 

Yeah, not really feeling this Shutter Island business. Might read the book, though. And I like Leonardo di Caprio. Ever since Growing Pains.

 

I finally got around to watching Juno yesterday. Primarily because I loved Diablo Cody's Candy Girl, wherein she...no, fuck that. Read it yourself. It's worth it. Hell, I may even go see Jennifer's Body. Whoa, man, that's just crazy talk. Although...Megan Fox. Amanda Seyfried. Color me on the fence. I nearly impaled myself on one once. Playing Little League. Trying to pull in a home run. Yeah, not so much.

But I digress. I do that.

Apparently something happened in Pittsburgh recently and my boy Yan (who taught me the correct use of spacing after commas and parentheses) told me that I need to take a page from this fella's blog and make mine own as easy to follow and have a, you know, point. Yeah, so not me. But it's good to have friends, though, ain't it?

And again. Wherefore art I?

Oh yeah. Juno. Snappy dialogue and, ever since I thought I could do film school at home, I've always been all about the dialogue. Which is why I'm so looking forward to Inglorious Bastards (sp.?). Loves me the Tarantino.

Ellen Page. Good.

Michael Cera. Surely I can't be the only one that wants to take him by the back of the head and start smashing his fucking face into a wall until either one breaks into little pieces. After watching him drag this movie down and then watching him in Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist this evening, I so very much want him to end up on the wrong end of a back alley gangbang. Soonest. He's attained a place in that special little corner of Hell I like to call Will Ferrell Land. Cera's set the male gender back hundreds of years by being such a complete fucking pussy in his movies. It makes me throw up in my mouth a little (okay, a LOT) to think that somewhere out there in the ether is a generation of males who think that the way to a woman's heart is to be her bestest girlfriend. her BFF, as it were. Then she can't help but see how awesome you are, worshipping her from afar, while she's pulling train for every guy other than you; although sometimes, just sometimes, you (gasp!) score some hot hand holding action. On the plus side, these guys will all end up going to the other team, leaving more 18 to 21 year olds for my planned midlife crisis.

But I sugarcoat. I sometimes have issues when it comes to talking about my feelings. As those of y'all what've stumbled by before are more than aware. And yes, I used to be that kind of orbiter once (before you can say it, HA!) and, yeah, not so much. Orbiter guy doesn't end up with the female lead. If he's lucky, however, when he's holding her purse (nope, never fell that far from grace), he can take the fucking thing and run. Pay for e-books and therapy. Hookers and crack.

Fortunately, after I finish up here I'll be watching Chinatown. Nicholson. Just to remind me that there are still movies with Alpha male role models. I couldn't believe my good fortune at it being available when I went to the library yesterday. That's where I got Juno. Bonnie and Clyde. The Great Gatsby. Cleopatra. Fucking sue me, I'm unemployed. I've finally got time to catch up on my reading, writing and filmic studies. And I still have about 10K in the bank, so I'll be all right for a week or 2 more.

Although it was 31 Flavours of fun and Good Times to apply for unemployment and have to explain on the application that I got the axe because of poor Facebook judgment. It did, however, make me appreciate the pure, clean and good things in life.

Like Heroin. Weed is for selling or giving to chicks.

And, of course, wishing bad things for Michael Cera and Will Ferrell for their crimes against humanity. Which ties in nicely with my earlier comment about Adolf Hitler. See, Yan, sometimes I really do have a destination in mind for my train of blank.

Yeah, not so much. But my heart's in the right place. Tattooed on my arm, where it belongs.

 

I'm having a problem with the Would You Bang Jesus? opener. Yeah, the 13 guys rolling into the club together; strong entrance, good social proof. The hot whore draped all over him (sadly, I forgot this part the last time I used it; and that is why you fail); again, social proof. Women love them the social proof. And then he turns water into wine right in front of you at the bar. Chicks love magic tricks. And shiny things. It makes them go ooh and ah and shit.

Any advice and or input would be greatly appreciated. We're all in this together.

 

All right. I'm bored. And I suspect most of y'all left midway through my diatribe on Michael Cera (Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist actually wasn't too bad, mostly because of Kat Dennings), so I'm out. Like Michael Cera. Sorry couldn't resist one more.

Think about it, it'll come to you. Or not. Whatever.