Loose Ends and Split Ends: Your Weekly Blog Supplement

Hey everyone! Do I know how to post spontaneously or what? Nothing for neigh on 12 days, and then bam! A post Wednesday, a follow-up Thursday, and another coming Friday. It seems there was a good deal that I left out of my last post . . . well, maybe two things. But more importantly, there’s words need be said, and new stuff, too.

First off, an announcement: I have come to the decision that I will purposely remain single for a little while. Many factors, not the least of which is my overall poor relationship attaining skills, have caused me to reconsider the whole "Rich needs a girlfriend thing." I suppose that now-passed phase was due to post-Jess loneliness, trouble at home and abroad (school), seeing many friends in relationships, and the fact that I know so many amazing women. And a coupla amazing fellas (winks at Jason Frank). So, sorry people, but this stud’s gallopin’ solo for the time being. For the most part . . . .

I finished The Watchmen today. I gotta say, Alan Moore, that shaggy haired British bastard followed that premise of de-constructing the world of super heroes to a bitter end. One of the worst ends I’ve ever seen . . . for anything. It didn’t just further obscure the already hazy line of right and wrong, it beat the crap out of said line, hurled it out a window, and then blindfolded the reader and spun him or her around in circles while playing disorienting music. Suffice to say, the "villain" "wins" and one of the few "likeable" characters ends up exploding in Antarctica. Oh well it was a fun read up until the frustrating conclusion. I need another graphic novel. I seem to have developed an addiction for them.

Okay, got one. Got 5, actually. At Barnes & Noble today I entered the world of the BPRD, the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. The organization of which Hellboy, the Satan and Nazi-spawned working man’s hero, who just happens to be the greatest paranormal investigator in the world, is an agent. These five Hellboy graphic novels, perfectly written and drawn by series creator Mike Mignola (thanks, Mike, for proving an artist/writer combo can work. In your face, Todd MacFarlane!) Trace the action-packed and disturbingly creepy, if at most times tongue-in-cheek funny exploits of the big red guy and his friends at the agency as they travel the world fighting severed heads in jars, cyborg gorillas, mad Russian sorcerers, Nazis, demons, frog men, werewolves, space ghosts (no, not the talk show hosting kind), ghouls, goblins, and giant worms. With some of the most original, interesting, and innovative characters and art in comic books today, these are truly good reads. Not all wordy and depressing like The Watchmen, but well written enough to be respectable. Here’s how you make a Hellboy comic book. Take two parts X Files, three parts H.P. Lovecraft, one part Superman, one part Batman, one part Hulk, a pinch of Homer Simpson, a dash Steven Segal, and about three tablespoons of Mr. Ranstrom’s course, and voila! There you have a great time-passer. I suggest you try them.

I recommend you give The Crow a looksy, too. The graphic novel, done in tasteful, morbid black and white, with a sickeningly cartoonish style, is like a dark, revenge-themed Looney Tunes episode. Think of it as The Simpsons meets Kill Bill, in b&w. The movie is much better than the graphic novel in this case, as it has more likeable characters and cooler villains (Hurray for raspy-voiced, sword-wielding Michael Wincott), plus better action scenes. Action scenes so good, that you might say they’re to die for. Oh, that was in really bad taste. I’m sorry Brandon, we all miss you. And say hi to your dad for me. So, while Brandon Lee shooting a gas main with a shotgun full of wedding rings, or sword-fighting Top Dollar on the roof of a cathedral, are much more enjoyable to watch, seeing the comic book version of him slice off a thug’s feet from the ankles down, and then sit and talk with him as he bleeds to death, or causing a criminal’s car to crash, badly breaking his legs, and then asking him, as he struggles to pull himself out of the wreckage, "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" "I . . . I-I don’t know." "Well. Depends on the tune." then beating him to death with a hammer, are admirable as well. Not an enjoyable read, by any means, but cool enough to look over.

I believe Dan, Tony and Steve are the only people I know who understood most of those last three paragraphs.

I failed to mention the purpose of my NoHo visit with Steve in the last post, and subsequently forgot to mention one of the best movies . . . or at least "coolest" movies I’ve seen in a while. Steve and I went to Northampton to see the hilarious indie gem Napoleon Dynamite. The movie has been called "plot-less" in much the same way that Seinfeld was a "show about nothing." The film revolves around the misadventures of an awkward junior high schooler with the unlikely name of Napoleon Dynamite. He lives with his older brother, grandmother, and llama, telling whopping lies to kids at school about his amazing life while seemingly gliding blissfully through life in his semi-voluntary isolation. When his grandmother injures her back in a dune-buggy accident, the boys’ uncle Rico must come to babysit, and Napoleon’s life begins to go through some unexpected, sometimes sad, sometimes uplifting, always hilarious changes. It’s as if they took the bare bones plot of every teen movie, and reconstructed the muscles, sinews, and skin of the creature into a perfect portrayal of ‘90's school life. The main character, a gangly, open-mouthed, bespectacled outcast is someone we all recognize, because we knew him growing up, and, in some ways, were him. The movie is just funny enough to avoid being depressing, but has a good deal of hilarious moments, and also an unexpectedly happy ending. So, Pedro for President, that was a good film.

Another good thing about the trip, aside from the energetic company of El Steve-o, was the theatre we saw the film in, Pleasant Street Theater, which may replace The Towers as my favorite place to see a movie. Steve and I went to the lower theatre, which is actually just a brick walled basement, long and thin, with the seats placed in a strange "s" formation, and a screen, the smallest I’ve seen in a movie theatre . . . or the largest home theatre . . . added at the end. It would be an awesome place to standup, for there is indeed a small stage immediately in front of said tiny screen. It’s the only theatre in which having a front row seat (one of 5) isn’t a bad thing. Plus, they sold ginger ale! Isn’t that awesome!? I must go there again.

I bought yet another DVD. The Ref, starring Denis Leary as a cat burglar with a bad temper that takes a bickering married couple, Anne Hathaway and Kevin Spacey, hostage. The movie would be a whole lot funnier if the performances weren’t so real. Everyone is perfectly cast, with one exception: they don’t seem to realize the film is supposed to be a comedy. But, it’s almost enjoyable to watch.

I just finished watching Charlie’s Angels on ABC. I like that movie. I realize it doesn’t want to be taken seriously with the insane stunts and fight scenes and characters, so it’s all fun. The one thing I don’t like about the movie, one thing, is how the Angels run around and fight in heels. Big heels. Damn, that’s gotta be painful, and not at all possible. So what if it makes the girls’ already breathtaking asses look that much better? It ain’t worth it! But boy oh boy! What I wouldn’t give to be a criminal they’re after. It would be so cool to fight with, and eventually get the spit beaten out of you by three sexy women. Or have Lucy Liu massage you with her feet . . . damn, Tim Curry, you get all the luck!

That reminds me of my favorite making-fun-of-movies line. In an action film, when the hero has to get out of an impossible situation by doing something impossible, I say, "Quick [Insert action film star (Jean Claude, Steven, Arnold, Sly . . .)] ignore science!" Or, "defy the laws of physics!" And then they do something absurd, like leaping off of a building, or shooting a helicopter and making it explode, and all is hilarity.

I was recently introduced the band Sugarcult. I had heard their songs before, but didn’t know who they were. I gotta say, I like their angst-filled pop-punk.

I skipped work today and saw Alien versus Predator. I thought that this film . . . uh . . . what’s the word I’m looking for? Kicked ass. It had amazing visual and sound effects, but you weren’t really aware of them. The film makers kept it well under control, not letting it get ahead of the interesting, if simple story, and simple, yet not very cliched dialogue. The location was original; a temple in the Antarctic. And, while the film took elements from both Predator films, as well as Jurassic Park, The Thing, and all four Alien films, it didn’t feel derivative at all. The action was especially bad-ass, though the gore kept to a tasteful medium. And I appreciated the way the film makers bent the routine film archetypes. One of the most refreshing aspects was the level of emotion showed by the slightly less "pussy-faced" ultimate hunters. I recommend it to one and to all.

I then went to see Caitlin, on her final day at Atkins (Congrats, Kat) and we had a nice chat in between her helping close to half a zillion customer. Seriously, that many. I counted. I bought a dozen Atkins doughnuts, and let me tell you, those are the most filling mutha— Shutjo mouth. I was only talkin’ ‘bout Atkins doughnuts. Oh, we can dig it. Anyway, you eat one and you feel bloated and moody. I thought I was having my . . . okay, for the sake of not alienating all of my female readers I will not go on. Suffice to say, they’re tasty, but you better be hungry when you eat one.

Kudos to Amy, friend of Andrew, and publish-tress of the widely acclaimed livejournal, http://livejournal.com/users/catinthegrass/, which critics call a "smart, sexy piece of MHC girl life," "the crossroads of cynical and adorable," and "witty, insightful, and endearing." For, you see, she opened my eyes to the best way to say South Hadley. I had been calling it "SoHo," as Northampton is "NoHo." But, then, wouldn't Southampton be "SoHo?" Amy solved that centuries old enigma with the trendilicious term "SoHa." Perfection! While not as fun as the Caitlinism "Shadley," it is nontheless cool, and much less of a mouthful for those busy folks on the go.

Okay, I think that’s it for this supplement. Catch you cats tomorrow with another boring sentimental post. If I can get it in before Mike’s party. Which reminds me, I better get off before Mike’s party, I don’t want to be pointin’ at people. That’s rude. (Everyone get who’s gonna get it? Good)

See you later.

Current Mood: I feel pretty good. But I feel even prettier when Im naughty.
Current Music: Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead, by Warren Zevon. (That one’s on the mix, Tones) (Which reminds me, I gotta see that movie . . .)