Day At The Movies (A super hero dog, the holocaust and a lot of heavy breathing.)

Soooo this weekend, the tweens proved who pushes the market these days when Twilight made over 70 million dollars in its first weekend. What with all the hype behind the picture I decided to tack it on to the tail end of a Saturday theater hopping, movie marathon. It started with the family romp, Bolt in 3D, which was needles to say a fun filled 90 minutes. All had in a theater that featured the faint sent of wet diapers and popcorn. Yummy! Yummy is not a word I use much, but I’m using it now. I’ll have to live with that.

The next picture of the day was the holocaust drama, The Boy in The Striped Pajamas. There’s nothing like watching Jews getting slaughtered to kill the happy go lucky buzz that I had acquired from the previous picture. I was having too much fun, I had to take myself down a peg. It’s a standard self-sabotage method that I won’t get into right now. Boy in Pajamas was a good movie though, the only issue was during the opening credits. A friend of mine pointed out that I was the only gentile amongst our movie marathon crew. This being said, he decided to enlighten my catholic self on what the Holocaust was. His description went a little something like this.

So back in the 70’s the Germans were acting all fucked up to the Jews in Europe, so the Jew were like “fuck this noise” and bounced. Then in the 80’s when the Jews went back, they were like, “what the hell dudes?” The Germans were like, “oh my B.” And it was the 80’s so the Jews were to coked up on disco to really care.

I’m laughing at his fucked up interpretation of history, meanwhile the theater screen is flooded with the visual representation of the Nazi regime; swastikas, tanks, military marching, not exactly comic fodder. The lady in front of me kept turning around, trying to figure out what the hell my problem was.
The piece de resistance of this wonderful fun filled afternoon was the emo/tween vampire flick Twilight. After the first 20 minutes where I was laughing out loud at scenes that were supposed to be dramatic. I think this is the first time that I have felt really old. Never have I sat through a movie that was so entirely over my head. For 122 minutes I was in utter confusion. Leave it to a Mormon to make a vampire story devoid of penetration; of both the carnal neck bite and ol’ fashioned fucking variety. Which are really the only two things that make vampire movies interesting. In place of these norms was a good 30 minutes of the heavy breathing and stoic staring. If staring at a girl while breathing heavily actually worked as a pick up method, I wouldn’t be spending my nights writing this blog.

Not only was the movie bad, but the actors involved…what is their deal? Check this interview to see what I mean.

Interview with shit heads

Low and behold their off screen personas are about as stiff as a 13 year old’sgirls nipples during a screening of this ball of shit. Since when are a person’s poor public speaking skills considered mysterious and dreamy?

$70 million….Really? $70 million? Damnit ‘Merica! What the hell? How did we as a people let this happen? There have been good teen/tween movies before. The Harry Potter series has been enjoyable, Pixar regularly pumps out the goods. John Hughes dominated the 80’s with great teen flicks that were very watchable for those outside of the “driving permit” age bracket. Now what do we have? High School Musical, The Jonas Brothers, Twilight and Miley Cyrus. Teen tweens eat this shit up. Our only hope is that a world-wide disaster will take out all the products and the consumers. That’s right; I’m talking about wiping out an entire generation, and it’s entertainers. Insensitive and drastic? Maybe. Completely necessary? Absolutely. Who’s with me?

The Sickness

I came down with a cold last night. That means a few things. First, my work day today was dogshit. I sat in a cold office with uncirculated air, crammed in a cubicle, next to the poor sap that got jammed next to the sick kid and I sniffled all day long. I sounded like a god damn kinder gardener. *type type type, snniiiiifffffff...cough. All day with this shit. But where there is a down, there is an up. First cold of the year means I get to reintroduce my body to God's greatest drug. Nyquil. I get to take something nd in literally 30 minutes pass out. If I'm feeling gee gee I can struggle to stay awake and start acting like a jerk. Good night for now, I'm running up on minute 24 and I still need to brush my teeth. More on this tomorrow.

PARTY PIT

It’s my personal opinion that one hasn’t had the LA experience until a person has done the following. Walk on the beach in Malibu and watch the sun go down, schmooz with the Hollywood types at the Belmont, and then after giving it your best shot at fame… find someone nice and settle down. Gross…I’m pretty sure that this is the ideal for a middle American vacation to the West Coast. In reality the essence of the LA experience is avoiding traffic, cutting down the other guy to get ahead and fucking someone way out of your, all while basking in the presence of those who have had the sun set on their careers long ago. So far I’ve only done two of the four so far and if you’re reading this, I’m sure you’ve caught on that is wasn’t the ones that lead to the success or the sex.
What was supposed to be a night out with friends to see a band unraveled into a series of awkward interactions involving some of Hollywood’s finest has-beens and never-weres. Granted I’ve gone through a total 22 years of life that have amounted to the equivalent of diddely-dick-shit, but at the same time I feel that after these encounters I have as good a right as any to mock these bastards.
The evening started innocent enough. We walked into the house, checked out the scene, and it wasn’t bad. An outdoor stage, a giant BQQ spread, followed by a buffet of liquors and beers…all the kinds. There was even a crystal chalice of weed for those who wanted to partake. Not a bad setup; everything a party needed, except for partygoers. The place was relatively empty for such lavish accommodations. For that I was thankful, I was still sporting my classic Saturday hangover so the mellow scene was enjoyable. It wasn’t until the crowd actually began to show up did things start to get…well LAish. The average age of the party patrons were along the lines of 35-40, clinging to their youth by mostly dressing like 8th grade boys or 80’s hair metal whores.
The first man I encounter was a 300+ pound mafia movie stereotype who went aptly by the name of Fat James. When I said I met him, I mean; when I was getting a hamburger, he made fun of me. “You’re putting tomatoes underneath the patty? The fuck is the matter with you?” “What is that a veggie burger, what are you going fag? This guy!” I a miffed at first; I thought, maybe this a single incident type situation. I’m sure everything is going to be okay. Then when going to get a drink I passed by the “weed chalice” when a man wearing a turtleneck and rocking a ponytail/mustache combination which involved Vanilla Ice like lines, shaved into the sides of his head, tried to explain to me that “It’s all in fun man…it’s all in fun.” What’s all in fun? What the fuck are you talking about turtleneck man? Get your hand off my chest! Just when I thought the party was taking a turn, it found new life when word spread that a contestant from Rock of Love was going to be at the party. Oh goodie!
After that, I got roped into a half hour conversation with a 45 year old man, about his own personal musical journey. First he explained to me who the Beatles were, using his Beatles t-shirt as a reference point, “see this guy here…this is Lennon.” This was followed by an enlightening story on his new concept album about a band of insects who teach children about conflict resolution. He did all of this without ever really looking me in the eye. At least I don’t think he was looking me in the eye. I couldn’t tell due to an oversized, multicolored hemp hat which covered his eye line. I told him I was going to grad another drink, and just bailed on the conversation; leaving him with two unsuspecting patrons. As I turned to leave, his brain must have hit some sort of reset button, he simply turned to the left and the whole scenario began to play out again just with two entirely different people. Those poor, poor bastards.
There was a culmination of San Fernando Valley hell when I saw a scarf doting 65 year old man who looked remarkably like Truman Capote, flirting with the aforementioned Rock of Love contestant. It wasn’t so much that he was flirting with her as her being pretty into it.
All the people in my age bracket found a small corner of the house and posted up. We had our own party, telling jokes and drinking beers. Just kicken it. We lounged on the couches we couldn’t afford and drank the cheap beer that we could. The night finished rather uneventfully; but it got me thinking. Is this what lies ahead? Am I going to be 50 years old, slicking back my male pattern baldness and propositioning Chlamydia laden, reality hoochies? Or will I just be a Chlamydia laden reality hoochie? Is this all that I have to look forward to? God I hope not. If it is, that suicide pact that I made on St. Patricks day a few years back for when I turn 50 could really come in handy. I’ll deal with that road when I get there. For now I’m fine, sitting back and making the most of it. Finding my small corner, and making it happen.