A friend of mine posted this video today and basically blew my mind. This was nominated for a Grammy?
First of all, who would pick a T-Rex as their drummer? That dude's stubby arms would make it almost impossible to play any cool fills or even do that fist-in-the-air back beat style that Tommy Lee and so many other drummers of the 80s perfected. Second of all, he ditches his all-dinosaur band at the end of the video to play with a bunch of dudes with perms and jean jackets. You would never do this. Nothing would sell tickets like an all-dino band. If you did manage to make this mistake, it'd be your last one because they'd be pissed and likely eat you.
Learn from this video. Never turn your back on a dinosaur to whom you just gave bad news. You won't be running off with your friends to play that gig you were all so excited about. The cop won't confide in you that he too once dream of rock-n-roll shows. You will be eaten.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Jellico, TN ... what else can I really say.
Long, long ago, I was in a band called Ray and the Examples. We were an original band by trade (and you can look him up on myspace, still) but we paid the bills by playing cover gigs in remote lands filled with rednecks and things rednecks would like to live around.
A friend of the band's lead singer, Ryan, who primarily booked male revues decided to try and give us a hand with booking shows and got us a gig at a place called 'The Rooster Scratch' in Jellico, TN. So, we got our directions and headed out there on a Saturday afternoon. What we knew was that Jellico was likely a small town without much going on - we understood this as a requirement for any place that would hire a band that played nothing but bar songs. Tom Petty, Hank Williams, Zeppelin and the Stones were all prerequisites. What we didn't know is that our friend the booking agent had absolutely no idea where he was sending us, nor did he bother to invest even 5 minutes of his time to research the matter.
Jellico is about an hour or so north of Knoxville up I-75 and is situated in the Appalachian foothills just before you get into Kentucky. We had a good four hour drive from Murfreesboro to think a little about how we had gotten the gig and pretty much unanimously decided that the worst it could be was a hole in the wall pseudo-strip club and that everything would be fine.
Upon reaching the interstate exit for Jellico, we made our first mistake. We took a right off the exit instead of a left but, to our credit, we were in the middle of nowhere, we were confused and we were just a bit frightened about how far into the back country we were traveling. As we drove east from the interstate, we could tell relatively quickly that we were going in the wrong direction and decided it would be best if we turned around. Shortly after this realization, we noticed a gravel pull-around driveway in which we could make our course correction. Just passed the edge of the drive was a small trailer, which was obscured behind a mass of rusted, engineless and totally useless old cars. This, we would find, was mistake number two.
As we pulled around in our van, Ryan decided to stop and look at the map to see where we had gone wrong. I protested the idea of sitting in this strange driveway, in a strange town, in the middle of nowhere, that most likely belonged to a strange man, as much as I could, but Ryan was not interested. Just as Ryan was pulling out his map, out came the strange man in ownership of the previously mentioned driveway from behind one of the dilapidated vehicles. Overalls? Check. White shirt, a short haircut and, most notably, ears torn in a pattern that was once a series of piercings completed his look.
Upon seeing him ambling up in the side view mirror, I immediately asked Ryan to hit the gas and get out of there. Ryan, however, thought that it would be a great idea to ask this guy where 'The Rooster Scratch' was. So there we sat as the owner of the spot we were sitting on approached. He slammed his fist on the side door of the van twice as he walked up to my window. I rolled my window down, though I didn't want to, and the man said, "Ya'll need to get off of ma' yard. You can't turn around here." Ryan agreed to this request, but then proceeded to explain our predicament and asked whether he knew where 'The Rooster Scratch' was.
"I haven't been there since I was fifteen," said the man. Now there was some good news. "Seems like you'd be goin' the wrong way though. It's on the other side of the highway, in Jellico." Progress, at last. At least the man was much more friendly than appearances would lead you to believe. How do we get there? We all wondered. And he answered, "Hmmm ... How to explain this to foreigners ..." Yes, he said foreigners. The majority of the above exchange is less quotes and more 'the general idea'. That last bit is verbatim.
This kind gentleman eventually described to us, in detail, how to get to the Rooster Scratch. We were on our way.
There's really not much to tell of our journey for at least a little while. We went up a hill, and back down, and what we found was indeed a small bar called The Rooster Scratch.
All outward appearances were of a down-to-earth country bar where the good ol' boys and gals passed the time after a hard day of work. People were laughing and talking about gossip, of which we knew nothing. It was comforting to be somewhere normal as a change from the last hour of our lives which had seemed so bizarre.
We set up our gear. We ate. We drank a few beers with the bar owner, his wife and some of his friends. When we started playing, all seemed right at The Rooster Scratch. The people loved the music; they were even dancing, laughing and still probably gossiping about their neighbors (though in much louder tones due to the sweet sounds of CCR, Tom Petty, etc.).
The first set went off without a hitch and we took a short break and went into the other side of the bar where some people were staying to watch college football. The Vols were playing. This was a period during which they weren't doing so well and they were losing. Being in east Tennessee, I thought that this surely meant a rough night was ahead of us. People can get a little rowdy when their team is down, and UT fans are no exception with a few beers in them (or not). But wouldn't you know it, everyone there was a Kentucky fan. I thought to myself: surely this is a sign that the trouble is over and I have nothing more to worry about...
After the second set, we took a break outside. It was getting really cold, but it was good to get out of the bar and away from some of the other local characters, which included: a trucker telling us how to get to Pine Knot and how that would be faster than getting back to I-75, a drunken gay guy who was taking my picture every few minutes, and a man who insisted that he was cool and not backwards like the rest of Jellico whose only proof of this was that he knew who Green Day and Nickelback were. As we stood outside, we joked about how weird the gig had been and even ended up singing a few t-shirts and hats with The Rooster Scratch logo on them. We returned to the bar for what was to be our third and final set.
As we finished this set, the bartender walked up to us. He was of average height, well above average weight, and dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. He had a thick grey beard, thick grey hair, and a truckers hat on. Tucked into his shirt, it's tiny and whiskered head poking out, was some sort of toy terrier dog with fur to match the bar owners. He offered us another $150 to play for another hour (it was already midnight) and we agreed.
This is where it got crazy. First, there was a minor scuffle towards the back of the bar because one man felt his wife was being eyed a little too much by another patron. The man with eyes for a married woman was taken care of quickly and thrown outside. I'm not sure that he liked this very much because he came back in and picked a fight with a certain large gentleman who had escorted him out by sucker punching him in the jaw. This is something the bar owner simply could not tolerate. So he took out his pistol, pointed it at the man, and calmly asked him to leave his bar. There wasn't much protest in the eyes of the man on the other side of the gun.
This is something I'd never seen before. A gun in a bar is not necessarily a legal thing ... let alone a smart thing. I should say that during this astonishing turn of events we did not stop playing. Why? Because the man with the gun told us not to.
Minutes later, for no reason that I can tell you, my attention was turned away from my drumming as I watched the bar owner take out the pistol once more and chase a woman out of the bar with it. This warranted stopping. We soon heard a car door shut, followed by two gun shots. The bartender had shot the windows out of the womans car as she tried to leave the bar to drive drunk. The bartender's wife walked up to us quickly and told us we'd better start playing again. We managed through a few more songs, but it was already 1:30 a.m. and well past our time to leave.
The stop in the music must have been just one more thing the bar owner couldn't take. He strode up, pistol in hand, and said "You boys ain't done yet." Ryan explained that we had fulfilled our obligation and we had a long drive that we needed to get going on. The pistol quickly found its way straight into Ryan's chest and the owner reiterated, "You boys ain't done yet. I've got paying customers and they need music." Who could argue.
So there we were for another hour and a half. Held at gun point playing "Mary Jane's Last Dance" for what seemed to be the hundredth time. It was 3 a.m. and I physically couldn't play anymore. Six hours of music sitting in front of an open and unfinished fireplace that had been pushing the ice cold mountain air into me for about half that time. I started packing up my stuff. Ryan and the bass player, Steve, were so terrified by this that they went into an acoustic set of songs in hopes of distracting the bar owner from my decision. Soon though, all three of us had stopped and the bar owner approached once more. He informed us that he was pleased with our music, but that we could not leave the bar, nor could anyone else.
The police had blockaded the top of the hill after the gunshots were heard by a neighbor. There was no leaving. So there we were talking to a man holding a loaded pistol that had once been pointed into Ryans chest. Discussing his tours in Vietnam, looking at the degrees he had obtained from the University of Kentucky (he had a few), and looking at his certification as Justice of the Peace. As he saw it he was the law in 'The Hollow' no matter who thought differently. Finally, at some unknown hour of the morning, the bar owner disappeared into the bathroom. We quickly grabbed our money and headed for the van.
There was no wasting time. We could see blue flashing lights at the top of the hill and so we followed the old trucker's advice from earlier and headed down the hill to Pine Knot. We raced down the dirt road and followed the trucker's directions as fast as we could away from Jellico.
I'm sure I've forgotten a few things here and there. But you can probably see why my memory of Jellico isn't all that fond.
A friend of the band's lead singer, Ryan, who primarily booked male revues decided to try and give us a hand with booking shows and got us a gig at a place called 'The Rooster Scratch' in Jellico, TN. So, we got our directions and headed out there on a Saturday afternoon. What we knew was that Jellico was likely a small town without much going on - we understood this as a requirement for any place that would hire a band that played nothing but bar songs. Tom Petty, Hank Williams, Zeppelin and the Stones were all prerequisites. What we didn't know is that our friend the booking agent had absolutely no idea where he was sending us, nor did he bother to invest even 5 minutes of his time to research the matter.
Jellico is about an hour or so north of Knoxville up I-75 and is situated in the Appalachian foothills just before you get into Kentucky. We had a good four hour drive from Murfreesboro to think a little about how we had gotten the gig and pretty much unanimously decided that the worst it could be was a hole in the wall pseudo-strip club and that everything would be fine.
Upon reaching the interstate exit for Jellico, we made our first mistake. We took a right off the exit instead of a left but, to our credit, we were in the middle of nowhere, we were confused and we were just a bit frightened about how far into the back country we were traveling. As we drove east from the interstate, we could tell relatively quickly that we were going in the wrong direction and decided it would be best if we turned around. Shortly after this realization, we noticed a gravel pull-around driveway in which we could make our course correction. Just passed the edge of the drive was a small trailer, which was obscured behind a mass of rusted, engineless and totally useless old cars. This, we would find, was mistake number two.
As we pulled around in our van, Ryan decided to stop and look at the map to see where we had gone wrong. I protested the idea of sitting in this strange driveway, in a strange town, in the middle of nowhere, that most likely belonged to a strange man, as much as I could, but Ryan was not interested. Just as Ryan was pulling out his map, out came the strange man in ownership of the previously mentioned driveway from behind one of the dilapidated vehicles. Overalls? Check. White shirt, a short haircut and, most notably, ears torn in a pattern that was once a series of piercings completed his look.
Upon seeing him ambling up in the side view mirror, I immediately asked Ryan to hit the gas and get out of there. Ryan, however, thought that it would be a great idea to ask this guy where 'The Rooster Scratch' was. So there we sat as the owner of the spot we were sitting on approached. He slammed his fist on the side door of the van twice as he walked up to my window. I rolled my window down, though I didn't want to, and the man said, "Ya'll need to get off of ma' yard. You can't turn around here." Ryan agreed to this request, but then proceeded to explain our predicament and asked whether he knew where 'The Rooster Scratch' was.
"I haven't been there since I was fifteen," said the man. Now there was some good news. "Seems like you'd be goin' the wrong way though. It's on the other side of the highway, in Jellico." Progress, at last. At least the man was much more friendly than appearances would lead you to believe. How do we get there? We all wondered. And he answered, "Hmmm ... How to explain this to foreigners ..." Yes, he said foreigners. The majority of the above exchange is less quotes and more 'the general idea'. That last bit is verbatim.
This kind gentleman eventually described to us, in detail, how to get to the Rooster Scratch. We were on our way.
There's really not much to tell of our journey for at least a little while. We went up a hill, and back down, and what we found was indeed a small bar called The Rooster Scratch.
All outward appearances were of a down-to-earth country bar where the good ol' boys and gals passed the time after a hard day of work. People were laughing and talking about gossip, of which we knew nothing. It was comforting to be somewhere normal as a change from the last hour of our lives which had seemed so bizarre.
We set up our gear. We ate. We drank a few beers with the bar owner, his wife and some of his friends. When we started playing, all seemed right at The Rooster Scratch. The people loved the music; they were even dancing, laughing and still probably gossiping about their neighbors (though in much louder tones due to the sweet sounds of CCR, Tom Petty, etc.).
The first set went off without a hitch and we took a short break and went into the other side of the bar where some people were staying to watch college football. The Vols were playing. This was a period during which they weren't doing so well and they were losing. Being in east Tennessee, I thought that this surely meant a rough night was ahead of us. People can get a little rowdy when their team is down, and UT fans are no exception with a few beers in them (or not). But wouldn't you know it, everyone there was a Kentucky fan. I thought to myself: surely this is a sign that the trouble is over and I have nothing more to worry about...
After the second set, we took a break outside. It was getting really cold, but it was good to get out of the bar and away from some of the other local characters, which included: a trucker telling us how to get to Pine Knot and how that would be faster than getting back to I-75, a drunken gay guy who was taking my picture every few minutes, and a man who insisted that he was cool and not backwards like the rest of Jellico whose only proof of this was that he knew who Green Day and Nickelback were. As we stood outside, we joked about how weird the gig had been and even ended up singing a few t-shirts and hats with The Rooster Scratch logo on them. We returned to the bar for what was to be our third and final set.
As we finished this set, the bartender walked up to us. He was of average height, well above average weight, and dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. He had a thick grey beard, thick grey hair, and a truckers hat on. Tucked into his shirt, it's tiny and whiskered head poking out, was some sort of toy terrier dog with fur to match the bar owners. He offered us another $150 to play for another hour (it was already midnight) and we agreed.
This is where it got crazy. First, there was a minor scuffle towards the back of the bar because one man felt his wife was being eyed a little too much by another patron. The man with eyes for a married woman was taken care of quickly and thrown outside. I'm not sure that he liked this very much because he came back in and picked a fight with a certain large gentleman who had escorted him out by sucker punching him in the jaw. This is something the bar owner simply could not tolerate. So he took out his pistol, pointed it at the man, and calmly asked him to leave his bar. There wasn't much protest in the eyes of the man on the other side of the gun.
This is something I'd never seen before. A gun in a bar is not necessarily a legal thing ... let alone a smart thing. I should say that during this astonishing turn of events we did not stop playing. Why? Because the man with the gun told us not to.
Minutes later, for no reason that I can tell you, my attention was turned away from my drumming as I watched the bar owner take out the pistol once more and chase a woman out of the bar with it. This warranted stopping. We soon heard a car door shut, followed by two gun shots. The bartender had shot the windows out of the womans car as she tried to leave the bar to drive drunk. The bartender's wife walked up to us quickly and told us we'd better start playing again. We managed through a few more songs, but it was already 1:30 a.m. and well past our time to leave.
The stop in the music must have been just one more thing the bar owner couldn't take. He strode up, pistol in hand, and said "You boys ain't done yet." Ryan explained that we had fulfilled our obligation and we had a long drive that we needed to get going on. The pistol quickly found its way straight into Ryan's chest and the owner reiterated, "You boys ain't done yet. I've got paying customers and they need music." Who could argue.
So there we were for another hour and a half. Held at gun point playing "Mary Jane's Last Dance" for what seemed to be the hundredth time. It was 3 a.m. and I physically couldn't play anymore. Six hours of music sitting in front of an open and unfinished fireplace that had been pushing the ice cold mountain air into me for about half that time. I started packing up my stuff. Ryan and the bass player, Steve, were so terrified by this that they went into an acoustic set of songs in hopes of distracting the bar owner from my decision. Soon though, all three of us had stopped and the bar owner approached once more. He informed us that he was pleased with our music, but that we could not leave the bar, nor could anyone else.
The police had blockaded the top of the hill after the gunshots were heard by a neighbor. There was no leaving. So there we were talking to a man holding a loaded pistol that had once been pointed into Ryans chest. Discussing his tours in Vietnam, looking at the degrees he had obtained from the University of Kentucky (he had a few), and looking at his certification as Justice of the Peace. As he saw it he was the law in 'The Hollow' no matter who thought differently. Finally, at some unknown hour of the morning, the bar owner disappeared into the bathroom. We quickly grabbed our money and headed for the van.
There was no wasting time. We could see blue flashing lights at the top of the hill and so we followed the old trucker's advice from earlier and headed down the hill to Pine Knot. We raced down the dirt road and followed the trucker's directions as fast as we could away from Jellico.
I'm sure I've forgotten a few things here and there. But you can probably see why my memory of Jellico isn't all that fond.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Hollywood Movie Magic
Just a few thoughts for the day, all of which pertain to movies:
1) They should have just called Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen should've just been called 'Transformers 2: Remember How Hot Megan Fox Is?'. It's not that she's even really such a huge part of the movie; it's just that her looks are pretty much the best part of that movie.
2) The Goonies. I just don't really get into this movie. You know, if these stupid f'ing kids would just talk a little more quietly and not let Data use his gadgets, they totally would've gotten away from the Fratelli's who pretty much consisted of a fat old lady and two middle-aged idiots. Criminal masterminds, they were not. Keep in mind they were outwitted and defeated by their own retarded cohort. Seriously.
Also, the guy that played Data had one other notable role - he was in Encino Man with Pauly Shore and ... Sean Astin. Clearly Sean owed him a favor at the time. Too bad they didn't need an Asian hobbit.
UPDATE: Apparently he was also Shortround in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. That's pretty bad ass, but the above statement still applies.
1) They should have just called Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen should've just been called 'Transformers 2: Remember How Hot Megan Fox Is?'. It's not that she's even really such a huge part of the movie; it's just that her looks are pretty much the best part of that movie.
2) The Goonies. I just don't really get into this movie. You know, if these stupid f'ing kids would just talk a little more quietly and not let Data use his gadgets, they totally would've gotten away from the Fratelli's who pretty much consisted of a fat old lady and two middle-aged idiots. Criminal masterminds, they were not. Keep in mind they were outwitted and defeated by their own retarded cohort. Seriously.
Also, the guy that played Data had one other notable role - he was in Encino Man with Pauly Shore and ... Sean Astin. Clearly Sean owed him a favor at the time. Too bad they didn't need an Asian hobbit.
UPDATE: Apparently he was also Shortround in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. That's pretty bad ass, but the above statement still applies.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Mythical creatures, redux
It's not necessarily laziness that's prompting me to bring back old blog posts. You see, many of these are stuck on MySpace. You know: the place for friends? Well, it was the place for friends until Facebook took over. Anyway, I think I've gotten better at writing, but I don't see any reason to edit my stupid ranting. Okay. Here goes nothing.
[Jan. 7, 2008]
I was driving back from playing a show in Knoxville on I-40 this weekend and I noticed a strange sign for a state park. I can't remember the name, but it's not really important. The sign had all of your standard icons for a state park. Fishing - check. Camping -check. Picnic Tables - check. But it did have one thing that was just slightly strange to me. One of the icons displayed was a question mark, and, though I'm sure they didn't mean anything by it, it got me thinking about what a question mark could really mean.
There's no real reason to put it there just to indicate that not all parts of the park have been fully explored. That is kind of understandable given the amount of land that is in a decent sized park. There's not really any rational explanation for the icon.
An irrational explanation for the question mark would be that there is a dragon there, and here's why:
1) Given that they are mythical in origin, dragons really shouldn't exist. It'd be a befuddling find to say the least. Certainly warranting a WTF question mark.
2) If you did find a dragon there and weren't befuddled completely, it would be in the best interest of the park not to put a dragon icon on the sign. No one in their right mind would go to a park with a live dragon running around. The park would be closed, and most likely would burn down anyways (you know, due to fire breathing). In this case the question mark is an omission of information AND a warning. You're not saying there's a dragon, but you're certainly not saying there couldn't be one hanging around toasting gigantic marshmallows.
These two arguments could be used for Sasquatch as well. Reason number three for him is that you wouldn't want a bunch of stupid people trying to trap him, so it'd be best not to clue the world into his existence with a sign on the interstate. Be courteous, he could be on vacation at the time share and all of the sudden he's gotta worry about being in the Enquirer again ... or worse yet trapped and put on display. Try telling your wife you're late because some idiot tranq'ed you and put you in a zoo and see if she believes it. Didn't think so.
[Jan. 7, 2008]
I was driving back from playing a show in Knoxville on I-40 this weekend and I noticed a strange sign for a state park. I can't remember the name, but it's not really important. The sign had all of your standard icons for a state park. Fishing - check. Camping -check. Picnic Tables - check. But it did have one thing that was just slightly strange to me. One of the icons displayed was a question mark, and, though I'm sure they didn't mean anything by it, it got me thinking about what a question mark could really mean.
There's no real reason to put it there just to indicate that not all parts of the park have been fully explored. That is kind of understandable given the amount of land that is in a decent sized park. There's not really any rational explanation for the icon.
An irrational explanation for the question mark would be that there is a dragon there, and here's why:
1) Given that they are mythical in origin, dragons really shouldn't exist. It'd be a befuddling find to say the least. Certainly warranting a WTF question mark.
2) If you did find a dragon there and weren't befuddled completely, it would be in the best interest of the park not to put a dragon icon on the sign. No one in their right mind would go to a park with a live dragon running around. The park would be closed, and most likely would burn down anyways (you know, due to fire breathing). In this case the question mark is an omission of information AND a warning. You're not saying there's a dragon, but you're certainly not saying there couldn't be one hanging around toasting gigantic marshmallows.
These two arguments could be used for Sasquatch as well. Reason number three for him is that you wouldn't want a bunch of stupid people trying to trap him, so it'd be best not to clue the world into his existence with a sign on the interstate. Be courteous, he could be on vacation at the time share and all of the sudden he's gotta worry about being in the Enquirer again ... or worse yet trapped and put on display. Try telling your wife you're late because some idiot tranq'ed you and put you in a zoo and see if she believes it. Didn't think so.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Peas in a pod
Some things just go well together. Peanut butter and jelly, movies and popcorn ... well, I can't think of other things right now, but they're out there. Some of these things that I can't currently think of are stereotypes. Oh! Like politicians and lying. Stereotypical pair, they are, and some times pairs such as these are proven to go beyond the stereotype and in to real life. This exact thing happened today when ESPN ran this story about a NASCAR driver getting busted for being a meth-head. NASCAR and rednecks go together better than just about anything, and you know rednecks love meth. After all, that's why every time I get a cold and can't breathe I have to show my ID and get put in the 'system'.
To anyone who might be a redneck or might be a fan of NASCAR (sorry for the redundancy there, but you never know), I do not apologize. You can't make this kind of thing up - it's just too good!
To anyone who might be a redneck or might be a fan of NASCAR (sorry for the redundancy there, but you never know), I do not apologize. You can't make this kind of thing up - it's just too good!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Finding a balance ...
The hype machine in our culture could most adequately be compared to a military tank. It mows over anything in the way of its own agenda, making sure that, whether you ever believe it, you will at least get the message.
I say this because I just watched the movie Equilibrium and it summarily beats any of the three Matrix movies, and the more current Wanted, in every way possible. Somehow, though, this is more of a cult film than it is a mainstream success. It is, in fact, about as far from a success as any movie in history. We're talking box office of just over $1 million. The end credits of this movie cost that, not to mention the stunning gun fight scenes and the fees for getting Christian Bale to be in your movie. Even in 2002 that guy had to have been pulling a good bit of money for roles.
The three Matrix crapfests all easily cleared the $100 million mark, and yet these are bad, maybe even terrible movies. Wanted is certainly not a terrible movie, but it's also by no means special. James McAvoy isn't that interesting of an actor, Angelina Jolie is great eye candy but I've seen Tomb Raider and her character's not that much different in this one and Morgan Freeman is ... well, he's the same dude in almost every movie he's ever taken.
I know I'm late to the game watching Equilibrium, but I'm blown away by the disparity between the movie's quality and its success in the mainstream (or lack of it, rather).
It's that and the fact that I really felt that I needed to post something this week since I've been slacking off of late.
I say this because I just watched the movie Equilibrium and it summarily beats any of the three Matrix movies, and the more current Wanted, in every way possible. Somehow, though, this is more of a cult film than it is a mainstream success. It is, in fact, about as far from a success as any movie in history. We're talking box office of just over $1 million. The end credits of this movie cost that, not to mention the stunning gun fight scenes and the fees for getting Christian Bale to be in your movie. Even in 2002 that guy had to have been pulling a good bit of money for roles.
The three Matrix crapfests all easily cleared the $100 million mark, and yet these are bad, maybe even terrible movies. Wanted is certainly not a terrible movie, but it's also by no means special. James McAvoy isn't that interesting of an actor, Angelina Jolie is great eye candy but I've seen Tomb Raider and her character's not that much different in this one and Morgan Freeman is ... well, he's the same dude in almost every movie he's ever taken.
I know I'm late to the game watching Equilibrium, but I'm blown away by the disparity between the movie's quality and its success in the mainstream (or lack of it, rather).
It's that and the fact that I really felt that I needed to post something this week since I've been slacking off of late.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Revolutionary Times
This weekend has been filled with camping, cycling and, of course, fireworks. It is the Fourth of July, after all. So here's the tally:
35 miles of trail ridden
17 mosquito bites (and I used repellent)
12 assorted cuts and bruises
50 dollars worth of fireworks
3 black bears
Three black bears in one day, actually. The first one was down in a ravine and safely away from those of us who were on the trail. The second was a very large animal that ran across the trail in front of us about one mile from camp. This large animal stopped us in our tracks and had our adrenaline pumping, for sure. The third was smaller, maybe a/the cub of the larger bear and was sitting behind a tree watching us talk about the aforementioned second bear.
Naturally, as soon as we said bear number three, we started booking it down the trail - an epic downhill called Thunder Rock - and away from potential danger. The whole way down, all I could think is that we were at some bizarro Showbiz Pizza and the Rock-afire Explosion band had just taken one too many hits of acid and gone completely crazy. You remember those guys, right? I just wish our bears could get together and play this tune.
By the way ... is that drummer a dog, or a bear? I really can't tell what they were going for there).
35 miles of trail ridden
17 mosquito bites (and I used repellent)
12 assorted cuts and bruises
50 dollars worth of fireworks
3 black bears
Three black bears in one day, actually. The first one was down in a ravine and safely away from those of us who were on the trail. The second was a very large animal that ran across the trail in front of us about one mile from camp. This large animal stopped us in our tracks and had our adrenaline pumping, for sure. The third was smaller, maybe a/the cub of the larger bear and was sitting behind a tree watching us talk about the aforementioned second bear.
Naturally, as soon as we said bear number three, we started booking it down the trail - an epic downhill called Thunder Rock - and away from potential danger. The whole way down, all I could think is that we were at some bizarro Showbiz Pizza and the Rock-afire Explosion band had just taken one too many hits of acid and gone completely crazy. You remember those guys, right? I just wish our bears could get together and play this tune.
By the way ... is that drummer a dog, or a bear? I really can't tell what they were going for there).
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