Flux Vector

Avatar. Everyone has been talking about this bad boy for a while now. People seem to think this is the future of film making and that it is literally a piece of instantly classic cinema. Seriously, people are all wet about this thing and are going crazy for it. It was nominated for a fucking Golden Globe before it was even released! And if you don't like it, beware the mighty lynch mob of uber fans (just see how they attack Doug Benson via twitter after he said he didn't like it). So one must ask, does the man that hates all films enjoy the supposed most important film of our time? What follows is a brief summary and review of Avatar. I would say that there are spoilers, but if you don't know the story after watching the first ten minutes of the movie, then I would recommend you leave the theater and complete your grade school education. None the less... SPOILER ALERT!

Here's a brief timeline of my pre Avatar feelings. My first impressions: I thought it looked stupid, didn't like the character designs, and overall wasn't impressed. As more and more trailers, teasers, and co-branding shit came about, my enthusiasm about James Cameron's masterpiece only grew weaker. Then came the reviews. This thing was, supposedly, legit. I figured it was something I had to see, if only to see the nutty 3D Imax bullshit.

Here's a brief synopsis of Avatar. Okay so there are these marines, led by Ari Gold and Guile from Street Fighter. They want this metal called unobtanium. Seriously, its so rare they just named it sofuckinghardtogetonium. They also renamed kryptonite as antisupermanonium. So they want this rare metal (20 mil a kilo!) and there is a big fat lode of it on this crazy little planet called Pandora. Surely nothing can possibly go wrong on a named after a bitch that fucked mankind for eternity with her curiosity. So Guile and his merry band of space marines are just gonna go in and make a shit ton of money right? Alas my friend, there are tall, blue things in the way. Tall blue things with ARROWS!

For some reason, the evil space marines decide to try and use super science to solve the problem of the angry native. They use this super complex technology to transport the consciousness of human beings into their own personal blue things, hence Avatar. Their plan is to learn about them via assimilation and then bring them down from the inside or some garbage. This raises several questions:

1) With the ability to transport consciousness into different bodies and travel lightyears through space with cryfreeze, where did the marines put their weapons? With this kind of technology shouldn't the miitary have some insane shit? How could tall blue hippies with rocks possibly pose a threat to the army of the future? They really need to learn their secrets/become friends with them?

2) Is Sygorny Weaver the most unattractive creature on all planets? Seriously, she's fucking ghoulish, even as a blue tiger-man. Yes tiger-man, calling her a tiger-woman would be an insult to tiger-women everywhere.

So anyway the paralyzd marine guy, I'm sure you've all seen him in the trailers and he's so generic its not worth going into his character, gets to be one of these Avatars. After several loosley threaded together set-pieces, the marine guy (Jake) finds himself face to face with the hipster chick of the blu ray tribe. Seriously, this tiger-woman has gauged ears and feathers in her hair. Total hipster. She doesn't kill him because she wants to fuck his brains out. Seriously, I could practically smell those tiger-woman pheromones... perhaps it was really 4D? SO after the tree of life gets its seeds all up on Jake's business, Hipster is convinced that he's totally chill. Mom and Pop, the village shaman and leader respectively, aren't so keen on this Jake guy (surprise!). However, after a montage in which Jake learns how useless a bow and arrow are and he tames a flying lizard, the blue people think he's totally the shit... well maybe like 80% the shit. The town joke still thinks he's totally lame.

To go on a brief tangent, the amount of phallic symbolism in this movie is insane. Big guns/spears are rather standard but Avatar goes a step further. The pokemon of pandora are 'controlled' when the blue folks put their hair pubes (note, not pube hairs, literally the pubes of their hair) into their ear holes. Which is quite strange. I chuckled the first time Jake rode his dragon bird with its head looking like he was straddling a massive dong. I could probably write a paper about this is A) I cared or B) wanted to write a paper (see: never). As part of the climax, Jake trades his bird-dragon pokemon in for an EVEN BIGGER BIRD-DRAGON COCK!

I really kind of lost my train of thought there... At some point there is Jake on Hipster alien sex. Then the marines try to blow up a big tree, fail, and get beaten by the ewoks. Somehow I like the ewoks better then the blue guys. My entire life I've been told to root for the space marines, and even though I suppose they were the villains here, I was really hoping they would get that hardtoaccsessonium.

In brief: Avatar is a turd wrapped in a glittery, sparkly, expensive package that is so mind numbingly beautiful you really don't care that there is a turd inside. The dialogue is a fucking laugh riot, the story is stock and boring, and the characters are rather forgettable. Does it deserve critical praise? No. NONONO. Is it a fun, corny action romp? Yes. Bring the barf bags if you see this in Imax. Bring your mind altering substance of choice if you choose to see this anywhere.

Final Verdict: See it in theaters, because when this hits home video its really going to get neutered.

Carrot Juice

Someone I found myself at the theater watching Invictus yesterday. After pondering for a moment, I deduced my reasoning for arriving:

1) I was napping and Fred came in and asked me if I wanted to go see aforementioned movie. So, post-nap confusion may be to blame for this lapse in judgement.

2) I was also the last car in the driveway, so I would've had to of moved my car anyway... so I ended up moving it all the way to the parking lot at the Americana.

After adventuring through the mall, discussing mall based zombie attacks and jerking around the Lov Sac salesman, we bumbled our way into the theater. Popcorn was purchased. Fuck loads of popcorn. So much god damn popcorn. If you can eat a large popcorn, then get a refill, and even eat a single kernel, then perhaps you should consider investing in corn. So popcorn was distributed amongst the three of us via some boxes that the popcorn jerker was kind enough to give us.

Anyway, on to the movie. I had about

0 expectations for this movie. You might even say I had about a -2 expectation for this movie. Deep down inside I have a sore spot for cheesy sports movies. All the Rocky movies, Rudy, Victory, hell even that one about the Eagles with Markie Mark. All those flicks are alright in my book. With the sport of choice being Rugby, at least I would get to see a sport on film that I've never seen before... however this logic could be quite flawed had the movie been about cricket, or... like swimming or some shit.

Considering you probably don't want to read a review, dig these notes:

- There was a preview for some Mel Gibson movie that takes place in Boston. I'm really fucking sick of every movie giving people from Boston over the top Southie accents. Seriously.

- I know nothing about Rugby. Here's what I've gathered from Invictus

~ Apparently there is a lot of grunting and shoving. All while holding hands.

~ If you've got a really little guy on your team, you can use him in a sort of fastball special type maneuver.

~ There is a lot of field goal kicking. I imagine it is similar to another foreign sport: Canadian Football.

~ New Zealand has a team called the All Blacks, despite having no Black players. (Note: They did however have a large Samoan type looking dude.)

- Nelson Mandela had a fucking tight wardrobe. He either wore suits, pimping silver shirts with crazy patterns, or Cosby sweaters. No wonder they locked him up, they feared the social upheaval that his stellar wardrobe would cause.

- Morgan Freeman looked more like Admiral Ackbar than Mandela.

Overall I gave this thang a C+. See it if you must, or if you really like Matt Damon. However I imagine if you're that big of a Damon fan, you've already seen this thing a few times. Cheers!

Airstrike

Remember when I said I'd be continuing that movie list? Yeah, fuck that noise. A) No one cared (including myself) and B) I realized I hate every movie anyway. Literally it's so rare that I see a movie I like. Don't think I'm being a pretentious (bleh) film snob, because really I just hate most things. People, movies, smells, areas; literally out of everything I like, and I'm being generous, maybe 35%. There are so few things in this world I like, it's astounding that I haven't gone all 'Falling Down'. However, recently I have discovered something I actually do like, beyond Call of Duty and masturbation of course. In fact, if you had told me I would have enjoyed this thing before I had experienced it, I would quite possibly of spat, maybe even spat upon you. But alas, here I am enjoying the toxic wonders of MTV's The Jersey Shore.

Yep. I said it. I enjoy this astounding piece of American television like a guido enjoys a protein shakes and fist pumping. The constant seesaw between hilarity and toilet filling nausea is like nothing I've ever experienced before. On one hand, the show is a terrifying freak show; displaying to the world the very reason why America is destined for the shitter faster then an evening of El Pollo Loco. While these fine 'guidos' and 'guidettes' may seem like rare beasts, they are growing in number and I can tell you that my generation is leading the league in douchiness. Invest in Jager and Red Bull now because that shit is going to go through the roof (if it hasn't already)

Being able to observe these alien, Affliction clad, orange skinned beasts from the safety of my couch is perhaps the point of redemption that makes the show enjoyable. No longer to I have to venture out to 'The Club' and get my ears blown out by shit house music while I scream a 'conversation' to a girl who looks like she applied her make-up with an Oozinator (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s830U1ckE6A&feature=related). Its almost like MTV read my mind and took all the garbage out of the Real World and just handed me a 45 minute peep show with an alcohol content higher than The Hoff's blood and more tribal tattoos than there are actual tribes. The best part? I don't think these people realize what train wrecks they are. A choice line of dialogue from one of the future members of MENSA was: "This work (t-shirt shop cashier) is below me. I'm a bartender."

Indeed.

So let's all raise our glasses and stock our bomb shelters, because honestly 2012 is looking pretty good right now.

ABC Must See Movies: Episode 1

Alright, so a little change of pace in terms of this blog. Since I don't really have a job yet (internship two days a week) I've been watching a buttload of movies. I like to call it research, ya'know, gotta see what gets made versus what doesn't... or some shit. Anyway, since I have seen so many movies, I decided to help you brainless bloggers out by telling you what you should watch. Now before I get to the list, there are some FAQa I must address.

1) Are these your favorite movies?

Hell naw. Some of 'em might be, but I was hoping to go for movies people might not have seen, or have never heard of. Sure I could Back to the Future, but everyone knows that movie is the tits anyway so that would be useless.

2) Will you be doing another list?

Mayhaps

3) Doth there be spoilers in thine blog?

I'll try not to ruin anything. Because that would just ruin things

3) Who is asking these questions?

STFU

Alright, let's begin:

A is for American Movie.

Genre: Documentary

Running Time: 107 min

(Writer, Director, Actor, American)

This flick follows the exploits of a film maker with no experience, no mon

ey, and no clue. What he does have, and what this film oozes is passion. It brought me back to when I first picked up a camera and shot my first 'films' with my friends (Saturday the 8th and Big Time Cops for those keeping score). You'll laugh, you'll look away with shame, and you might even cry. If you have any connection to making films, whether on an amateur or professional level, you'll be able to take something away from this doc. A perfect place to start this list... so like totally watch this one first.

B is for Being There

Genre: Dark Comedy

Running Time: 130 min (according to IMDB... I don't remember it being that long)

(The Swedish movie poster, totally legit)

Peter Sellers stars in this gem about our media saturated world in the role of Chance the gardener. As funny as it is emotional... fuck I really wish I could remember this movie, but it's really dope. It was one of the movies my Dad told me to watch, I'm sure this won't be the only one of those on this list (other Dave Roy recommendations have included Taxi Driver, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and Falling Down). You'll "like to watch" this one.

C is for Cobra Verde

Genre: Badass

Running Time: Just fucking watch the movie, who cares how long it is

(Cobra Verde fucks shit up, and literally just fucks)

Werner Herzog and Klaus Kinski manage to yet again not kill each other and collaborate for this masterpiece of badassness. A guy gets his hand caught in a suger sheather or some shit in tis movie, and Klaus Kinski is in it, so I really don't know what else to say. Plus, did you see that fucking pic?

Alright, I planned on doing more in this installment but I got burntout on the idea. I don't see you doing any blogging so don't complain. I assure you that at some point the other 23 entries will find their way here.

Texas

The real world. Not like the MTV program, like the actual real shit. Me, you, like other people, we now all have to live in the real world, and do real shit. Unless, like... you're not doing anything or like are still getting that degree. But in a way, as we move on in life things start to get real... like the Real World... that time I meant the MTV program.

Moving on. So now I live in Glendale, CA. Its pretty tight, really tight actually. Cool house, with some very legit people. It's a house too, with a backyard and a hammock. Totally the

bee knees. More explanation will come with these PICS:

Here's the living room, and the entrance. Pretty standard, although notice the windows because this house has about infinity.

TV. Notice the X-Box already rocking its way in there. No cable, maximum netflix crushage.

This is Sid. He's one of the tightest cats I've ever come across. He's a bit crazy, gets his creep on a lot. He's like a familiar, you know, those things that like wizards and anime characters have? He'll follow you around, but not be annoying like some cats. He senses when there is someone coming to the door, typical familiar type shit. Moving on:

Kitchen table, also evidence that a female lives here.

Food room.

Roycave. Infinite windows. Ikea bed. Map of Yellowstone.

Door on the right is the closet. Door on the right goes into the backyard. Totally legitimate escape route.

The back yard. Notice the hammock in the back. We also carpet our outside because we are baller status. Also, it doesn't rain here.

A/S/L?

Don't Get Cocky Kid

A Rare Moment of Slight Sappiness: A Toast

Here’s to the English garden and the murder room. To the PBRs, the Gansets, the Modelos, and the Gritty’s. Here’s to Atwood’s, to Al’s, to New Deal, and to East Coast. Here's to friends that have come and gone, to those that have never left, and those yet to arrive. to those ominous Dutch Masters and the bitter Olde English. Here’s to sweaty sticky Summers, and the cold and bitter Winters. To trips, to distant lands, and to places not on any map. Here’s to Batman. To the Lions, Crusaders, and Sachems. Here’s to dragon slayers and ticket payers. To bike rides to nowhere, and burritos in the square. Here’s to heartbreak, and missed chances. To strokes of genius and flashes of inspiration. Here’s to category fives and Saturday girls. To the nights we never wanted to end, and to the mornings we never thought would come. Here’s to the hog. To a local wizard and a soulful ninja. Here’s to neighbors both in proximity and in mind. Here’s to the world champs, and to those who were nearly perfect. To deadlines met, missed, and moved. Here’s to Koopa Troopa beach. To the hundreds of thousands of virtual lives lost. Here’s to Cadbury Eggs and indestructible friendships. To freestyles, open mics, and good talks. Here’s to 2012. To one more round, just one more round. Here’s to full tanks, and empty glasses. Here’s to safer travels.

Here is to all of those souls who have rested their head, imbibed, relaxed, let their hair down, or just sat back and took it all in.

Here is to the apartment we’ve called our place, our crib, our home. Here’s to Fulkerson.

I'll Turn this God Damn Bus AROUND!

There and Back Again II: A tale of unemployment

I awoke this morning and there was a stirring within. My inner hobbit was lusting for an adventure. Motivation was quite low. No real errands to run, nothing really to do, I decided to just go to Sweet Touch.

(Figure 1.1 - The Inner Hobbit stirs.)

The usual. Rita is the truth. Big ups to the staff at Sweet Touch in East Cambridge. From there, equipped with a large iced coffee as a source of fuel, I boarded th

e twisted hydra known as the Green Line. I didn't even know where I was going, I had a brief notion of book but that was it. Where would this mechanical Charon bring me? Surely the fates had an interesting tale in store for this young adventurer?

(Figure 1.2 The demons of the T [disguised here as pleasant beings] torture unlucky patrons with their hellish cacophony of string bass and xylophone.)

The green line is always packed with humanity. So many people riding

in a metal tube on a hot summer day: not really worth the 1.50 or whatever

it is their charging for that sideshow these days. Out of need for escape from this dank aluminum tomb I leapt from the train at Copley.

Rising to the street I became confused as to where I was. Always so much construction going on with this T stop it seems. Library became point of orientation. More

on the library later. My first stop was going to be Newbury Comics. Several reasons, 1) I could strut down Newbury street and pretend I had more then a Lincoln in my pocket (penny or five its your call reader!) and 2) because they have mad cool things there that only I would buy.

Few thoughts whilst walking down Newbury:

- Chill bitches your don't live in NYC or LA. So just slow your roll.

- On that same note, you may look like bitches but you still beautiful (oh snap!)

- Opening my backpack would be like opening a sharks stomach. You could tell where I have been and all that science junk. ''Let's see... his macbook, a half eaten

powerbar, looks like a receipt for an iced coffee.... hmmmm".

(Figure 1.3 - Obligatory pic of cat w/ text)

They didn't have the droids I was looking for at Newbury Comics. Fought off an impulse buy: Season Two of the Batman Animated Series for $9.99! Realized I could never possibly stay focused to watch all those episodes, plus the nerd is already strong with me, so I backed off.

A twist in the story. Where to go now? I roamed the streets in a humid haze. The beacon that had guided me out of the darkness os the T was shining again. The Boston Public Library, you'll never find a more retched hive of knowledge and literature. So many characters within this palace of pulp. All races/classes seek the public knowledge of the library: old people, olde people, muppets, children, wizards, wizard children, goblins, and Asian

s. I wandered aimlessly before getting a map. So the library map blows. Obv

iously librarians doth not make sturdy cartographers. Oh shit, why didn't anyone tell me they had comics here! Take that real books... although there is something weird about getting comics/graphic novels in a library. It's like the porn of literature...

So anyway as I'm waiting in line to check out some... literature... (yeah, a line at the library, take that capitalism!) and while I'm waiting I see security and this crazy guy having a verbal scuffle. Apparently the man claimed the guard was making up rules, and that the rules themselves were the unfair. Perhaps he had a good argument. Who knows, although security did not look amused. I think authorities were called.

In front of me in line was a little Asian girl... maybe 6 tops. She was checking out, and I fucking shit you not, two SAT prep books. Sweet zombie jesus, I almost had to pull a Will Smith in Men in Black and check this little bitch. Who's she kidding with that garbage? Good luck kid, you'll probably save us all from Galactus one day.

(Figure 1.4 - Bow before the mighty Galactus. Wait, is this guy in a bathrobe?)

Moving on. I decided to continue onward towards the Garden. Not the stadium, but the nature one. Duck boats, tourist... *shudder*... people just enjoying the hazy day. Why must people patronize the tree rats? Gross... do you people realize not only are these creatures stupid and annoying, they're also taking valuable food sources away from the crackheads who more than share the Common with them. Please, don't feed/take pictures of/lick/love/or solicit for sex the god damn squirrels, anywhere, but especially within the parks of Boston.

(Figure 1.5 - A local Squirrel gang displays their 'gats'. Squirrel on squirrel crime has been on the rise since the 1990's)

Making my way into the common I found a tree and meditated under it. Whilst trying to decide my route home, I spotted a lemonade vendor. Most excellent. I was sceptic at the hefty price of 3$... and my predetermined good more 1$ tip. Like they said on the X-Files, the truth is out there. In this case the truth was in this lemonade. My god it was quite top notch.

My wanderlust lead me through Beacon Hill... perhaps my adventures are determined via property value? I noticed a rather expensive looking car (make and model data has been lost) with a driver standing, arms crossed by back against the hood. Sure signs of someone famous. A quick glance in some high end deli (?) yielded no paparazzi oppoutunes. I would have investigated further had the rather surly looking driver not been an orge stuffed into a three piece Armani. Carry on, carry on.

Back to the T. However, the Red Line is a far fairer beast than its green brethren. Denied by the human slicers; insufficient funds... grumble.... With funds restored, I zipped across the river. With the sun waning, and a low cloud cover I had a sense there was a storm a brewin'. I hustled home, where I then recounted the events to you. I then reread about one third of this post before getting bored and starting searching for appropriate, maybe, pictures. Upon finding said pics, I posted them to this blog.

(Figure 1.7 - A being of unspeakable power known to many as God. Oh wait, wrong picture. LOL!LOL!OMGLOLOLOL!)

Once the blog was posted, I sat briefly, contemplating the importance of said blog. After a solid moment of hesitation, all parties determined (you, the reader included) t

hat the importance of tis aforementioned blog accounting a tale of a rather uninteresting and uneventful day to be_

Captain of Industry

That's my new super hero moniker. Captain of Industry. Seriously I've been selling shit I don't use anymore via the internet, and people give me money. It's crazy, like I have a job or some shit. All I have to do is put the shit in boxes and bring them to the post office. By the way does anyone know of a cheap/free place to get small boxes? I'm talking like, only about a couple inches by a couple inches. I've heard rumblings of free boxes from the post office, I'll have to ask next time.

"Suns out, girls are out, Malator is around somewhere. Maybe he and I will grab a beer later"

Be on the lookout for Local Wizard updates as we near the launch date. It's going to be a pretty monumental piece of cinema. It'll make you laugh, cry, scream with ecstasy and it's all in HD. Seriously, when is that last time you've seen me in HD? Fuck real life, this is HD. HIGH def. Shit, you'd think 3D President went to school for this shit or something...

This pic was taken in Paul Pierce's personal suite at TD Garden. Me and The Truth are twitter friends :)

I'm back on the blog steeze. Blame twitter. No need to tell you what happened in the void of non-bloggage. It isn't important, obviously considering nothing that happened recently has warranted a blogging. I figured I should start this thing up again, maybe someone will see how HIGH-LARIOUS I am and give me one of things I've heard so much about.... I think they're called jobs, or hobs... yobs?

Went to a wedding recently. Pretty tight. Hard to score with the single ladies when all of the groomsman are army dudes wearing uniforms w/medals. Makes it impossible for an unemployed writer to compete against someone who's probably killed a couple dozen people for America. Still good times.

I've gotta focus the ol brain grapes, get things back on track writing wise. I have about six different first drafts of first acts for three different projects. Gross. I'm going to start setting an alarm in the morning, rejuvenate the circadian rhythm. Three tough words to spell.

Epic Strikes Again

Short Version: Macklin and I went to the Celtics vs. Thunder game on Sunday.

Long Version: Sunday, around two pm I went on the celtics blog. There I saw a hyperlink(!) for Paul Pierce's twitter. Clicked it. Paul had just twitted a message along these lines: Come to the players parking lot at 4:30 sharp wearing my jersey, I got five extra tickets to give out. passcode is truth. So at first I figured it probably was fake. Then about an hour later I figured I didn't have anything better to do, so if it was a joke, at least I 

could say they didn't get me.

Anyway, I convince Macklin of this being a good idea and he comes along. T almost bones us, but we get to the lot at about 4:28 and there are already about 5-7 twitterheads already crushing. We wait. We doubt. 4:30 comes, and on the dot a black on black range rover appears, bumping beats emitting from the insides. Some think it's Garnett.

Then the rover pulls in, stops, and the window rolls down. Its th

e captain and the truth, Paul Pierce. 

"What's the passcode?" He asks, not pulling any punches and apparently no time for small talk.

We all yelled truth! and he handed us tickets to his personal box. Suite 534. Get it?

Nothing was catered or anything, but the seats were still incredible. Plus we had our own bathroom. The suite basically went wild every time Pierce scored. During the comeback I was going crazy/being drunk. So awesome. Thanks Paul, that was the shit... damn

Dungeon Master

Just crushed some work in the ECL (Emerson College Library for al ya'll not hip to the lingo). Anyway, its good. Got work done better and faster then I usually do, so that's a plus. Also a professor said I blew her mind today with my script outline for Red that I thought sucked. Must have been the airship race and/or the dragon fight. Yeah, shit gets nutty in that one. So now I'm sitting here in the lib, rocking Iron Maiden real hard over the earphones, constatnly paranoid that my headphones aren't plugged in and I'm just blasting shit through the entire building. Whatever. Mad fly hunnies in the library per usual. Probably why I've increased library visits recently to maximize work as well as face time. Gotta get out of 9 Fulk more. Cabin fever real hard. This cold snap is snapping me right now. Just need to play ball sports, and ride duo man powered vehicles. I've gotta focus up like a little bit so I'll break it off here. Real brief, but time is money these days and probably for remaining days, in the B Roy camp. 

Return of the Jedi/King/Library Book

Some more shit happened while I was in Quebec. More beer was consumed. One night we ordered (well Simon ordered... French) a 4 litre pitcher of this 9% beer. The waiter told Simon, in French, nice knowing you. Truer words were never spoken. Matt ended up disappearing into the night, and Simon and I stumbled after him. I awoke in my own puke, fucking classy/close to death. It is apparent I can't go to a foreign country without coming close to death (if you haven't heard the other stories, ask me in person... shame).

(As a side note, this is Duane Allman not me... yeah fuck that)

Matt and I sadly had to depart the land of French speaking goddesses and headed south. We stopped off for a night at the farm in VT. Complete nothingness always feels good. Drank whiskey, smoked cigars, and talked... well I talked while Matt texted (literally the kid was like a crack head after not being able to text in Canada). Good times. Plann

ing a return trip (it's true, check the guest book at the farm, it's in there).

Going back to Fulkertown tomorrow. Hopefully Macklin and Dougal didn't burn down the place. I have faith... kind of. Not much time left there. Hell not much time left on this coast... shudder at the thought. Many years ahead, it's hard not to be scared. Get amped on life, get amped on the future. Where we're going, we won't need roads.

Viva Quebec

Well Watchmen sucked. Just thought I'd get that out there. If you want the full rant, see me in person. Fuck that shit... I don't even really want to talk about it. Maybe 15 minutes of quality in that two hour and forty-five minute abortion. 

Blogging from America's hat, aka Canada. But I'm not really in Canada, I'm in Quebec city. Last walled city in North America or some shit. Also, they want to be their own country, and not be run but the Queen. Been there, done that... like 300 years ago. Anyway, we're crashing at Mur-dog's boy's crib. His name is Simone, he hates Canada more then most Americans (for instance, when Murray had to get a disposable camera at a souvenir shop, Simone had to leave the store because of all the Canadian shit) , speaks French, and races ostriches. One of those facts is false.

Last night Murray and I arrived just in time to start crushing, and crushing we did. Simone had to order our drinks for us non-frenching folks. Of note: girls here are bangin', but they don't want to/can't speak the english... such torture. Good thing I speak the universal language of love. Word. Hit up some real tight bars, and didn't get bounced despite Simone breaking two glasses in one bar. Also, Murray's other camp homie John 'Francis Ford' Coppola is here. He got really drunk, and booted this morning due to hang-overedness. Big ups to him, I've been there... all too often actually. We were actually driving to breakfast and Simone had to pull over so he could yak. Good looks.

Today Simone gave us a tour of this fine city. We saw a huge ass waterfall, a sick island, and did a walk through the walled city. Tight. We ate poutine. The sidewalks here are really fucking icy, due to daytime meltage and night time freezage. Makes drunken walks home trecherous. I thought I was pitching a perfect no fall game, but according to Murray I bit it last night (and I fell like earlier today). This explains why I punched a snowbank, and awoke with cuts all over my knuckles... silly 

Strawberry Fields

Thursday evening, you know where I'm at. Right now we're critically listening to the Fab Five. Fucking real tight if you ask me. Professor just mentioned the panning sitar. I once wrote a paper about the effect of the sitar on western music. Basically I'm a hippy. Is there such a thing as neo-hippies? Why not right? Sort of like a new wave of hippies that aren't as lame, but still border on being free spirits.

Been trying to get back into the game recently. Tickets seem to be on a limited basis, but I've got my name in the lottery. I think I realized today that I enter this bizarre cycle. I was going to explain said cycle, but A) I'm lazy B) My professor keeps looking at me and C) Strawberry Fields forever.

Also check out my twitter, I pretend I'm the best nation in the world, and I'm friends with Shaq: twitter.com/usausausa

Peak Levels

I was sparked into blogging this evening after seeing an albino man on the train. Such a curious sight that was, and it made me realize that he has to deal with the same shit Hank McCoy aka Beast does... except with all the sweet shit Beast gets. Best of luck to you my new albino friend, don't let those sentinels catch ya!

So I'm in that same torturous class aka Critical Listening... curr

ently we're listening to the Boss aka Bruce Springsteen aka American Pimp aka Barak Obama 2000. Seriously... the Boss. This is the third four hour class i've been to and I still have very little idea as to what is going on. My sights keep lowering on the goal grade. We're somewhere between C and passing right now. If I get anything higher then that, then it would be quite butter. Showed up mad blizzy today and was treated by listening to this crazy 20 minute soundscape thing. Word. I fell asleep due to its hypnosis.

Duel wielding Matt birthdays this week has led to a massive birthday bash tomorrow. 9 Fulk is throwing its first theme party, and the lucky choice is white trash... because the Matt's are mad trashy. Come and drink beers and do things you wouldn't do with your boring friends or family. Or bring those boring fuckers, I don't care.

So last night Murray and I went down to East Coast Grille to have a few beers and wish Dougal a happy on the job birthday. We downed a few brews and bought a six pack of PBR tallies for the kitchen. There was mutch rejoicing. We were then punked by the kitchen when they gave us some 'mild' wings on the house. They turned out to be hell wings, which Murray and I attempted to finish just to spite them. Beer became an even better friend, as Murray and I stayed after they closed (they literally took the handle off the door so no one else could get in, just us and the crew). It's good to be down with the crew at a local restaurant (especially a gnarly one like ECG). Happy Birthday Dougal later showed up back home completely trash-headed, apparently he was so wasted that his boss gave him a ride home stating that Dougal was 'too drunk to walk'. Haha, good looks. Hopefully young Murray will follow suit. Always good to mess with the drunk birthday lads.

I want to start reading more, but I seem to have a 3/4 completion problem. It happens with video games too. I'll get almost to the end and then I lose interest and just form my own ending. Maybe it's the writer in me wanting to create rather then to have it spelled out for me. Eh, whatever. I tried to start the Watchmen philosophy book today but I couldn't get my brain in there, too dense.

Phantom

Shit hits the fan sometimes, and sometimes that shit misses the fan completely and hits you in the face. Kind of like when your eating a banana and the peel keeps sliding down and slapping you in the grill. It sucks. It's unfair. It's frustrating. It's life. Sometimes it can be really sweet. Carpe Diem my friends. A bit cliched, but few truer words were ever spoken. Respect your fellow man. Learn. When life comes a peel slappin' just slap it right back. Don't waste your gifts.

On a lighter note, I'll be escorting Dave Hyde to the BC/Clemson game this evening. Should be sweet. According to Dave we have some pretty word seats, so I'm amped. 

Last night was Bob Marley Night at East Coast Grille. 9 Fulkersons made an appearance and got the VIP treatment thanks to our man McDoo on the grill. Bomb food. I got the whole Red Snapper. We all split some apps and crushed Red Stripe. Sweet, chill atmosphere which is really awesome for a higher scale joint. The waiter told us we could smoke weed in the bathroom... jury is still split on whether or not he was serious... Mad duckets were dropped. Worth it. 

Monitor Lizard

Once again I'm blogging from the corner of Tremont and Boylston aka Emer-gunz College. Right now I'm in the two hour purgatory I have every Monday where I don't have class but don't have enough time to run back home. So I chill with How-Nutz in the dark room. Sometimes I run errands. Whatever.

Superbowl happened yesterday. Pretty meh until the last four minutes. Then things got a bit nutty, but in the end Pittsburgh ruled the day. Questionable call with the Warner fumble? Perhaps. Would it have made a difference? Most likely not. Always next year. Some solid commercials, but I'm really amped over the trailers that were shown. G.I Joe, new Transformers, Up, Monsters vs. Aliens, etc. While some of those sound pretty lames I'm still amped to see them.

(Bryan Roy and his bevy of casino whores)

I went to Connecticut this past weekend with a bunch of Manchester heads. Friday night was gambling at Mohegan Sun. I ended up +18 after several hours of craps. Great game that gets even better when the table gets amped. "C'MON SHOOTER! C'MON SHOOTER! LET'S SEE THAT HARD TEN!". Word. I was down a good 40 bucks at one point but one of my boys rolled some fire and hooked me up, leading me to a 70 dollar gain over two rolls. Baller.

(Toad's Place: not pictured, the drunken messes inside)

Saturday we went to this club called Toad's. I had only heard myths about Toad's, and it has garnered a somewhat legendary status. Basically it is this huge, multi-storied dance club that is in the middle of Yale, Quinnipiac, and Southern Conn. campuses. Add in the fact that it is near long island, and I think you get the idea. Many new haircuts, many slutty sluts. Anyway, the idea is to get really fucked up beforehand, then just dance and be ridiculous. This may or may not have happened to me. For you see, the last thing I can recall is handing the bouncer my ID, then ordering a drink my friend had mad with the bartender called 'The Goatskin'. Apparently at one point I got stuck outside, possibly on the roof. I also flipped off a girl, who came over and started to yell at me. According to eye witnesses, I then cracked a joke as the chick yelled at me, defusing her anger. From here I guess I made moves. Drunk game FTW! Long story short, I ended up getting kicked out of the club (collectively our crew had four members get kicked out). The details still need to be ironed out, which is tough considering there were very few conscious witnesses to what happened inside Toad's. Most notably I would like to know why my left leg has been all fucked up since... good times.

Inter-league Play

Blogging from the frontline, aka 180 Tremont St., aka class. Critical Listening is the beast. Obviously I'm failing at the entire concept, as I am in fact not listening at all. Livin' on the edge, only about 15 peeps in here, so I don't have much cover. Brutal four hour stretch in one little windowless room. Freedom can't come soon enough. Check that chick out in the front row. Word. She digs me. Haha. You can't see her but I can.

Getting picked up from class by a squad car of homies. Ted, Dougal, and Howley are gonna roll wit me to the theater to see Outworlder. Its a movie about a guy who crash lands his spaceship in the middle of 500BC. He joins up with Vikings to battle an alien monster that is chasing him down. Check out the summary online somewhere, it's going to be BRUTAL!

If you have your mixer up real loud, you'd have very little bass in your mix. It's true, he just said that shit. God I hate this class. My blogger brethren, stand with me in my time of weakness. Our human hearing response is non linear! NO!

Blargh

Unpleasant. That is the word I have settled on for my walk to and from school today. So heated that Emerson felt it would be legit to have classes today. Many error messages were going off as I trudged home. Cold, wet, hungry, sleepy. Many a negative.

Anyway, a new 9 Fulkerson has emerged! Everyone can welcome Matt 'Murderface' McDougal into the Fulker Fam. He now occupies the murder room and is a cook over at the East Coast Grill. So next time you go to that spot, buy a round of beers for the kitchen staff. They like to crush. According to google and yahoo, this is what good ol Dougal looks like:

Google:

Yahoo:

Silly search engines, he is neither.

Pure Product

Interesting day for New England sports. Interesting because there was a lot of ancillary news that didn't directly effect New England sports nation (well one of them did). First off, Young Blood Joshy McD is headed to the mile high city to coach the Bronc-hoes. He will fail. As much as I like the guy, no apprentice to the master has succeeded on their own.  Romeo went to the Browns and flushed the franchise down the toilet... like... well... a Cleveland brown. Weis fucked up at ND, and Mangina is just a bitch, so fuck him. We'll see how that goes.

(Power Mustache)

Next up, a pair of Sox waltzed into Cooperstown today. Career Boston player, and all around good guy, Jim Rice snuck in there. Good for him. Also, Ricky Henderson stole his way into the hall (get it? hahaha crappy SPORTS humor). Ricky is going to be the only player to re-enter the league after getting into the hall of fame. Mark my words.

(Ricky Henderson celebrates after stealing home during his son's little league game)

Let's go Celts, c'mon now. Anyone want to hit up a C's game later this week and or next week?

In on the Blitz

Snow has fallen. I awoke this morning and was immediately conscripted into shoveling duty. Not something I particularly mind, but is was really quite cold this morning, frost on the whiskers type stuff. As Commander Roy scraped the snow off the roof, I was put in charge of the driveway. Reinforcements appeared in the form of Colonel White and his snow blowing machine. 

(Thor expresses his love for Winter)

Shoveling gives me time to think. I was thinking about. how low the quality of life in New England has gotten. When I left in the summer to go to LA things were high. The economy had yet to plummet, the Pats were looking at burning down the NFL, the Celtics had just recently hung their 17th, and the Sox were going to coast into the playoffs... kind of. Now, the Celts are slumping almost as bad as the economy (although at half they are ahead of the Canadian Dinos), the Pats missed the playoffs, and the Yankees are fortifying themselves with the biggest pocket book in history. WTF. I suppose thats all I can say is WTF. All that remains constant is that I still dominate the Manchester clix scene.

Have I ranted in a while? I suppose not. hmmmm, what's pissing me off these days.... The whole club scene kind of grinds my gears. I hate going to clubs/bars where they play music too loud. perhaps that makes me sound a bit cantankerous, but it's true. My hearing isn't the best, and I don't typically raise my voice... like ever, so to me this sucks. I would rather be able to converse over a nice pint (ala the Atwood's scene without the live music). I also hate the whole meat market aspect of the club/bar. 90% of the people at these places I immediately dislike. Maybe it's just me passing judgement, but all the dudes come off as douches and all the chicks come off as petty slags. Also, paying 5-7 dollars for something that I could get for literally pennies sucks. 

(Exhibit a: a pack of wild guidos prepare for multiple insertions)

(exhibit b: seriously?)

(exhibit c: smirking goblin entices a couple slags with his exposed chest.)

Just not my scene, nothing against the people who like it... well people kind of. I would consider myself a party man (someone who enjoys parties, not to be confused with a party animal). This kind of scares me however. parties exist post college? If so how far? I really lost my train of thought with this rant, so ask me in person about it, I'll probably have some more fire power. 

Spinning Wheels

Here it is, the year 2009. So far so good. I hope you all ate your lentil soup last week so that you have a profitable and prosperous NEW YEAR. NYE up at UNH was a good time. Many beverages were poured and almost as many were consumed. Much falling down and Dick Clark staring ensued.

I've been reunited with 9 Fulkerson and have completed the move in phase. Jeffguy left some very usable material in the room (lamp, TV, surge protectors, etc.). Good guy. Always will be a 9 Fulkerson. Anyway, I've been crushing a lot of X-Box. Mostly Call of Duty 4 (I also roped DMJr back into it and the 9FLK clan has been ripping it up). I also have been playing Fallout 3. A lighthearted romp through post apocalyptic Washington D.C. Pretty sweet game. I get to fight mad mutants.

Big hopes for 2009. The end of the beginning and the beginning of the end. Only the future ahead of me now. A bit scary, a bit enticing, and quite sexy. Many sexy times will be had in the future. Let's hope the Celtics get the message. THE YEAR OF THE OX looms on the horizon.

(lame blogger won't let me post piccccccccssssssss)