Hi everyone. This is just a quick little note to tell you that we have in fact been posting lately, just not on this site. Do yourselves a favor and click on The Dapper Lad over at the top of the list on the right hand side. And prepare to get blown.
Away.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Dude, Where's My Cynicism?
Hello everyone. We know, we missed our self imposed Wednesday deadline, but we swear it will, in all likelyhood, never fail to happen again.
This week was exciting in the neighborhood just slightly to the West of Hollywood, which we'll hereafter refer to as East Beverly Hills. On Tuesday we woke up raring to get to some serious votin'. Our new polling place is conveniently located right across the street from the house, and after a very brief walk over and some polite chatting with the senior citizens working there, we're happy to report that, though we have never officially joined any political party, we participated in the Democratic primary and proudly cast a ballot for one Barack Obama.
And why, you are asking, were we proud? That's the thing, we're not entirely sure. Now, here at The Pinyon, we pride ourselves on our steadfast reluctance to believe in ANYTHING. Be it UFO's, The Tooth Fairy, God, or that NASCAR is our country's most popular sport, whatever it is that you're selling, you'll have to go someplace else, cause we're just not buying it, and besides, even if we were, our credit is shot.
But something has happened to us, and we're not entirely sure that we like it. We've become something that for lack of a better word can only be called inspired. And here's the thing, we'd prefer not to be inspired right now, thank you very much, as we've got some boring everyday tasks to complete. The hallway is not going to Swiffer itself.
But for some reason, this man, who by all accounts is just a politician, has managed to awaken something in us that we not only thought was long dead, but actually had been surgically removed with our wisdom teeth when we were 19. But apparently not.
We have been listening to all of the candidates speak in recent weeks. We like some of the things that crazy little gnome Ron Paul says, despite the objections of our friend Dr. Siano, and we have respect for Dennis Kucinich's ability to land a super hot wife, but we haven't really cared one way or the other who won which debate, because as far as we're concerned, anything would be an improvement over the barely trained chimpanzee that we have in the White House now. But Obama is different.
He's different because he doesn't take money from lobbyists. He's different because he doesn't resort to partisan bickering at the drop of a hat. He's different because he didn't vote for the war in Iraq. He's different for this, the most embarrassing of our reasons, because we believe in him. We believe what he says and we believe what he stands for. And as scary as that is to write, it's even more unnerving to realize it's true. Because what happens if you believe in someone and then he loses? We don't know, as this is our maiden voyage into the waters of belief, but we're willing to bet it's not good.
The California Primary is over. Hillary Clinton won. But the race goes on, because millions of other people in other places also believe. He won 13 states on Tuesday, just not ours. And you know something, before this thing is over, he's going to win even more. And at the risk of sounding incredibly silly and naive, we just hope that it's enough.
And that's the problem, isn't it? That's the fear that keeps people comfortably insulated in their shells of apathy. No one wants to look silly. No one wants to be laughed at. No one wants to be fooled.
Well, folks, we've decided to throw in with the people who are taking that chance. We're quite used to being laughed at, and we can take it. So feel free to mock and ridicule if you wish, but do us a favor, and after you're done laughing, listen for a second. Listen to what he says. And then think. Think about the difference it would make if that man were our leader. Think about not being entrenched in an illegal and undeclared war. Think about living in a country where everyone you know could see a doctor if they got sick. Think about what it would be like to be respected as a nation like the legendary United States of America that we've all read about in the history books.
And then ask yourself if you can afford not to believe.
Hello everyone. We know, we missed our self imposed Wednesday deadline, but we swear it will, in all likelyhood, never fail to happen again.
This week was exciting in the neighborhood just slightly to the West of Hollywood, which we'll hereafter refer to as East Beverly Hills. On Tuesday we woke up raring to get to some serious votin'. Our new polling place is conveniently located right across the street from the house, and after a very brief walk over and some polite chatting with the senior citizens working there, we're happy to report that, though we have never officially joined any political party, we participated in the Democratic primary and proudly cast a ballot for one Barack Obama.
And why, you are asking, were we proud? That's the thing, we're not entirely sure. Now, here at The Pinyon, we pride ourselves on our steadfast reluctance to believe in ANYTHING. Be it UFO's, The Tooth Fairy, God, or that NASCAR is our country's most popular sport, whatever it is that you're selling, you'll have to go someplace else, cause we're just not buying it, and besides, even if we were, our credit is shot.
But something has happened to us, and we're not entirely sure that we like it. We've become something that for lack of a better word can only be called inspired. And here's the thing, we'd prefer not to be inspired right now, thank you very much, as we've got some boring everyday tasks to complete. The hallway is not going to Swiffer itself.
But for some reason, this man, who by all accounts is just a politician, has managed to awaken something in us that we not only thought was long dead, but actually had been surgically removed with our wisdom teeth when we were 19. But apparently not.
We have been listening to all of the candidates speak in recent weeks. We like some of the things that crazy little gnome Ron Paul says, despite the objections of our friend Dr. Siano, and we have respect for Dennis Kucinich's ability to land a super hot wife, but we haven't really cared one way or the other who won which debate, because as far as we're concerned, anything would be an improvement over the barely trained chimpanzee that we have in the White House now. But Obama is different.
He's different because he doesn't take money from lobbyists. He's different because he doesn't resort to partisan bickering at the drop of a hat. He's different because he didn't vote for the war in Iraq. He's different for this, the most embarrassing of our reasons, because we believe in him. We believe what he says and we believe what he stands for. And as scary as that is to write, it's even more unnerving to realize it's true. Because what happens if you believe in someone and then he loses? We don't know, as this is our maiden voyage into the waters of belief, but we're willing to bet it's not good.
The California Primary is over. Hillary Clinton won. But the race goes on, because millions of other people in other places also believe. He won 13 states on Tuesday, just not ours. And you know something, before this thing is over, he's going to win even more. And at the risk of sounding incredibly silly and naive, we just hope that it's enough.
And that's the problem, isn't it? That's the fear that keeps people comfortably insulated in their shells of apathy. No one wants to look silly. No one wants to be laughed at. No one wants to be fooled.
Well, folks, we've decided to throw in with the people who are taking that chance. We're quite used to being laughed at, and we can take it. So feel free to mock and ridicule if you wish, but do us a favor, and after you're done laughing, listen for a second. Listen to what he says. And then think. Think about the difference it would make if that man were our leader. Think about not being entrenched in an illegal and undeclared war. Think about living in a country where everyone you know could see a doctor if they got sick. Think about what it would be like to be respected as a nation like the legendary United States of America that we've all read about in the history books.
And then ask yourself if you can afford not to believe.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Today is Wednesday everyone, and you know what that means!
Oh wait, you don't because I haven't told you yet. From here on out, Wednesday will be the day that I write the newest weekly entry on this here infernal machine. I have received a lot of constructive criticism regarding my somewhat infrequent posting habits, and to those people I usually respond, "I got nothing to write."
Yes, my grammar is atrocious. But seriously, I've always been hesitant to blog about nothing, lest my loyal readership begin to think less of me, but I've decided to put those fears in the past and start anew. So from here on out, no matter how interesting it is or isn't, I'll be posting every Wednesday about the events of the preceding week, taking a cue from one of my favorite columns in The Stranger, Last Days.
So enough chit chat already, you've been warned, let's get on with it.
Today is Wednesday everyone, and you know what that means! Time for the week in review. This is what happened in my world in the last 7 days. Also, we're back to the Editorial We, starting with this sentence.
Wednesday January 16th- Today we woke up with a severe Las Vegas hangover and went through all the photos that were taken over the 3 days we spent in Sin City with 4 other members of the formerly mildly funny comedy group known as The Habit. Here is a sample.
Wow.
THURSDAY JANUARY 17th - This day gets the all caps treatment and bolded because it happened to be our 31st birthday. Upon waking, we treated ourselves to some coffee and pastries at our local coffee shop, before walking back home and joining our good friend Guacamoatmeal (pictured above) for a lovely morning of simulated violence. Next was lunch, where we dined with our good friend and neighbor Crystal at the famed Los Angeles mexican eatery, El Compadre. We had a burrito and a Cadillac Margarita, the perfect birthday lunch. Afterwards, we casually strolled up Sunset Blvd. to a nearby store and purchased our birthday gift to ourselves, a brand new electric guitar. We're not going to lie to you, we're horrible at it, but we've got lessons in our near future and pretty soon with any luck we'll just be pretty bad.
Friday January 18th brought our return to the working world. Yay. Not much else to report, played guitar during the day, worked at night. Ta daa.
Saturday January 19 - On this day we took the opportunity to check out the park across the street from our new house in West Hollywood, and more specifically, the basketball court. It's a nice enough setting, with a good surface, glass backboards, cloth nets, and palm trees to either side. The level of play was somewhat uneven and we happened to be on a team with someone who was absolutely convinced that he was Michael Jordan reincarnated, despite the fact that, last time we checked, Mr. Jordan was not deceased. At night, we worked.
Sunday January 20th - This day brought yet even more basketball playing, with a much cooler crowd, and the a pair of NFL Conference Championship games. We watched The Patriots beat the Chargers and won 10 bucks from our roommate Ed when San Diego covered the spread, and then watched a fantastic game between The New York Giants and The Green Bay Packers. We were rooting for our boy Brett Favre, but he lost the thing in overtime and the rest is history.
Monday Janua
OK. Enough. This is my life I'm writing about and even I'm not interested. You see everyone, this is why I don't write more, because I can't imagine anyone I know wanting to read about me watching football. In fact, I would normally just not post this, but I want you all to see that I've been trying here.
Maybe I'll get through the whole week next Wednesday. See you then.
Oh wait, you don't because I haven't told you yet. From here on out, Wednesday will be the day that I write the newest weekly entry on this here infernal machine. I have received a lot of constructive criticism regarding my somewhat infrequent posting habits, and to those people I usually respond, "I got nothing to write."
Yes, my grammar is atrocious. But seriously, I've always been hesitant to blog about nothing, lest my loyal readership begin to think less of me, but I've decided to put those fears in the past and start anew. So from here on out, no matter how interesting it is or isn't, I'll be posting every Wednesday about the events of the preceding week, taking a cue from one of my favorite columns in The Stranger, Last Days.
So enough chit chat already, you've been warned, let's get on with it.
Today is Wednesday everyone, and you know what that means! Time for the week in review. This is what happened in my world in the last 7 days. Also, we're back to the Editorial We, starting with this sentence.
Wednesday January 16th- Today we woke up with a severe Las Vegas hangover and went through all the photos that were taken over the 3 days we spent in Sin City with 4 other members of the formerly mildly funny comedy group known as The Habit. Here is a sample.
Wow.
THURSDAY JANUARY 17th - This day gets the all caps treatment and bolded because it happened to be our 31st birthday. Upon waking, we treated ourselves to some coffee and pastries at our local coffee shop, before walking back home and joining our good friend Guacamoatmeal (pictured above) for a lovely morning of simulated violence. Next was lunch, where we dined with our good friend and neighbor Crystal at the famed Los Angeles mexican eatery, El Compadre. We had a burrito and a Cadillac Margarita, the perfect birthday lunch. Afterwards, we casually strolled up Sunset Blvd. to a nearby store and purchased our birthday gift to ourselves, a brand new electric guitar. We're not going to lie to you, we're horrible at it, but we've got lessons in our near future and pretty soon with any luck we'll just be pretty bad.
Friday January 18th brought our return to the working world. Yay. Not much else to report, played guitar during the day, worked at night. Ta daa.
Saturday January 19 - On this day we took the opportunity to check out the park across the street from our new house in West Hollywood, and more specifically, the basketball court. It's a nice enough setting, with a good surface, glass backboards, cloth nets, and palm trees to either side. The level of play was somewhat uneven and we happened to be on a team with someone who was absolutely convinced that he was Michael Jordan reincarnated, despite the fact that, last time we checked, Mr. Jordan was not deceased. At night, we worked.
Sunday January 20th - This day brought yet even more basketball playing, with a much cooler crowd, and the a pair of NFL Conference Championship games. We watched The Patriots beat the Chargers and won 10 bucks from our roommate Ed when San Diego covered the spread, and then watched a fantastic game between The New York Giants and The Green Bay Packers. We were rooting for our boy Brett Favre, but he lost the thing in overtime and the rest is history.
Monday Janua
OK. Enough. This is my life I'm writing about and even I'm not interested. You see everyone, this is why I don't write more, because I can't imagine anyone I know wanting to read about me watching football. In fact, I would normally just not post this, but I want you all to see that I've been trying here.
Maybe I'll get through the whole week next Wednesday. See you then.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
LAST PUBLISHED ON MAY 23RD
Those were the words that looked me in the face when I finally decided to dust this puppy off and play a game of fetch in the park with it. Now what the infernal blogging contraption said to me was a simple statement of fact, but I frankly didn't care for it's tone. F you, blog machine.
So welcome back to all 5 or maybe 10 of the readers I have left, I've missed you. The others were weak, but you stayed. You had faith. You knew I would return. Or you're just bored on the computer. Either way you're here and we might as well make a thing of it.
I wondered the other day about what will happen to all of these blogs a hundred years from now. Will my nephew's children be able to read these words that I'm typing now, looking for some insight into what a distant relative was like?
If so, stay in school kids, for as long as you can. Don't you roll your eyes at me, punk, this is your great uncle talking to you from beyond the grave, so show some fucking respect. Sheesh, The Living.
The past few months have been somewhat eventful for the old Ry-Ry, (no one calls me that kids) I was just in The New York City to film a movie called Gumshoe Licked, look for it at Sundance, and before that I was in a few shorts that were written by my good friend Terry Scannell, of the Philadelphia Scannells. These shorts were turned into commercials for some imitation Sprite flavored beverage and can be found on Youtube, right here.
As you know, I went to Orlando Florida in May to do a show with my good buddy Mark Siano. Boy it was "fun". After that we hooked up in Seattle in July to try out our idea for a show about people telling stories. That was actual fun. People seemed to dig it, and hopefully the next time I'm up there we can put on another one. Here's a picture.
He's a big dumb animal, isn't he folks.
So now that we're caught up, let's try and do this more often. I miss us. Go out and live your lives, dear readers, make yourselves happy, but come back soon and I promise this place won't look the same for months on end again. In case it does though, don't blame me, blame Halo 3.
Peace in The NFC East.
Those were the words that looked me in the face when I finally decided to dust this puppy off and play a game of fetch in the park with it. Now what the infernal blogging contraption said to me was a simple statement of fact, but I frankly didn't care for it's tone. F you, blog machine.
So welcome back to all 5 or maybe 10 of the readers I have left, I've missed you. The others were weak, but you stayed. You had faith. You knew I would return. Or you're just bored on the computer. Either way you're here and we might as well make a thing of it.
I wondered the other day about what will happen to all of these blogs a hundred years from now. Will my nephew's children be able to read these words that I'm typing now, looking for some insight into what a distant relative was like?
If so, stay in school kids, for as long as you can. Don't you roll your eyes at me, punk, this is your great uncle talking to you from beyond the grave, so show some fucking respect. Sheesh, The Living.
The past few months have been somewhat eventful for the old Ry-Ry, (no one calls me that kids) I was just in The New York City to film a movie called Gumshoe Licked, look for it at Sundance, and before that I was in a few shorts that were written by my good friend Terry Scannell, of the Philadelphia Scannells. These shorts were turned into commercials for some imitation Sprite flavored beverage and can be found on Youtube, right here.
As you know, I went to Orlando Florida in May to do a show with my good buddy Mark Siano. Boy it was "fun". After that we hooked up in Seattle in July to try out our idea for a show about people telling stories. That was actual fun. People seemed to dig it, and hopefully the next time I'm up there we can put on another one. Here's a picture.
He's a big dumb animal, isn't he folks.
So now that we're caught up, let's try and do this more often. I miss us. Go out and live your lives, dear readers, make yourselves happy, but come back soon and I promise this place won't look the same for months on end again. In case it does though, don't blame me, blame Halo 3.
Peace in The NFC East.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
15 Days in Orlando
We've recently arrived in Orlando, Florida with our good friend Dr. Mark Siano to do two things, kick some ass and put on some shows. And we're almost out of shows. More on that later. For now, here's a couple shots of our favorite nephew Maverick in the park with some jerkbag. And yes, that is The Bird. What can we say folks, he is awesome. Hope all is well with everyone.
We've recently arrived in Orlando, Florida with our good friend Dr. Mark Siano to do two things, kick some ass and put on some shows. And we're almost out of shows. More on that later. For now, here's a couple shots of our favorite nephew Maverick in the park with some jerkbag. And yes, that is The Bird. What can we say folks, he is awesome. Hope all is well with everyone.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Hey everyone! Hard at work here in sunny Los Angeles. Mark Siano and I have a show in Orlando, Florida that's starts in a couple weeks, so it's time we got crackin'. He arrives tomorrow, but in the meantime we've been entertaining a house guest from the Big Apple. He's kind of a big deal. You may have heard of him, his name's Tom.
Friday, April 20, 2007
TIME TO GET REAL
I'm starting to think this movie star thing might not work out as fast as I'd hoped. There. I've admitted it. Now can we all just move on? I know I have.
For instance, I've recently decided that perhaps I need to consider the fact that I may no longer want the glamorous highly sought after job of Los Angeles Restaurant Server. Oh sure, to a few of you that sentence sounds downright blasphemous, but hear me out. I don't want to wait tables for the rest of my life. Happy now?
And since we've already established that I'm not going to be in Spiderman 5 or Ocean's Seventeen any time soon, I needed to find a different career path where I could still be somewhat creative and also financially prosperous at the same time. So I harkened back to the dreams of my youth and carefully reevaluated all of the things that I was interested in being before I caught the acting bug.
Cowboy? Nope. Too hard. Plus, not gay.
Astronaut? See above.
Teacher? Yeah right. Have you seen my grammar lately?
Dolphin Trainer? Wait. That was my Mom's dream job! How dare she try to live an amazing life through me.
And then I remembered my second favorite class in school after Drama. No it wasn't journalism (sorry Miss Simeone), it was (drum roll please)
Photography.
I used to spend hours and hours in the dark room, sometimes even developing pictures that other people had taken, often times without their knowledge or permission. I loved taking real photographs, not just snapshots that you took to those photo developing booths in parking lots (remember those?), but the kind where you had a say in how the image actually turned out, for better or worse.
OK, I hear what you're saying. Enough with the boring details, we get it, you're going to be photographer. Fine, go do it.
OK, I will. I'll show you. I'll show everybody. In fact, I've already purchased a fantastically expensive camera and have been hard at work shooting people. Wait. That sounded weird. I shoot animals too. And things! I shoot everything! Oh well, moving on. I've just submitted some work to a little publication I like to call Cat Fancy Magazine and while you may scoff and snicker at the subject matter, consider the fact that each picture brings in $500.
I'm sorry, it's too late, I already called dibs on being a photographer, you have to stick to your own crummy job. But if you ever decide to quit it and move to LA to be a movie star, I'll wish you the best of luck, and only charge you half price for your headshots. No refunds.
The previous post contains some of my early work. Crude yes, but I'm only getting started. I'll be posting pictures more soon and regularly from now on, so feel free to comment on the ones you like or hate. And if you're interested in prints, just call me at home, Mom.
I'm starting to think this movie star thing might not work out as fast as I'd hoped. There. I've admitted it. Now can we all just move on? I know I have.
For instance, I've recently decided that perhaps I need to consider the fact that I may no longer want the glamorous highly sought after job of Los Angeles Restaurant Server. Oh sure, to a few of you that sentence sounds downright blasphemous, but hear me out. I don't want to wait tables for the rest of my life. Happy now?
And since we've already established that I'm not going to be in Spiderman 5 or Ocean's Seventeen any time soon, I needed to find a different career path where I could still be somewhat creative and also financially prosperous at the same time. So I harkened back to the dreams of my youth and carefully reevaluated all of the things that I was interested in being before I caught the acting bug.
Cowboy? Nope. Too hard. Plus, not gay.
Astronaut? See above.
Teacher? Yeah right. Have you seen my grammar lately?
Dolphin Trainer? Wait. That was my Mom's dream job! How dare she try to live an amazing life through me.
And then I remembered my second favorite class in school after Drama. No it wasn't journalism (sorry Miss Simeone), it was (drum roll please)
Photography.
I used to spend hours and hours in the dark room, sometimes even developing pictures that other people had taken, often times without their knowledge or permission. I loved taking real photographs, not just snapshots that you took to those photo developing booths in parking lots (remember those?), but the kind where you had a say in how the image actually turned out, for better or worse.
OK, I hear what you're saying. Enough with the boring details, we get it, you're going to be photographer. Fine, go do it.
OK, I will. I'll show you. I'll show everybody. In fact, I've already purchased a fantastically expensive camera and have been hard at work shooting people. Wait. That sounded weird. I shoot animals too. And things! I shoot everything! Oh well, moving on. I've just submitted some work to a little publication I like to call Cat Fancy Magazine and while you may scoff and snicker at the subject matter, consider the fact that each picture brings in $500.
I'm sorry, it's too late, I already called dibs on being a photographer, you have to stick to your own crummy job. But if you ever decide to quit it and move to LA to be a movie star, I'll wish you the best of luck, and only charge you half price for your headshots. No refunds.
The previous post contains some of my early work. Crude yes, but I'm only getting started. I'll be posting pictures more soon and regularly from now on, so feel free to comment on the ones you like or hate. And if you're interested in prints, just call me at home, Mom.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Monday, December 11, 2006
The Pasttime of a past time.
Around the turn of the last century, when all was well and good in the world, in the gleaming emerald (read: wet) city of Seattle, Washington, there stood a Texaco. It was an ordinary gas sation/ food mart (is "mart" even a word?) in every respect except that it happened to be located right next door to the future historical monument known as The Plantation, a building that housed some of the greatest comedic minds of our generation, whenever me and Jeff went over there.
The Plantation was a large house that was equipped with all of the amenties, Piano room, Recording studio, Foosball table, Smoking porch, close proximity to Dick's, and the most important feature of the Plantation for the purposes of this story, The Trampoline.
It came from the picturesque childhood home of one Mark Siano, located in beautiful Mukilteo, Washington, a ferry town.
The trampoline was your standard issue round 14 footer, with springs and those blue pads. And while jumping on it was fun, we were always looking for a way to enhance the festivities.
And enhance we did.
Mark's lovely sister, Lieta Siano was visiting the 3rd world nation of Cambodia, for reasons I don't fully grasp, when she came upon a small, round ball made of wicker. Perhaps it was Providence, or maybe she just knew that Mark really likes balls (zing!), but for whatever reason, she decided to purchase this little sphere and transport it back to The Great Northwest and the aforementioned Plantation.
That's where Mark and I come in. We fancied ourselves intellectuals in those days and we weren't content to merely jump on the tramp, so we incorporated the new ball into our jumping fun. We placed a hula-hoop on the ground about twenty feet from the trampoline, and one of us would stand inside it and pitch the ball while the other attempted to kick it as far up against the house as possible.
It sounds simple, I know. It was. But it was also incredibly fun.
We were content enough in the beginning to play it by ourselves, but soon enough the other residents of The Plantation grew curious about the sounds of laughter and the soft thudding against the wall coming from the backyard, and they joined in. In that instant, our game became a sport. A phenomenon. A pasttime.
We named the game Cambodia Ball, naturally, and as the first ever Cambodia Ball Competition Committee, we also set up the rules. I won't bore you with too many details (you are welcome) but there are a few worth noting.
A: Each "batter" was given five attempts at kicking the Cambodia ball as high and as far as possible. This was not an easy task as you had to be in full bounce at the time and time your kicks just right.
B: Various points were awarded for different areas of the house. Below the gutter was nothing, up near the roof was three points, you get the idea. Of course, the game quickly became about The Long Ball. If you could kick it over and clear the house completely, it was a Home Run, and we saw our fair share of spectacular ones. I'd have to consult the record books, but if I recall correctly, a young man named Michael McQuilken is credited with the longest of them all, clearing not just the Plantation, but the entire front yard and the street (2nd Ave NE) in front. Most impressive.
C: When not actively pitching or batting, the remainder of the players played "defense" whereby they would try to catch the rebound from off of the house and garner themselves one point. It is important to note that all players were going for said rebound, and that no rules barring interference of any kind were ever drafted. It was brutal.
The game itself was fun enough. But I really enjoyed the game within the game, The Fetching. Every so often, a kick would careen off the batsman's foot at such an odd angle that it would become lodged in a tree or better yet, on the roof of The Texaco. At this point, all players shifted their focus to retrieving the cambodia ball by whatever means necessary. Be it throwing things into the tree, using tools we had lying around (hockey stick, spare gutter), or simply climbing up on the roof of Texaco. I once witnessed the fastest retrieval from the Texaco roof on record. Miss Erika Kuever went from the lawn the the roof and back to the lawn in 23 seconds. I know because we timed those things back then. It was not only the record time which made this feat spectacular, but the fact that she was wearing NO SHOES whatsoever. The beauty of it still haunts my dreams.
Well, that's all the reminiscing i have in me for right now, time to take a nap and then maybe watch Matlock. Thanks for stopping by dear readers, and remember, if you thought this story was boring, at least it was a story and not some bullshit movie review like I've been doing.
PS-Casino Royale was awesome.
Around the turn of the last century, when all was well and good in the world, in the gleaming emerald (read: wet) city of Seattle, Washington, there stood a Texaco. It was an ordinary gas sation/ food mart (is "mart" even a word?) in every respect except that it happened to be located right next door to the future historical monument known as The Plantation, a building that housed some of the greatest comedic minds of our generation, whenever me and Jeff went over there.
The Plantation was a large house that was equipped with all of the amenties, Piano room, Recording studio, Foosball table, Smoking porch, close proximity to Dick's, and the most important feature of the Plantation for the purposes of this story, The Trampoline.
It came from the picturesque childhood home of one Mark Siano, located in beautiful Mukilteo, Washington, a ferry town.
The trampoline was your standard issue round 14 footer, with springs and those blue pads. And while jumping on it was fun, we were always looking for a way to enhance the festivities.
And enhance we did.
Mark's lovely sister, Lieta Siano was visiting the 3rd world nation of Cambodia, for reasons I don't fully grasp, when she came upon a small, round ball made of wicker. Perhaps it was Providence, or maybe she just knew that Mark really likes balls (zing!), but for whatever reason, she decided to purchase this little sphere and transport it back to The Great Northwest and the aforementioned Plantation.
That's where Mark and I come in. We fancied ourselves intellectuals in those days and we weren't content to merely jump on the tramp, so we incorporated the new ball into our jumping fun. We placed a hula-hoop on the ground about twenty feet from the trampoline, and one of us would stand inside it and pitch the ball while the other attempted to kick it as far up against the house as possible.
It sounds simple, I know. It was. But it was also incredibly fun.
We were content enough in the beginning to play it by ourselves, but soon enough the other residents of The Plantation grew curious about the sounds of laughter and the soft thudding against the wall coming from the backyard, and they joined in. In that instant, our game became a sport. A phenomenon. A pasttime.
We named the game Cambodia Ball, naturally, and as the first ever Cambodia Ball Competition Committee, we also set up the rules. I won't bore you with too many details (you are welcome) but there are a few worth noting.
A: Each "batter" was given five attempts at kicking the Cambodia ball as high and as far as possible. This was not an easy task as you had to be in full bounce at the time and time your kicks just right.
B: Various points were awarded for different areas of the house. Below the gutter was nothing, up near the roof was three points, you get the idea. Of course, the game quickly became about The Long Ball. If you could kick it over and clear the house completely, it was a Home Run, and we saw our fair share of spectacular ones. I'd have to consult the record books, but if I recall correctly, a young man named Michael McQuilken is credited with the longest of them all, clearing not just the Plantation, but the entire front yard and the street (2nd Ave NE) in front. Most impressive.
C: When not actively pitching or batting, the remainder of the players played "defense" whereby they would try to catch the rebound from off of the house and garner themselves one point. It is important to note that all players were going for said rebound, and that no rules barring interference of any kind were ever drafted. It was brutal.
The game itself was fun enough. But I really enjoyed the game within the game, The Fetching. Every so often, a kick would careen off the batsman's foot at such an odd angle that it would become lodged in a tree or better yet, on the roof of The Texaco. At this point, all players shifted their focus to retrieving the cambodia ball by whatever means necessary. Be it throwing things into the tree, using tools we had lying around (hockey stick, spare gutter), or simply climbing up on the roof of Texaco. I once witnessed the fastest retrieval from the Texaco roof on record. Miss Erika Kuever went from the lawn the the roof and back to the lawn in 23 seconds. I know because we timed those things back then. It was not only the record time which made this feat spectacular, but the fact that she was wearing NO SHOES whatsoever. The beauty of it still haunts my dreams.
Well, that's all the reminiscing i have in me for right now, time to take a nap and then maybe watch Matlock. Thanks for stopping by dear readers, and remember, if you thought this story was boring, at least it was a story and not some bullshit movie review like I've been doing.
PS-Casino Royale was awesome.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
And now, back by singular demand, it's
Ryduffalo's Movie Reviews!!!!
(We tell you what to like, whether you like it or not)
Our first film is The Prestige, starring Batman, Wolverine, and Scarlett Johansson. Oh, and we would be remiss if we didn't mention Michael Caine, as the old-guy magician's helper, oh and also, David motherfuckin' Bowie, as Tesla, the christian rock band.
This movie had a nice, dark, fall-slash-winter kind of feel to it, and you got the sense that Tim Burton would be waiting to pop out from behind every door they opened, even though he never did, which was frankly a bit disappointing.
I liked The Prestige, it had excitement, mystery, sacrifice, and no less than three clever little twists for you to wrap your mind around. I say you, because I figured them out super early and announced them to the crowd.
After the movie, I took some quotes from random people in the audience so that you could see what the general movie-going public thought;
Ross, a vintage movie theatre manager from West Hollywood;
"I thought it was fantastic."
Kelly (male with a female name), a concierge from Venice;
"I liked the part with the magic."
Wil, an actor from Hollywood;
"Ryan, I had to listen to you talking the whole movie about how you'd 'figured it out' before the rest of us, so stop talking now or I'll choke you."
So there you have it folks. Go see The Prestige. In theatres now.
Or is it?
If you go to see it, and it's not there anymore, ta-daaa! Magic!
GRADE: 91% A-
Next up, we have The Departed.
Nicholson, Damon, DiCaprio, and Marky Mark. You see, this film put me in a quandary. As an impartial movie critic, I probably shouldn't tell you that I automatically love everything that Jack Nicholson does and automatically hate everything that motherfuckin Leo DiCaprio does before I even see it, but I do. I'm a bad person. But now I was in a pickle. They were both in the same movie! I had to see it, but did I have to like it?
I decided that the two actors would cancel each other out, and I'd just honestly give you my opinion about the film, the way some other reviewers do (I won't mention any names, but pretty much all of them), the pansies.
First off, DiCaprio is good in this. So is Marky Mark. Also, Matt Damon is good as well. Nicholson is awesome. Scorcese directed it. It's a great movie. Everyone fucking dies.
Just kidding. Or am I?
Go see it.
GRADE: 91% A-
And finally we come to Borat.
Right now, I envy those of you who haven't seen it yet.
For I have seen the funniest movie I'll ever see. And I'll never get back that feeling that I had while in that theatre that day*.
God himself couldn't make me laugh harder than I did, and He has quite a reputation as a hellacious tickler. This movie is so good that it has been universally lauded by everyone who wasn't actually in it being made fools of. (How's that for grammar, Mark's Mom?)
OK. Enough.
It wasn't that good. Mr. Cohen is a genius, and I can understand if someone who had never seen Da Ali G Show and wasn't familiar with Borat's character might be blown away by the size of the man's testes-satchel, but at no point in this movie did I reach the peak of horrified laughter that I experienced while watching him sing, "Throw The Jew Down The Well" in a country western bar in Arizona. They should have put that in the movie just on general principle for those who don't get HBO.
But the movie is funny. Very funny. Go. You will not be disappointed, and that's a bold statement to make considering the state of movies today.
GRADE: 91% A-
Well folks, as they say in the movie biz, "that's a wrap".
By the way, absolutely no one in the movie biz refers to it as the movie biz. I know that because I'm in the movie biz. See what I mean?
Tune in next time for the next Bond movie, and Stranger than Fiction.
*Four "that"s in eleven words! It's a new record!
Ryduffalo's Movie Reviews!!!!
(We tell you what to like, whether you like it or not)
Our first film is The Prestige, starring Batman, Wolverine, and Scarlett Johansson. Oh, and we would be remiss if we didn't mention Michael Caine, as the old-guy magician's helper, oh and also, David motherfuckin' Bowie, as Tesla, the christian rock band.
This movie had a nice, dark, fall-slash-winter kind of feel to it, and you got the sense that Tim Burton would be waiting to pop out from behind every door they opened, even though he never did, which was frankly a bit disappointing.
I liked The Prestige, it had excitement, mystery, sacrifice, and no less than three clever little twists for you to wrap your mind around. I say you, because I figured them out super early and announced them to the crowd.
After the movie, I took some quotes from random people in the audience so that you could see what the general movie-going public thought;
Ross, a vintage movie theatre manager from West Hollywood;
"I thought it was fantastic."
Kelly (male with a female name), a concierge from Venice;
"I liked the part with the magic."
Wil, an actor from Hollywood;
"Ryan, I had to listen to you talking the whole movie about how you'd 'figured it out' before the rest of us, so stop talking now or I'll choke you."
So there you have it folks. Go see The Prestige. In theatres now.
Or is it?
If you go to see it, and it's not there anymore, ta-daaa! Magic!
GRADE: 91% A-
Next up, we have The Departed.
Nicholson, Damon, DiCaprio, and Marky Mark. You see, this film put me in a quandary. As an impartial movie critic, I probably shouldn't tell you that I automatically love everything that Jack Nicholson does and automatically hate everything that motherfuckin Leo DiCaprio does before I even see it, but I do. I'm a bad person. But now I was in a pickle. They were both in the same movie! I had to see it, but did I have to like it?
I decided that the two actors would cancel each other out, and I'd just honestly give you my opinion about the film, the way some other reviewers do (I won't mention any names, but pretty much all of them), the pansies.
First off, DiCaprio is good in this. So is Marky Mark. Also, Matt Damon is good as well. Nicholson is awesome. Scorcese directed it. It's a great movie. Everyone fucking dies.
Just kidding. Or am I?
Go see it.
GRADE: 91% A-
And finally we come to Borat.
Right now, I envy those of you who haven't seen it yet.
For I have seen the funniest movie I'll ever see. And I'll never get back that feeling that I had while in that theatre that day*.
God himself couldn't make me laugh harder than I did, and He has quite a reputation as a hellacious tickler. This movie is so good that it has been universally lauded by everyone who wasn't actually in it being made fools of. (How's that for grammar, Mark's Mom?)
OK. Enough.
It wasn't that good. Mr. Cohen is a genius, and I can understand if someone who had never seen Da Ali G Show and wasn't familiar with Borat's character might be blown away by the size of the man's testes-satchel, but at no point in this movie did I reach the peak of horrified laughter that I experienced while watching him sing, "Throw The Jew Down The Well" in a country western bar in Arizona. They should have put that in the movie just on general principle for those who don't get HBO.
But the movie is funny. Very funny. Go. You will not be disappointed, and that's a bold statement to make considering the state of movies today.
GRADE: 91% A-
Well folks, as they say in the movie biz, "that's a wrap".
By the way, absolutely no one in the movie biz refers to it as the movie biz. I know that because I'm in the movie biz. See what I mean?
Tune in next time for the next Bond movie, and Stranger than Fiction.
*Four "that"s in eleven words! It's a new record!
Friday, October 13, 2006
VIVA
So, we recently ventured into the desert in search of spiritual enlightenment. We found it. It's not as cool as you would think, so we sold it and took the money we made with us to LAS VEGAS.
Why is it impossible to write the name of that city in lowercase letters? Oh yeah, I remember why, because it's F'in awesome!
I flew into Vegas on Saturday afternoon and met my good friend Peter Rehme, of Rehme Custom Iron Work in Austin, Texas, (yes that Peter Rehme) in the lobby of The Mirage Hotel & Casino. I would now show you a picture of this delightful reunion, but such a picture does not exist. I left my camera at home for this trip, because I had intended to do things which could cause harm to one's political career should they be documented on film.
Let me start by saying that the Mirage is a top notch casino in my book. While it may not have the blown glass ceiling and flower garden of The Bellagio, it also does not have the snooty pretension. It is a nice, comfortable, upscale place and I would not hesitate to stay there again.
Upon arrival, Mr. Rehme and I headed to the Sports Book where we watched some college football and ate some food and talked of the events of the night to come. We could stay at the hotel and gamble, or he had a friend who could get us on "The List" at a couple of different night spots.
I'm always curious about this List. People love to tell you that they're on it, but those people immediately strike you as losers for saying something so incredibly lame that you don't want to go anywhere with them. But if they were losers, how did they get on The List? I had to know.
So we went out. But first, we gambled a little.
Ah, gambling. So great. Is it bad when you love gambling so much that you go into it expecting to lose money, but you do it anyway?
Let me answer that question for you...No, it's not bad. It's wonderful. Because when you plan on losing, and despite your best drunken efforts to stop it, you win, you have happened upon the rare "win-win" scenario, and you are what we like to call, "A Double Winner." I won-won. It was super. I asked the dealer how long he would be there that evening, and he said, "Till 4 AM."
I told him we would definitely see him when we got back from the clubs. We missed him by almost three hours.
The first place we went was a place called the V Bar, and it was in The Venetian. It was nice, dark, and comfortable, and just loud enough to make you have to lean into whomever you're talking to so you will be heard. And that's not so great if you're talking to a dude from Texas, but it has it's advantages in mixed company. The rest of our time there is classified, but I will say that so far, being on the List could only be considered a good thing. After a while, and by a while I mean 3 to 4 shots of Patron, we decided to check out other venues.
We headed from The V Bar out via Town Car (the cab line was too long and Pete was feeling very generous, I'm sorry, did I say generous, I meant hammered) and we stopped at The Hard Rock Hotel & Casino. While we were in fact on The List to get into it's dance club Body English, The List only got you past The Line, you still had to pay the cover charge, which was $10 for girls, and an ingenious $30 for guys.
Thinking I could have more fun with my $30 out in the casino, I told Peter to have a good time and left him at the door of the club. Thanks but no thanks. No one needs to go into a club that badly. It seems that Body English wanted me a little more than I wanted it though, because while I was busy winning an even $100 at the Craps table (actually $110 minus a tip for the dealers-very important to do) I got a phone call from Peter telling me that he knew someone inside who would get me in for free and to meet her at the door. I did meet her. And she had the same name as one of my sisters, though which one I'll never tell.
It was Julie.
The inside of Body English looks exactly like you're picturing it. Actually, move the DJ booth a little to the left...there! Perfect. It was super dark, super loud, and super full of people dancing, or rather women dancing and men watching women dance while nodding their heads slightly. In short, uninspiring, and definitely NOT worth the cover charge I didn't pay. I stayed a little longer to observe from a purely scientific perspective, and then went back out to gamble some more.
Ah, gambling.
I have to say that Craps has entirely eclipsed my love for all other forms of gambling combined. It seemed sometimes like I was just getting paid to stand there and drink alcohol with strangers. Wait! That's what I was doing. Only in (certain portions of) America!
The night turned into morning way quicker than you would think, and I went up to get some sleep before a long day of watching, and naturally betting on, professional football. I managed almost three whole hours of sleep, thanks in some part to my hangover, but in most part to the fact that Peter Rehme is a World Class Snoring Champion. Seriously. He has a belt and everything. Competitive snoring is just like boxing, but not nearly as boring to watch.
So I got up to watch the football at 10 am, and about 8 hours later, I left the sportsbook to go upstairs to the room to catch a nap before dinner and more gambling. Obviously, the nap never happened. I did take a valium though, which is almost as good as sleep.
Just to be original, we ate at the buffet, and I dined on six different species of animal that evening. Seven if you count Chocolate Mousse, Hey-oh!
After dinner was more gambling, and I think you see where I'm going with this...
Bottom line is that I left the next morning with more money than I had when I came to VEGAS, and more importantly, I had learned something about myself that I never realized before...
But the sad thing is I learned it in VEGAS, and apparently I'd be breaking some sort of law if I discuss it, so you'll just have to go and find out for yourself what I learned. About myself.
We'd better go together, it'll be way easier for you that way.
So, we recently ventured into the desert in search of spiritual enlightenment. We found it. It's not as cool as you would think, so we sold it and took the money we made with us to LAS VEGAS.
Why is it impossible to write the name of that city in lowercase letters? Oh yeah, I remember why, because it's F'in awesome!
I flew into Vegas on Saturday afternoon and met my good friend Peter Rehme, of Rehme Custom Iron Work in Austin, Texas, (yes that Peter Rehme) in the lobby of The Mirage Hotel & Casino. I would now show you a picture of this delightful reunion, but such a picture does not exist. I left my camera at home for this trip, because I had intended to do things which could cause harm to one's political career should they be documented on film.
Let me start by saying that the Mirage is a top notch casino in my book. While it may not have the blown glass ceiling and flower garden of The Bellagio, it also does not have the snooty pretension. It is a nice, comfortable, upscale place and I would not hesitate to stay there again.
Upon arrival, Mr. Rehme and I headed to the Sports Book where we watched some college football and ate some food and talked of the events of the night to come. We could stay at the hotel and gamble, or he had a friend who could get us on "The List" at a couple of different night spots.
I'm always curious about this List. People love to tell you that they're on it, but those people immediately strike you as losers for saying something so incredibly lame that you don't want to go anywhere with them. But if they were losers, how did they get on The List? I had to know.
So we went out. But first, we gambled a little.
Ah, gambling. So great. Is it bad when you love gambling so much that you go into it expecting to lose money, but you do it anyway?
Let me answer that question for you...No, it's not bad. It's wonderful. Because when you plan on losing, and despite your best drunken efforts to stop it, you win, you have happened upon the rare "win-win" scenario, and you are what we like to call, "A Double Winner." I won-won. It was super. I asked the dealer how long he would be there that evening, and he said, "Till 4 AM."
I told him we would definitely see him when we got back from the clubs. We missed him by almost three hours.
The first place we went was a place called the V Bar, and it was in The Venetian. It was nice, dark, and comfortable, and just loud enough to make you have to lean into whomever you're talking to so you will be heard. And that's not so great if you're talking to a dude from Texas, but it has it's advantages in mixed company. The rest of our time there is classified, but I will say that so far, being on the List could only be considered a good thing. After a while, and by a while I mean 3 to 4 shots of Patron, we decided to check out other venues.
We headed from The V Bar out via Town Car (the cab line was too long and Pete was feeling very generous, I'm sorry, did I say generous, I meant hammered) and we stopped at The Hard Rock Hotel & Casino. While we were in fact on The List to get into it's dance club Body English, The List only got you past The Line, you still had to pay the cover charge, which was $10 for girls, and an ingenious $30 for guys.
Thinking I could have more fun with my $30 out in the casino, I told Peter to have a good time and left him at the door of the club. Thanks but no thanks. No one needs to go into a club that badly. It seems that Body English wanted me a little more than I wanted it though, because while I was busy winning an even $100 at the Craps table (actually $110 minus a tip for the dealers-very important to do) I got a phone call from Peter telling me that he knew someone inside who would get me in for free and to meet her at the door. I did meet her. And she had the same name as one of my sisters, though which one I'll never tell.
It was Julie.
The inside of Body English looks exactly like you're picturing it. Actually, move the DJ booth a little to the left...there! Perfect. It was super dark, super loud, and super full of people dancing, or rather women dancing and men watching women dance while nodding their heads slightly. In short, uninspiring, and definitely NOT worth the cover charge I didn't pay. I stayed a little longer to observe from a purely scientific perspective, and then went back out to gamble some more.
Ah, gambling.
I have to say that Craps has entirely eclipsed my love for all other forms of gambling combined. It seemed sometimes like I was just getting paid to stand there and drink alcohol with strangers. Wait! That's what I was doing. Only in (certain portions of) America!
The night turned into morning way quicker than you would think, and I went up to get some sleep before a long day of watching, and naturally betting on, professional football. I managed almost three whole hours of sleep, thanks in some part to my hangover, but in most part to the fact that Peter Rehme is a World Class Snoring Champion. Seriously. He has a belt and everything. Competitive snoring is just like boxing, but not nearly as boring to watch.
So I got up to watch the football at 10 am, and about 8 hours later, I left the sportsbook to go upstairs to the room to catch a nap before dinner and more gambling. Obviously, the nap never happened. I did take a valium though, which is almost as good as sleep.
Just to be original, we ate at the buffet, and I dined on six different species of animal that evening. Seven if you count Chocolate Mousse, Hey-oh!
After dinner was more gambling, and I think you see where I'm going with this...
Bottom line is that I left the next morning with more money than I had when I came to VEGAS, and more importantly, I had learned something about myself that I never realized before...
But the sad thing is I learned it in VEGAS, and apparently I'd be breaking some sort of law if I discuss it, so you'll just have to go and find out for yourself what I learned. About myself.
We'd better go together, it'll be way easier for you that way.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Everything New Is New Again!
Hi folks, welcome back to The Pinyon, you've been missed. They've recently upgraded our little site here and I think the changes are nice. We've updated the "links" list on your right (our left, because you see, we're in the computer) and while I will forever feel a slight twinge of regret for deleting *The D.S. from anything, he never reads this anyway.
The new links are pure goodness though.
There's Do's & Don'ts, which is a fantastic waste of time and has actually changed the way we perceive our fellow man.
Also, for those of you who've met her and know how cool she is, we have a link to little Gozey's record page on kittenwars. She's still kicking ass as we speak.
And the last new addition is the fabled Aprile. Though we haven't seen her in who knows how long, and though the title of her blog is a complete rip-off of our ever-popular "Things I know to be true" segments (see Dec. 2003, Jan. 2004), we are absolutely delighted to once again be in the sphere.
We have only one movie to review for you today.
It is called Jackass: Number Two.
It is horrible and it is amazing, at the same time.
While I confess I didn't see the first Jackass until it was showing free on cable, I thought it was ok, and when my good friend #6 (his real name) asked me to accompany him to the sequel I said, "Hand me my lighter."
He had my lighter at the time, and I thought he was going to steal it. He did not steal it, instead we used it for the purpose that God intended and went to see the movie.
Ah, the movie.
It is basically a bunch of guys beating the crap out of themselves and each other on film. I know it sounds dumb, and it is, but it is also mesmerizing. You can't look away. And because there is absolutely no plot or writing or characters to get in the way, it is impossible to be bored. I didn't look at my watch once, which is more than I can say for a lot of films that are supposedly "brilliant". I'm looking at you French Connection, Serpico, and Pirates Of The Carribbean Two: Dead Man's Chest. We go to the movies to be entertained, and these Jackass guys really deliver in that respect, I was riveted. And while I don't think I would enjoy spending time with the guys who made this movie, I certainly have to respect their balls.
And I know that they have balls, because they're shown in the film.
I give this Movie a: B+
Well folks, it was fun seeing you again.
That's all the time we have for today,
come back soon and we'll show you some pictures.
PEACE in the NFC East.
*Note To Readers - We have since replaced The D.S. in the aforementioned links list. We just couldn't do it, he's too cute.
Hi folks, welcome back to The Pinyon, you've been missed. They've recently upgraded our little site here and I think the changes are nice. We've updated the "links" list on your right (our left, because you see, we're in the computer) and while I will forever feel a slight twinge of regret for deleting *The D.S. from anything, he never reads this anyway.
The new links are pure goodness though.
There's Do's & Don'ts, which is a fantastic waste of time and has actually changed the way we perceive our fellow man.
Also, for those of you who've met her and know how cool she is, we have a link to little Gozey's record page on kittenwars. She's still kicking ass as we speak.
And the last new addition is the fabled Aprile. Though we haven't seen her in who knows how long, and though the title of her blog is a complete rip-off of our ever-popular "Things I know to be true" segments (see Dec. 2003, Jan. 2004), we are absolutely delighted to once again be in the sphere.
We have only one movie to review for you today.
It is called Jackass: Number Two.
It is horrible and it is amazing, at the same time.
While I confess I didn't see the first Jackass until it was showing free on cable, I thought it was ok, and when my good friend #6 (his real name) asked me to accompany him to the sequel I said, "Hand me my lighter."
He had my lighter at the time, and I thought he was going to steal it. He did not steal it, instead we used it for the purpose that God intended and went to see the movie.
Ah, the movie.
It is basically a bunch of guys beating the crap out of themselves and each other on film. I know it sounds dumb, and it is, but it is also mesmerizing. You can't look away. And because there is absolutely no plot or writing or characters to get in the way, it is impossible to be bored. I didn't look at my watch once, which is more than I can say for a lot of films that are supposedly "brilliant". I'm looking at you French Connection, Serpico, and Pirates Of The Carribbean Two: Dead Man's Chest. We go to the movies to be entertained, and these Jackass guys really deliver in that respect, I was riveted. And while I don't think I would enjoy spending time with the guys who made this movie, I certainly have to respect their balls.
And I know that they have balls, because they're shown in the film.
I give this Movie a: B+
Well folks, it was fun seeing you again.
That's all the time we have for today,
come back soon and we'll show you some pictures.
PEACE in the NFC East.
*Note To Readers - We have since replaced The D.S. in the aforementioned links list. We just couldn't do it, he's too cute.
Monday, August 07, 2006
And now it's time for,
Ryduffalo Movie Reviews!
(We'll tell you what to like, whether you like it or not)
First up, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
I walked into this film with low expectations, and walked out with six months of new catchphrases. Seriously, it's like they just collected a whole mess of funny one liners and built a movie around them. And the weird thing is, it's not a bad movie at all.
Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell, for those under rocks who didn't know already) has a rough childhood, partly because his Stock Car driving Daddy is never around, but mostly because all he ever says is, "I wanna go fast."
He grows up to become a member of a racing pit crew and luckily is there the day when someone finally asks the one question that Ricky knows the answer to,
"Does anybody here wanna go fast?"
Ricky answers.
And Go Fast he does.
He amasses a fortune as a great Racecar Driver and then has the requisite crisis which threatens to end it all (ala Ron Burgundy in Anchorman. Funny how they have the same initials). I won't tell you how it all ends up because you already know that, but I will say that Ferrell's supporting cast does an excellent job of telling the story. Michael Clark Duncan, Sasha Baron Cohen, and John C. Reilly all do admirable jobs as Ricky's Crew Chief, nemesis, and best friend, respectively, but the movie is almost completely stolen by the young Grayson Russell, who plays Ricky's youngest son, Texas Ranger Bobby. That kid is bound to be the most quoted 9 year old since that asshole from Home Alone.
This movie is funny. I think you should see it.
GRADE: 88% B+
Next up, the romantic comedy; You, Me, and Dupree.
Starring Matt Dillon, Owen Wilson, and Kate Hudson's Ass, this movie is horseshit. I went into this film with the lowest expectations possible, and walked out about a half of the way through and actually asked for my money back. It is more horrible than you can possibly imagine.
GRADE: 5% F (The 5% is for the ONE laugh I got out of the first hour)
And then we have Miami Vice.
This film was written and directed by Michael Mann, who you'll remember from such films as Heat and Collateral, as well as the original television series of the same name.
Oddly enough, besides the characters' names and location, this film had very little in common with it's small-screened counterpart. But that was cool with me, because if Colin Ferrell (no relation to Will) had tried to rock the Don Johnson scruff and pink T-shirt, it would have been a comedy, and a bad one.
But it's not a comedy. It is a bad-ass action flick.
A cops and robbers picture that interestingly enough, happens to also be very pretty.
It stars Ferrell and Jamie Foxx, who has gone from being featured on In Living Color to being one of the greatest actors of his generation.
They have a grand old time of it driving flashy cars, riding in flashy boats, and doing flashy asian girls in a very flashy city, and in the end, everyone dies.
That's not entirely accurate. But I don't want to spoil it for you.
GRADE: 86% B
Well folks, that's all the movies for now, check back in a few weeks when I've seen Ricky Bobby 8 times and can do nothing but spout catchphrases.
Ryduffalo Movie Reviews!
(We'll tell you what to like, whether you like it or not)
First up, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
I walked into this film with low expectations, and walked out with six months of new catchphrases. Seriously, it's like they just collected a whole mess of funny one liners and built a movie around them. And the weird thing is, it's not a bad movie at all.
Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell, for those under rocks who didn't know already) has a rough childhood, partly because his Stock Car driving Daddy is never around, but mostly because all he ever says is, "I wanna go fast."
He grows up to become a member of a racing pit crew and luckily is there the day when someone finally asks the one question that Ricky knows the answer to,
"Does anybody here wanna go fast?"
Ricky answers.
And Go Fast he does.
He amasses a fortune as a great Racecar Driver and then has the requisite crisis which threatens to end it all (ala Ron Burgundy in Anchorman. Funny how they have the same initials). I won't tell you how it all ends up because you already know that, but I will say that Ferrell's supporting cast does an excellent job of telling the story. Michael Clark Duncan, Sasha Baron Cohen, and John C. Reilly all do admirable jobs as Ricky's Crew Chief, nemesis, and best friend, respectively, but the movie is almost completely stolen by the young Grayson Russell, who plays Ricky's youngest son, Texas Ranger Bobby. That kid is bound to be the most quoted 9 year old since that asshole from Home Alone.
This movie is funny. I think you should see it.
GRADE: 88% B+
Next up, the romantic comedy; You, Me, and Dupree.
Starring Matt Dillon, Owen Wilson, and Kate Hudson's Ass, this movie is horseshit. I went into this film with the lowest expectations possible, and walked out about a half of the way through and actually asked for my money back. It is more horrible than you can possibly imagine.
GRADE: 5% F (The 5% is for the ONE laugh I got out of the first hour)
And then we have Miami Vice.
This film was written and directed by Michael Mann, who you'll remember from such films as Heat and Collateral, as well as the original television series of the same name.
Oddly enough, besides the characters' names and location, this film had very little in common with it's small-screened counterpart. But that was cool with me, because if Colin Ferrell (no relation to Will) had tried to rock the Don Johnson scruff and pink T-shirt, it would have been a comedy, and a bad one.
But it's not a comedy. It is a bad-ass action flick.
A cops and robbers picture that interestingly enough, happens to also be very pretty.
It stars Ferrell and Jamie Foxx, who has gone from being featured on In Living Color to being one of the greatest actors of his generation.
They have a grand old time of it driving flashy cars, riding in flashy boats, and doing flashy asian girls in a very flashy city, and in the end, everyone dies.
That's not entirely accurate. But I don't want to spoil it for you.
GRADE: 86% B
Well folks, that's all the movies for now, check back in a few weeks when I've seen Ricky Bobby 8 times and can do nothing but spout catchphrases.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Greetings all. Here is the continuation of The Son Of The South series as promised. We regret the tremendous amount of time that has passed since this story was started, but it was through no fault of our own. Still, we recommend perhaps glancing at the first chapter of this story further down the page, just to get your bearings, so to speak. Forgive this interruption, now on with the story!
Fear and Loathing in Orlando - Day 3
I awoke in the morning on Day Three the same way as I had awoken 6 times earlier that night.
Sweating.
Which just goes to prove the old saying; It's not The Heat that gets you so much as The Humidity.
I can tell you they were right.
In fact, I'm a little surprised that there are no college or professional sports teams in Florida that have taken advantage of that demonic little moniker. What's worse than Gators, scarier than Hurricanes, and "gets you" more than The Heat?
THE HUMIDITY.
Get your season tickets now...
I like their chances this year. Today was Friday, and Claire and I had decided that we would go to Wet N Wild, the enormous waterpark we frequented in our youths. So we dropped the baby off with Claire's Brother-In-Law (My cousin of some sort?) and headed out to the crazy land of Water Slides, Chlorine, and British Tourists.
We had loads of fun there, though I must say that the time spent waiting in line for a ride is sadly disproportionate to the time spent actually enjoying the ride. This prompted me to make the following joke every time we waited for every ride in the park.
"Wet N' Wild? Hey! They should call this place Wait N Wild!"
Ah, wordplay. The cleft-lipped bastard child of comedy. Here is Claire, pretending to be unamused by my hilarity.
Fear and Loathing in Orlando - Day 3
I awoke in the morning on Day Three the same way as I had awoken 6 times earlier that night.
Sweating.
Which just goes to prove the old saying; It's not The Heat that gets you so much as The Humidity.
I can tell you they were right.
In fact, I'm a little surprised that there are no college or professional sports teams in Florida that have taken advantage of that demonic little moniker. What's worse than Gators, scarier than Hurricanes, and "gets you" more than The Heat?
THE HUMIDITY.
Get your season tickets now...
I like their chances this year. Today was Friday, and Claire and I had decided that we would go to Wet N Wild, the enormous waterpark we frequented in our youths. So we dropped the baby off with Claire's Brother-In-Law (My cousin of some sort?) and headed out to the crazy land of Water Slides, Chlorine, and British Tourists.
We had loads of fun there, though I must say that the time spent waiting in line for a ride is sadly disproportionate to the time spent actually enjoying the ride. This prompted me to make the following joke every time we waited for every ride in the park.
"Wet N' Wild? Hey! They should call this place Wait N Wild!"
Ah, wordplay. The cleft-lipped bastard child of comedy. Here is Claire, pretending to be unamused by my hilarity.
She's great folks, isn't she?
After the awesomeness of The Waterpark was over, we headed back to pick up Maverick and then I went back to my dad's. I went to bed early that night because my dad was going to wake me up at 7:00 am to go to the Gun Show. I asked why we had to go so early and he said to me, "Because that's when I get up."
7:00 am? Really?
They truly are a different breed down there.
DAY 4
I must now confess that I like guns. In fact, I think they are great. Super great. And I've wanted one ever since I knew about them, much like a full sleeve tattoo.
So when I went to the gunshow that morning, I was pretty excited. Luckily I had my camera and was able to capture some sights for you the loyal readers.
It should be noted here that cameras are not allowed in a gun show.
You are welcome.
The following are images that I found compelling;
First, the sign. It's simplicity intrigued me. Why are the letters slightly off center? And why such a big sign for only two words? Why no other information? I guess because these two words say it all.
Next, we have on display some lovely ceramic stabbing weapons that were advertised to be metal detector proof, presumably for use on airplanes. Check out the price.
2 for $7? What a deal! Next we come to the fascinating bumper sticker display. The one I liked most of all of these is the I Love Animals one, though it does seem a little out of place here.
Those were nice. But these next two were The Ultimate.
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