Meanwhile, in the Grammar Crisis room....

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Why I shouldn't watch TV, exhibit 342

Has anyone else seen ads for the movie "The Astronaut Farmer"? Doesn't the title alone piss you off beyond all comprehension?
I mean, if naming films is an art, whoever named this one is the guy who paints those precious scenes for local motels. I mean, could you be less imaginative in naming a movie? Hell, even old B-movies had more class than this - back in the day, if they had a movie about giant ants, they didn't call it "Giant Ants," they called it "Them!"
And don't you wish we lived in a world where, if someone went into a film producer's office and pitched a movie called "The Astronaut Farmer," he'd get his ass kicked?
Remember a while back, when I said "The Good Shepard" was quite possibly the worst film title ever? Well, looks like we have a new winner. Have fun in space, Billy Bob!
By the way, I'm just going to go ahead and give the "Halle Berry's career memorial award" (awarded each year to the actor or actress who goes from winning/being nominated for an Oscar to doing complete crap) to Virginia Madsen. Congratulations, Virginia! You went from the critically-popular-yet-highly-overrated "Sideways" to utter drek like "Firewall" and "The Astronaut Farmer." Old Halle "Catwoman" Berry couldn't have done better herself.
(pic courtesy of

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Archival material re: Valentine's Day

Last year, I posted a spoof of "A Modest Proposal" regarding Valentine's Day. Seeing as I'm still single (and still bitter about it), I've decided to re-post it.

It is a melancholy object to those who wander drunkenly through the streets of our fair country on February 14th, to see the ravaging effects that Valentine's Day inflicts on the general populace. It enrichens greeting card companies and the candy-industry barons, while depleting the vital beer-money stores of people across the nation.
This problem is only likely to get worse: increasing expectations yield ever-higher standards for giving, an unsustainable arms race of Valentining. This problem is especially hard-felt in the poorer segments of the population, those who can least afford it.
I shall now humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection.
We may find the salvation of this holiday from another saint: Saint Patrick. His holiday engenders naught but the highest praise; it is a beacon to which all lesser holidays flock.
I therefore propose we eliminate Valentine's Day, and replace it with Saint Patrick's Day, thus splitting Saint Patrick's day in twain (like Kill Bill, but without Uma Thurman killing everyone).
I believe the advantages by the proposal which I have made are obvious and many, as well as of the highest importance.
First, I believe this would restore the beer money of the nation to its rightful purpose: the procurement of alcohol.
Secondly, this would not take away from the primary benefit of Valentine's Day: the expression of love (or lust, at least). On the contrary, it is often that alcohol prompts the highest proclamations of love (including the "I love you guys" pledge, the screaming of one's name from outside of their apartment, and other such acts of devotion).
Thirdly, the act of gift-giving would be improved tenfold: alcoholic beverages are the best gift of all.
I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of my country. I have no brewery by which to hope to profit from this proposal, and my own beer stores are pitifully low.
The End
(PS: It's a wonder I'm still single.)
(PPS: Uma Thurman killing people would make a terrific holiday.)

Jesus, it's been a long time

Seeing as I haven't updated in about four months, I figured it might be time to do so again.
For some reason, I can't stop watching Scrubs. I never really got into the show over the years, because it was either on at the same time as something else, or the fact that I avoid NBC whenever possible.
However, since the series has been syndicated, it's been on like 12 times a day. Seriously, I set my DVR to record episodes and, were it not for some judicious deleting by yours truly, I'd have filled that thing like five times over.
Thing is, it's probably the most manic-depressive sitcom ever made - it's like the creators of the show want you to wish for suicide between the laughs. Every episode, they have at least one montage designed to make you say "man, that sucks." Were it not for John C. McGinley's insane rants (really quite impressive, they are), the whole production would be more depressing than a clown's funeral.
(By the way, the actress who plays Elliot Reed deserves a place in the "All-time really damn cute sitcom girl hall of fame." That's my opinion, at least.)