Movie News
Big Fish
(Ewan McGregor, Jessica Lange) 2003: 93%
Dead Reckoning
(Humphrey Bogart, Lizabeth Scott) 1947: 90%
There's Something About Mary
(Ben Stiller, Cameron Diaz) 1998: 82%
Meet the Parents
(Ben Stiller, Robert De Niro, Owen Wilson) 2000: 81%
Action in the North Atlantic
(Humphrey Bogart, Alan Hale) 1943: 75%
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Highpoints of the United States
Numerous people have climbed the highest peaks in all 50 states (or hills, as the case may be), and I used to think that it was something I wanted to try, you know, just so I could tell people, "Oh yeah, I've not only been to all fifty states, I've climbed to the highest point in every state." That ought to make the ladies go wild (or something). I recently found a book at the library called Highpoints of the United States, and after a few minutes of reading, I decided that it's not really something I want to do, mainly because it would be a terrible waste of time. Travel all the way to Florida to ascend 345 feet? No thanks.
Numerous people have climbed the highest peaks in all 50 states (or hills, as the case may be), and I used to think that it was something I wanted to try, you know, just so I could tell people, "Oh yeah, I've not only been to all fifty states, I've climbed to the highest point in every state." That ought to make the ladies go wild (or something). I recently found a book at the library called Highpoints of the United States, and after a few minutes of reading, I decided that it's not really something I want to do, mainly because it would be a terrible waste of time. Travel all the way to Florida to ascend 345 feet? No thanks.
I Hope I Don't Kill Anyone While I'm Driving
On Thursday I tore my last right contact. I had visited the optometrist the day before, and he adjusted my prescription and ordered a new box, but it won't arrive until next Wednesday. Until then I'll have to rely on my glasses, which is a very bad thing: the lenses are a few years old, and my prescription has changed since then. If that wasn't bad enough, the lenses are scratched and create a terrible glare when I'm outside. So far, driving has been irritating because I usually drive at times when the sun is right in my eyes (i.e. 8:00 AM and 4:30 PM) and I can't wear my sunglasses. If I accidentally run over someone or fail to stop at a red light, everyone will know why.
On Thursday I tore my last right contact. I had visited the optometrist the day before, and he adjusted my prescription and ordered a new box, but it won't arrive until next Wednesday. Until then I'll have to rely on my glasses, which is a very bad thing: the lenses are a few years old, and my prescription has changed since then. If that wasn't bad enough, the lenses are scratched and create a terrible glare when I'm outside. So far, driving has been irritating because I usually drive at times when the sun is right in my eyes (i.e. 8:00 AM and 4:30 PM) and I can't wear my sunglasses. If I accidentally run over someone or fail to stop at a red light, everyone will know why.
Friday, October 29, 2004
Billy Responds
Today Billy Corgan posted a short narrative of his recent book signings, including the one Joe and I attended in Denver, on his site (BillyCorgan.com). It's pretty cool to read about the evening's events from his perspective:
“. . . When we got to the book signing, we went upstairs in this massive place . . . I had only been signing for about 5 minutes when the fire alarm went off! At first, we didn't know what to do so I kept signing . . . ("he signed his books in flames") . . . after a minute of the wa-wa-wa-wa the man said we had to get out, that it was a real alarm . . . now here is the amazing part . . . all the fans went out of the store single file, everyone respecting everyone’s place in line . . . after we got an all clear, everyone went back in, again keeping their places and we started up where we left off . . . the staff of the store told me they were amazed at how well the crowd dealt with the situation, and no one took the opportunity to make off with my book for free . . . no surprise to me, of course. My cold/flu had now reached the point of full on no voice, so I had them make a sign that simply said:
I Have Laryngitis
I Am Sorry I Cannot Talk
I Love You
Whenever someone would ask me a question, I would just point to the sign . . . a couple of times people said really nice things, so I just pointed to the "I love you" part . . . Back to the show at Jake’s Crack Den . . . my laryngitis had now set in so bad that I could barely talk at all, which meant no singing at all . . . I was bummed as it threw off the show we had planned, plus, I could barely read the poems . . . Anyway, dear Denver, you always leave a mark . . . God bless you, that's all I got to say . . .”
Today Billy Corgan posted a short narrative of his recent book signings, including the one Joe and I attended in Denver, on his site (BillyCorgan.com). It's pretty cool to read about the evening's events from his perspective:
“. . . When we got to the book signing, we went upstairs in this massive place . . . I had only been signing for about 5 minutes when the fire alarm went off! At first, we didn't know what to do so I kept signing . . . ("he signed his books in flames") . . . after a minute of the wa-wa-wa-wa the man said we had to get out, that it was a real alarm . . . now here is the amazing part . . . all the fans went out of the store single file, everyone respecting everyone’s place in line . . . after we got an all clear, everyone went back in, again keeping their places and we started up where we left off . . . the staff of the store told me they were amazed at how well the crowd dealt with the situation, and no one took the opportunity to make off with my book for free . . . no surprise to me, of course. My cold/flu had now reached the point of full on no voice, so I had them make a sign that simply said:
I Have Laryngitis
I Am Sorry I Cannot Talk
I Love You
Whenever someone would ask me a question, I would just point to the sign . . . a couple of times people said really nice things, so I just pointed to the "I love you" part . . . Back to the show at Jake’s Crack Den . . . my laryngitis had now set in so bad that I could barely talk at all, which meant no singing at all . . . I was bummed as it threw off the show we had planned, plus, I could barely read the poems . . . Anyway, dear Denver, you always leave a mark . . . God bless you, that's all I got to say . . .”
Monday, October 25, 2004
My Optometrist Appointment is Wednesday
I was turning onto a street near our neighborhood and I thought I saw my brother in his car at a stop sign. I smiled and waved, but as I approached I realized that it wasn't Joe in the car; it was an Asian guy, and he gave me a bewildered look and waved back. The realization startled and distracted me so much that I came very close to smacking into a curb. I laughed all the way to my house.
I was turning onto a street near our neighborhood and I thought I saw my brother in his car at a stop sign. I smiled and waved, but as I approached I realized that it wasn't Joe in the car; it was an Asian guy, and he gave me a bewildered look and waved back. The realization startled and distracted me so much that I came very close to smacking into a curb. I laughed all the way to my house.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
“. . . Strangers Down the Line . . .”
Billy Corgan Book Signing
The Tattered Cover, Denver CO
10-23-04
Joe and I left at 3:30 yesterday afternoon for Denver. The drive was hectic, since it was just about rush hour when we arrived on the outskirts of the city. We found a parking place and walked a few blocks to the Tattered Cover bookstore. *Side note: downtown Denver rocks!* I had been to the book store last summer with my Dad, my sister, Joe, and my old pal Jared, and it is a truly awesome place to hang out (you know, if you are the literary type).
We went upstairs and found a line of tape on the floor leading into the “Event Room.” The room was full of people sitting on the floor; it looked like a line for a ride at an amusement park. We waited for over two hours before the signing began, and luckily I brought along some homework. Poor Joe just played with his cell phone the whole time and cracked jokes about Tibetan love slaves (don’t ask).
At 6:30 PM, a Tattered Cover employee came onstage and told us that he had good news and bad news. The good news: Billy would arrive at 7:00 PM for the signing as planned. The bad news: he had a bad case of laryngitis, and he couldn’t talk. A friend of his would read his poetry aloud at the Soiled Dove immediately following the signing, but Billy would not be able to perform any songs. To say the least, I was very disappointed. We soon heard grumblings nearby that the Soiled Dove only allowed people ages 21 and up to enter. Joe called the place on his cell phone and confirmed it. He was extremely upset. We finally had a chance to see Billy perform live, and Joe wouldn’t even be allowed to enter the building, and Billy had laryngitis! Since it wouldn’t be much fun to go to the show alone and leave Joe to sit in the car, I decided that our only option was to go home after the signing.
At 7:00 Billy came out of a back room led by a few Tattered Cover employees and his personal entourage. Everyone in line began to cheer. He was dressed in an overcoat and a beanie (I hate that word), and as he walked he wrapped a scarf around his neck. He sat down at a desk in the middle of the stage, and the signing began. The setup was interesting: on one side of the desk stood the manager of the Tattered Cover, and on the opposite side an employee and a rather burly fellow who appeared to be Billy’s bodyguard. Behind Billy sat a Tibetan woman dressed in a red silk kimono-type dress (sorry, I really have no understanding of Tibetan fashion). She has been touring with him, and I’ve heard that she is an amazing singer. When it was the next fan’s turn in line, they handed their copy of Blinking with Fists to the bodyguard, and he passed it to Billy. Billy then opened the book and signed it as the fan passed in front of the desk and said a few words to him. Since he had laryngitis, Billy only whispered to a few people, and he acknowledged others with a nod or a smile.
BC at Harvard bookstore in Boston last week
(no photos online of Tattered Cover signing yet)
After he had signed five books or so, the building’s fire alarm suddenly went off. The siren was terribly loud, and lights flashed everywhere. Billy and his bodyguard looked concerned, but he kept signing for two more minutes or so while the store manager ran to investigate. I didn’t see any sign of smoke, so I wasn’t worried, but I imagined a headline reading: “Five-Hundred People Die in Bookstore Fire.” Everyone in line around us began to freak out, not about the possibility of dying, but rather the fear that they would lose their place in line. At that point, Joe and I were only about twenty people away from the front of the line, and if we had to evacuate, we would surely lose our place. In another minute, the Tattered Cover employees began walking down the line informing everyone that we had to evacuate. We proceeded outside single-file and waited for a good fifteen minutes out in the cold until they confirmed that it was just a false alarm (we later hypothesized that someone at the end of the line might have pulled the alarm in an attempt to reach the front of the line. A clever, if despicable plan). Theoretically, we should have made it back into the building in the same order we exited, but when we re-entered the Event Room, that was clearly not the case: instead of being behind twenty people, we were now behind about eighty. So much for showing up two hours early.
When it was our turn, I handed the book to the bodyguard and stepped in front of the desk. For the past ten minutes I had been frantically trying to come up with something wonderfully original to say. In actuality, for the past month I had been pondering it, but what could I say to someone who has doubtlessly heard all forms of praise from thousands of fans over the years? When I was directly in front of him, he was signing my book, then he looked up at me. Predictably, I immediately became a nearly incoherent fool. I muttered something about it being amazing that he was here, then I basically told him that his music had influenced me greatly over the years, and I said thanks for everything. He smiled and nodded at me. Joe was a bit smoother: he said, “Your Gravity Demos have been an inspiration and a huge influence on my own music.” Billy’s reaction was great! He gave Joe a very surprised look and grinned. Billy’s Gravity Demos are a series of extremely rare instrumental versions of Smashing Pumpkins songs recorded before the Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness album, and I managed to acquire them a year or two ago. I’m sure that of the hundreds of people at the signing, only ten or fifteen had ever even heard of the Gravity Demos, so it’s no wonder that Billy appeared surprised. I had really wanted to prove that I wasn’t just some goofy kid who bought Siamese Dream five years ago, listened to it once, and then just decided to come to the signing on a whim. I wanted to show him that I was a true fan! But unfortunately we only had a few seconds to speak to him. Oh, for the chance to sit down for an hour and chat . . . oh well. Yes, I know I am very pitiful, and I won’t try to hide that fact.
We left the bookstore and drove home. I was disappointed that we couldn’t see him perform live, but in a way everything worked out for the best: I’ve had a bad cold all week, and I had to work today and study for a test, so it’s best that I wasn’t out until 2 AM. Besides, he’s finishing up his solo album, and when it’s released next year, he’ll hopefully stop in Colorado on his tour.
Billy Corgan Book Signing
The Tattered Cover, Denver CO
10-23-04
Joe and I left at 3:30 yesterday afternoon for Denver. The drive was hectic, since it was just about rush hour when we arrived on the outskirts of the city. We found a parking place and walked a few blocks to the Tattered Cover bookstore. *Side note: downtown Denver rocks!* I had been to the book store last summer with my Dad, my sister, Joe, and my old pal Jared, and it is a truly awesome place to hang out (you know, if you are the literary type).
We went upstairs and found a line of tape on the floor leading into the “Event Room.” The room was full of people sitting on the floor; it looked like a line for a ride at an amusement park. We waited for over two hours before the signing began, and luckily I brought along some homework. Poor Joe just played with his cell phone the whole time and cracked jokes about Tibetan love slaves (don’t ask).
At 6:30 PM, a Tattered Cover employee came onstage and told us that he had good news and bad news. The good news: Billy would arrive at 7:00 PM for the signing as planned. The bad news: he had a bad case of laryngitis, and he couldn’t talk. A friend of his would read his poetry aloud at the Soiled Dove immediately following the signing, but Billy would not be able to perform any songs. To say the least, I was very disappointed. We soon heard grumblings nearby that the Soiled Dove only allowed people ages 21 and up to enter. Joe called the place on his cell phone and confirmed it. He was extremely upset. We finally had a chance to see Billy perform live, and Joe wouldn’t even be allowed to enter the building, and Billy had laryngitis! Since it wouldn’t be much fun to go to the show alone and leave Joe to sit in the car, I decided that our only option was to go home after the signing.
At 7:00 Billy came out of a back room led by a few Tattered Cover employees and his personal entourage. Everyone in line began to cheer. He was dressed in an overcoat and a beanie (I hate that word), and as he walked he wrapped a scarf around his neck. He sat down at a desk in the middle of the stage, and the signing began. The setup was interesting: on one side of the desk stood the manager of the Tattered Cover, and on the opposite side an employee and a rather burly fellow who appeared to be Billy’s bodyguard. Behind Billy sat a Tibetan woman dressed in a red silk kimono-type dress (sorry, I really have no understanding of Tibetan fashion). She has been touring with him, and I’ve heard that she is an amazing singer. When it was the next fan’s turn in line, they handed their copy of Blinking with Fists to the bodyguard, and he passed it to Billy. Billy then opened the book and signed it as the fan passed in front of the desk and said a few words to him. Since he had laryngitis, Billy only whispered to a few people, and he acknowledged others with a nod or a smile.
BC at Harvard bookstore in Boston last week
(no photos online of Tattered Cover signing yet)
After he had signed five books or so, the building’s fire alarm suddenly went off. The siren was terribly loud, and lights flashed everywhere. Billy and his bodyguard looked concerned, but he kept signing for two more minutes or so while the store manager ran to investigate. I didn’t see any sign of smoke, so I wasn’t worried, but I imagined a headline reading: “Five-Hundred People Die in Bookstore Fire.” Everyone in line around us began to freak out, not about the possibility of dying, but rather the fear that they would lose their place in line. At that point, Joe and I were only about twenty people away from the front of the line, and if we had to evacuate, we would surely lose our place. In another minute, the Tattered Cover employees began walking down the line informing everyone that we had to evacuate. We proceeded outside single-file and waited for a good fifteen minutes out in the cold until they confirmed that it was just a false alarm (we later hypothesized that someone at the end of the line might have pulled the alarm in an attempt to reach the front of the line. A clever, if despicable plan). Theoretically, we should have made it back into the building in the same order we exited, but when we re-entered the Event Room, that was clearly not the case: instead of being behind twenty people, we were now behind about eighty. So much for showing up two hours early.
When it was our turn, I handed the book to the bodyguard and stepped in front of the desk. For the past ten minutes I had been frantically trying to come up with something wonderfully original to say. In actuality, for the past month I had been pondering it, but what could I say to someone who has doubtlessly heard all forms of praise from thousands of fans over the years? When I was directly in front of him, he was signing my book, then he looked up at me. Predictably, I immediately became a nearly incoherent fool. I muttered something about it being amazing that he was here, then I basically told him that his music had influenced me greatly over the years, and I said thanks for everything. He smiled and nodded at me. Joe was a bit smoother: he said, “Your Gravity Demos have been an inspiration and a huge influence on my own music.” Billy’s reaction was great! He gave Joe a very surprised look and grinned. Billy’s Gravity Demos are a series of extremely rare instrumental versions of Smashing Pumpkins songs recorded before the Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness album, and I managed to acquire them a year or two ago. I’m sure that of the hundreds of people at the signing, only ten or fifteen had ever even heard of the Gravity Demos, so it’s no wonder that Billy appeared surprised. I had really wanted to prove that I wasn’t just some goofy kid who bought Siamese Dream five years ago, listened to it once, and then just decided to come to the signing on a whim. I wanted to show him that I was a true fan! But unfortunately we only had a few seconds to speak to him. Oh, for the chance to sit down for an hour and chat . . . oh well. Yes, I know I am very pitiful, and I won’t try to hide that fact.
We left the bookstore and drove home. I was disappointed that we couldn’t see him perform live, but in a way everything worked out for the best: I’ve had a bad cold all week, and I had to work today and study for a test, so it’s best that I wasn’t out until 2 AM. Besides, he’s finishing up his solo album, and when it’s released next year, he’ll hopefully stop in Colorado on his tour.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
My Freakin' Wonderful Life at UCCS
I'm frustrated with my classes this semester.
Really, really, terribly, awfully frustrated.
Since I transferred in late, I had a terrible selection, and all my classes are freshman level. It's demeaning enough for me, a junior, to have to take a full load of freshman classes, but these classes are even more rudimentary than the freshman classes at John Brown University. Essentially, I feel like I'm in high school again. At JBU, I was surrounded by so many brilliant people, especially in my English classes, but now I am once again plagued by pot-smokers who only love to party and get drunk and don't give a damn about learning anything. I do admit that I have met/observed a few genuinely intelligent people.
My English class proved especially difficult to stomach today. It's hard to take most days, since I've read about 80% of the course material in other courses taught by better professors. We are currently discussing poetry, and my professor introduced the concept of iambic pentameter to the class. Very few people were able to grasp it. She was not explaining it very well, and I had to resist the urge to jump to the front of the classroom and explain it myself.
Every class period, I have to listen to students explain their own theories and interpretations of an aspect of short story, novel, or poem, and I use a great amount of strength holding in my derisive laughter. Today, for example, we read a Keats poem, and a girl kept saying that she thought it was written to a secret lover because of one ambiguous line. My professor explained no less than three times that the poem was written for Keats' fiance, a well-documented fact. The poor girl would not let go of her tenuous argument, and she wasted at least ten minutes of class time attempting to support it.
Students in the class do not seem to know anything about literary theories, philosophy, or even common literary devices necessary to discuss literature intelligently. I base that last bitter comment only on what I have observed; I suspect that a few shy people in the class may know more than they let on. I kept wanting to point out a wonderful use of synecdoche is the Keats poem, but the girl with the 'secret lover' hypothesis would not pause long enough.
I like the professor, but I'm seeing more and more how inexperienced she is. Today she read one of Shakespeare's sonnets out loud, and she paused at the end of every line, whether they were end-stopped or enjambed! I couldn't believe that a professor with a doctorate did not know how to correctly read poetry! I was nearly overwhelmed with a desire to tear the book from her hands and read it aloud myself.
I had planned to begin a discussion on the effects of high-frequency vowel sounds in Dylan Thomas' villanelle "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night," but I decided that everyone in the class would be so lost that they would think I was an idiot. So I tried my best to tune everything out, and I actually made some progress writing a sonnet. I'm not trying to say that the class is full of idiots (although there are a few). Most of them are freshmen or have never taken an English literature class in college, so I really shouldn't be so hard on them. I can't picture myself ever being that green.
I could talk about how my cultural anthropology professor has us read 80 pages in one of our textbooks every week yet never lectures or tests us over it, but I'm tired, so I won't go into all the annoying stuff in my other classes. I hope that my classes next semester will be more challenging/interesting, otherwise . . . I'll continue to suffer in silence, with occasional blog-venting.
I'm frustrated with my classes this semester.
Really, really, terribly, awfully frustrated.
Since I transferred in late, I had a terrible selection, and all my classes are freshman level. It's demeaning enough for me, a junior, to have to take a full load of freshman classes, but these classes are even more rudimentary than the freshman classes at John Brown University. Essentially, I feel like I'm in high school again. At JBU, I was surrounded by so many brilliant people, especially in my English classes, but now I am once again plagued by pot-smokers who only love to party and get drunk and don't give a damn about learning anything. I do admit that I have met/observed a few genuinely intelligent people.
My English class proved especially difficult to stomach today. It's hard to take most days, since I've read about 80% of the course material in other courses taught by better professors. We are currently discussing poetry, and my professor introduced the concept of iambic pentameter to the class. Very few people were able to grasp it. She was not explaining it very well, and I had to resist the urge to jump to the front of the classroom and explain it myself.
Every class period, I have to listen to students explain their own theories and interpretations of an aspect of short story, novel, or poem, and I use a great amount of strength holding in my derisive laughter. Today, for example, we read a Keats poem, and a girl kept saying that she thought it was written to a secret lover because of one ambiguous line. My professor explained no less than three times that the poem was written for Keats' fiance, a well-documented fact. The poor girl would not let go of her tenuous argument, and she wasted at least ten minutes of class time attempting to support it.
Students in the class do not seem to know anything about literary theories, philosophy, or even common literary devices necessary to discuss literature intelligently. I base that last bitter comment only on what I have observed; I suspect that a few shy people in the class may know more than they let on. I kept wanting to point out a wonderful use of synecdoche is the Keats poem, but the girl with the 'secret lover' hypothesis would not pause long enough.
I like the professor, but I'm seeing more and more how inexperienced she is. Today she read one of Shakespeare's sonnets out loud, and she paused at the end of every line, whether they were end-stopped or enjambed! I couldn't believe that a professor with a doctorate did not know how to correctly read poetry! I was nearly overwhelmed with a desire to tear the book from her hands and read it aloud myself.
I had planned to begin a discussion on the effects of high-frequency vowel sounds in Dylan Thomas' villanelle "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night," but I decided that everyone in the class would be so lost that they would think I was an idiot. So I tried my best to tune everything out, and I actually made some progress writing a sonnet. I'm not trying to say that the class is full of idiots (although there are a few). Most of them are freshmen or have never taken an English literature class in college, so I really shouldn't be so hard on them. I can't picture myself ever being that green.
I could talk about how my cultural anthropology professor has us read 80 pages in one of our textbooks every week yet never lectures or tests us over it, but I'm tired, so I won't go into all the annoying stuff in my other classes. I hope that my classes next semester will be more challenging/interesting, otherwise . . . I'll continue to suffer in silence, with occasional blog-venting.
Crime
I usually don't think of Colorado Springs as a high-crime city, but a few recent events have changed my mind:
My brother and few of his friends went to a steakhouse with their dates for homecoming, and as they ate dinner an unusual event occurred at the nearby Best Buy: a man entered the store, picked out a laptop, and tried to pay for it with a fake check. The cashier knew it was a fake immediately and called the police. The guy bolted out the door with the laptop . . . the story gets fuzzy here, but he basically shot and wounded two police officers, and after a brief car chase, a police officer shot and killed him. I know that computers are pretty cool, but was all of that really necessary? I don't care if it had an AMD 64 processor!
A few days ago, my parents went to a bank to work out some details on a loan (or something like that), and less than one hour after they left, a group of men armed with automatic weapons entered the lobby and (just like any movie with a bank robbery scene) they told everyone to get down on the floor, etc. etc. and made off with a few thousand dollars.
Ah, what dangerous times these are.
I usually don't think of Colorado Springs as a high-crime city, but a few recent events have changed my mind:
My brother and few of his friends went to a steakhouse with their dates for homecoming, and as they ate dinner an unusual event occurred at the nearby Best Buy: a man entered the store, picked out a laptop, and tried to pay for it with a fake check. The cashier knew it was a fake immediately and called the police. The guy bolted out the door with the laptop . . . the story gets fuzzy here, but he basically shot and wounded two police officers, and after a brief car chase, a police officer shot and killed him. I know that computers are pretty cool, but was all of that really necessary? I don't care if it had an AMD 64 processor!
A few days ago, my parents went to a bank to work out some details on a loan (or something like that), and less than one hour after they left, a group of men armed with automatic weapons entered the lobby and (just like any movie with a bank robbery scene) they told everyone to get down on the floor, etc. etc. and made off with a few thousand dollars.
Ah, what dangerous times these are.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Movie News
The Royal Tenenbaums
(Gene Hackman, Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson,
Luke Wilson, Gwyneth Paltrow, Danny Glover,
Bill Murray) 2001: 87%
The Big Sleep
(Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall) 1946: 84%
Anger Management
(Adam Sandler, Jack Nicholson) 2003: 52%
The Wolf Man
(Lon Chaney Jr., Claude Rains, Bela Lugosi) 1941: 70%
Napoleon Dynamite
(Jon Heder, Efren Ramirez) 2004: 62%
Envy
(Ben Stiller, Jack Black) 2004: 51%
The Royal Tenenbaums
(Gene Hackman, Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson,
Luke Wilson, Gwyneth Paltrow, Danny Glover,
Bill Murray) 2001: 87%
The Big Sleep
(Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall) 1946: 84%
Anger Management
(Adam Sandler, Jack Nicholson) 2003: 52%
The Wolf Man
(Lon Chaney Jr., Claude Rains, Bela Lugosi) 1941: 70%
Napoleon Dynamite
(Jon Heder, Efren Ramirez) 2004: 62%
Envy
(Ben Stiller, Jack Black) 2004: 51%
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Star Wars: Battlefront
Yesterday I bought Star Wars: Battlefront at Best Buy, brought it home, began installing it, and discovered that the CD key that came with it was invalid. I typed the CD key in literally fifty times, with all caps, no caps, etc. I went back to Best Buy, exchanged the defective copy for another copy, began installing it, and the same problem occurred. I checked the LucasArts tech support forums and noticed that dozens and dozens of people had the same problem. I e-mailed tech support, and they e-mailed me back in a few hours with a working CD key, so all is well.
The game is very cool: it's essentially Battlefield 1942 with great graphics set in the Star Wars universe. I've only played online twice so far, and I was slaughtered both times, but hopefully this weekend I'll have some spare time to practice.
I let my brother play online, and I immediately regretted it. The first thing he said was: "Can you ride Wookiees? That would be so cool to piggy-back ride a Wookiee into battle." A few minutes later: "Remember that scene in the movie where Princess Leia was on the planet Boontat? Well, I'm playing as Princess Leia right now, and I'm going to capture this command post." For the next map: "Ooh! The battle of Tangerine on Tantooine! Whoa! That guy in an Endo-Wing nearly hit me! Dude, come look at my dysentery meter! It's awesome!" I suppose I can't expect everyone to be a true Star Wars fan.
Yesterday I bought Star Wars: Battlefront at Best Buy, brought it home, began installing it, and discovered that the CD key that came with it was invalid. I typed the CD key in literally fifty times, with all caps, no caps, etc. I went back to Best Buy, exchanged the defective copy for another copy, began installing it, and the same problem occurred. I checked the LucasArts tech support forums and noticed that dozens and dozens of people had the same problem. I e-mailed tech support, and they e-mailed me back in a few hours with a working CD key, so all is well.
The game is very cool: it's essentially Battlefield 1942 with great graphics set in the Star Wars universe. I've only played online twice so far, and I was slaughtered both times, but hopefully this weekend I'll have some spare time to practice.
I let my brother play online, and I immediately regretted it. The first thing he said was: "Can you ride Wookiees? That would be so cool to piggy-back ride a Wookiee into battle." A few minutes later: "Remember that scene in the movie where Princess Leia was on the planet Boontat? Well, I'm playing as Princess Leia right now, and I'm going to capture this command post." For the next map: "Ooh! The battle of Tangerine on Tantooine! Whoa! That guy in an Endo-Wing nearly hit me! Dude, come look at my dysentery meter! It's awesome!" I suppose I can't expect everyone to be a true Star Wars fan.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
My Search for a Vehicle is Finally Over
On Monday morning, my Dad and I went to a Honda dealership downtown and browsed their inventory. I test drove a 2005 Honda Civic VP (the next-to-lowest model in the Civic line). I really liked it, so we told the salesman that we would be back sometime in the evening to discuss the price. When we returned home, my Dad called a friend of his who owns a car dealership in Texas and mentioned our trip to the Honda dealership. My Dad’s friend said that he would call the dealership and get us a lower price. At first I was more than a little skeptical: what kind of influence could a car dealer in Texas have over a Colorado dealer? My Dad’s friend, in short, was able to get the Honda dealer to waive all of their hidden “dealer handling fees” (fees of that type can often reach over $400), and he learned that they had a brand new top of the line Honda Civic EX with a little hail damage on their lot. He talked them down about $4,500 on that particular car!
That evening I had to go to work, but my parents stopped by the dealership to see the car and drove it by the library so I could see it. Since I just ran outside for a minute to check it out when I was supposed to be working, I wasn’t able to test drive it myself, but I loved the car’s appearance and told my parents that I wanted to buy it. They both assured me that it drove very well, and since I had driven a similar model that morning, I was convinced that it was what I wanted. It was pretty dark outside, but it still looked nice. The hail damage, much to my relief, was very minor: only a few bumps here and there, hardly noticeable at all.
The next day, I had to work again and my parents went to the dealership to do all of the paperwork (it took them over three hours. Ouch). My Dad put the car in his name, so my presence was not required, although I will be paying for the car myself. When the negotiations were complete, my parents dropped the car off at the library and gave me the keys. By the time I left the building at 9:00 PM, it was dark, of course, so once again I could not actually see the car very well. I hopped in and spent several minutes trying to find the headlight and mirror controls. One really cool thing: it has a sunroof, but it took me awhile to figure out how to open it . . . so many shiny buttons.
I’ll be paying the car off until I’m about 117 years old, but this is how most people buy cars (or so I’m told). I would have liked to just hand the dealer cash and be done with the whole thing, but unfortunately my savings account is rather empty as of late. It must be nice to be rich.
Since my brother works at a bank, he was able to get me a loan with an amazingly low interest rate. Also, my grandparents surprised me by sending a check to help pay for the car. So, I am quite pleased with how everything turned out. I’ve received a great amount of help from many people, and I am very thankful. I'm so glad that I will no longer have to drive my Mom to work every morning.
My brother is a little jealous. He bought a new Nissan Sentra a few months back, but when he was car-shopping he desperately wanted the same Civic that I bought (even the same color). The night I brought it home he was flipping with happiness and asked me if he could take it to the homecoming dance. Yeah, right. We drove around and listened to Ugly Casanova (why I chose that CD as the soundtrack of my first test drive I’ll never figure out). Joe spent most of the drive hanging out of the sunroof, and later we swapped places so I could take a turn. He assures me that now I'll get all the ladies. Ahh, if only a car could have such power . . .
On Monday morning, my Dad and I went to a Honda dealership downtown and browsed their inventory. I test drove a 2005 Honda Civic VP (the next-to-lowest model in the Civic line). I really liked it, so we told the salesman that we would be back sometime in the evening to discuss the price. When we returned home, my Dad called a friend of his who owns a car dealership in Texas and mentioned our trip to the Honda dealership. My Dad’s friend said that he would call the dealership and get us a lower price. At first I was more than a little skeptical: what kind of influence could a car dealer in Texas have over a Colorado dealer? My Dad’s friend, in short, was able to get the Honda dealer to waive all of their hidden “dealer handling fees” (fees of that type can often reach over $400), and he learned that they had a brand new top of the line Honda Civic EX with a little hail damage on their lot. He talked them down about $4,500 on that particular car!
That evening I had to go to work, but my parents stopped by the dealership to see the car and drove it by the library so I could see it. Since I just ran outside for a minute to check it out when I was supposed to be working, I wasn’t able to test drive it myself, but I loved the car’s appearance and told my parents that I wanted to buy it. They both assured me that it drove very well, and since I had driven a similar model that morning, I was convinced that it was what I wanted. It was pretty dark outside, but it still looked nice. The hail damage, much to my relief, was very minor: only a few bumps here and there, hardly noticeable at all.
The next day, I had to work again and my parents went to the dealership to do all of the paperwork (it took them over three hours. Ouch). My Dad put the car in his name, so my presence was not required, although I will be paying for the car myself. When the negotiations were complete, my parents dropped the car off at the library and gave me the keys. By the time I left the building at 9:00 PM, it was dark, of course, so once again I could not actually see the car very well. I hopped in and spent several minutes trying to find the headlight and mirror controls. One really cool thing: it has a sunroof, but it took me awhile to figure out how to open it . . . so many shiny buttons.
I’ll be paying the car off until I’m about 117 years old, but this is how most people buy cars (or so I’m told). I would have liked to just hand the dealer cash and be done with the whole thing, but unfortunately my savings account is rather empty as of late. It must be nice to be rich.
Since my brother works at a bank, he was able to get me a loan with an amazingly low interest rate. Also, my grandparents surprised me by sending a check to help pay for the car. So, I am quite pleased with how everything turned out. I’ve received a great amount of help from many people, and I am very thankful. I'm so glad that I will no longer have to drive my Mom to work every morning.
My brother is a little jealous. He bought a new Nissan Sentra a few months back, but when he was car-shopping he desperately wanted the same Civic that I bought (even the same color). The night I brought it home he was flipping with happiness and asked me if he could take it to the homecoming dance. Yeah, right. We drove around and listened to Ugly Casanova (why I chose that CD as the soundtrack of my first test drive I’ll never figure out). Joe spent most of the drive hanging out of the sunroof, and later we swapped places so I could take a turn. He assures me that now I'll get all the ladies. Ahh, if only a car could have such power . . .
Friday, October 08, 2004
Give Me My Money
This morning after my cultural anthropology test I drove to the library to pick up my paycheck. I walked into the switchboard room and began flipping through the box of checks on the counter and noticed that my paycheck was absent. I mentioned it to the woman at the desk, and (I'm still amazed and angered by this) she said, "do you even work here?" Her tone irritated me as much as her question, and I instantly thought of ten beautifully sarcastic responses. I had seen her around the library dozens and dozens of times, but it appeared that she had never seen me before. I assured her that I wasn't just a guy off the street, and she told me to go to the payroll office upstairs. The woman in charge of payroll informed me that she had accidentally forgotten to print a check for me. She said that she would have it ready by Saturday. Beautiful: since Monday is a holiday, I won't be able to deposit my paycheck until Tuesday. It's a good thing I don't have any large gambling debts to pay or drug addictions to satiate, otherwise I would be in trouble.
This morning after my cultural anthropology test I drove to the library to pick up my paycheck. I walked into the switchboard room and began flipping through the box of checks on the counter and noticed that my paycheck was absent. I mentioned it to the woman at the desk, and (I'm still amazed and angered by this) she said, "do you even work here?" Her tone irritated me as much as her question, and I instantly thought of ten beautifully sarcastic responses. I had seen her around the library dozens and dozens of times, but it appeared that she had never seen me before. I assured her that I wasn't just a guy off the street, and she told me to go to the payroll office upstairs. The woman in charge of payroll informed me that she had accidentally forgotten to print a check for me. She said that she would have it ready by Saturday. Beautiful: since Monday is a holiday, I won't be able to deposit my paycheck until Tuesday. It's a good thing I don't have any large gambling debts to pay or drug addictions to satiate, otherwise I would be in trouble.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Reading News
Dragon and Soldier
Timothy Zahn
79%
Despair
Vladimir Nabokov
100%
Tatooine Ghost
Troy Denning
81%
Mary
Vladimir Nabokov
83%
Dragon and Soldier
Timothy Zahn
79%
Despair
Vladimir Nabokov
100%
Tatooine Ghost
Troy Denning
81%
Mary
Vladimir Nabokov
83%
Monday, October 04, 2004
Dirty Jokes Told by Middle-Aged Women (on Accident)
Tonight I had fun at work. Well, I should say that I had fun part of the time. One of my fellow shelving pages is leaving the library to pursue . . . something, and we had a going away party for her. At the library it's a tradition for the person who is leaving to bring food for everyone else, and Jolene brought us cupcakes. As we ate, Marsha told us a story about a young boy she had seen at a department store recently. When his mother wasn't looking, the boy reached up and grabbed a mannequin's breasts and squeezed them, then he quickly walked away. Christine, my supervisor, said: "That reminds me of when Indiana Jones grabbed that statue's boobs in The Temple of Doom. He just wanted to get into her secret tunnel." We all noticed her unintentional female anatomical reference immediately. I began blushing like a third grader. My problem was that I thought that the slip was hilarious, but with three females present and only one other male in addition to myself, I didn't want to laugh too much. My withheld laughter manifested itself as watery eyes and a nice red skin color.
Tonight I had fun at work. Well, I should say that I had fun part of the time. One of my fellow shelving pages is leaving the library to pursue . . . something, and we had a going away party for her. At the library it's a tradition for the person who is leaving to bring food for everyone else, and Jolene brought us cupcakes. As we ate, Marsha told us a story about a young boy she had seen at a department store recently. When his mother wasn't looking, the boy reached up and grabbed a mannequin's breasts and squeezed them, then he quickly walked away. Christine, my supervisor, said: "That reminds me of when Indiana Jones grabbed that statue's boobs in The Temple of Doom. He just wanted to get into her secret tunnel." We all noticed her unintentional female anatomical reference immediately. I began blushing like a third grader. My problem was that I thought that the slip was hilarious, but with three females present and only one other male in addition to myself, I didn't want to laugh too much. My withheld laughter manifested itself as watery eyes and a nice red skin color.
Saturday, October 02, 2004
Blinking with Fists
Billy Corgan, lead singer of The Smashing Pumpkins, just released a new book of poems yesterday titled Blinking with Fists. And no, I have no idea at all what the title means. I've been a crazy Smashing Pumpkins fan since . . . 1995. Wow, that was quite a long time ago. My enjoyment of the band has increased in the past two or three years, and, as frightening as this may be, I'll go for entire weeks where I listen to nothing but the Smashing Pumpkins. The Smashing Pumpkins go far beyond popular rock music with their lyrics and diverse sound . . . this isn't an essay on "My Favorite Band," so I'll move on:
On October 23rd, Billy will stop by the Tattered Cover bookstore in Denver for a book signing, and after that, he'll head to the Soiled Dove for a poetry reading. I just bought a pair of tickets this morning, and Joe and I are both hopping with excitement already. It's incredible to think that I'll have a chance to meet and exchange a few words with a man whose music I've loved for a significant portion of my life.
I have not had a chance to purchase Blinking with Fists yet, but I hope to in the next week. After the poetry workshop class I took last semester, I've become a bit of a snob, so I'm not sure if I'll like it or not. I'm not such a fan that I'll accept anything he throws at me, but I definitely look forward to reading his latest work . . . and tearing it apart and writing a review (naturally).
Billy Corgan, lead singer of The Smashing Pumpkins, just released a new book of poems yesterday titled Blinking with Fists. And no, I have no idea at all what the title means. I've been a crazy Smashing Pumpkins fan since . . . 1995. Wow, that was quite a long time ago. My enjoyment of the band has increased in the past two or three years, and, as frightening as this may be, I'll go for entire weeks where I listen to nothing but the Smashing Pumpkins. The Smashing Pumpkins go far beyond popular rock music with their lyrics and diverse sound . . . this isn't an essay on "My Favorite Band," so I'll move on:
On October 23rd, Billy will stop by the Tattered Cover bookstore in Denver for a book signing, and after that, he'll head to the Soiled Dove for a poetry reading. I just bought a pair of tickets this morning, and Joe and I are both hopping with excitement already. It's incredible to think that I'll have a chance to meet and exchange a few words with a man whose music I've loved for a significant portion of my life.
I have not had a chance to purchase Blinking with Fists yet, but I hope to in the next week. After the poetry workshop class I took last semester, I've become a bit of a snob, so I'm not sure if I'll like it or not. I'm not such a fan that I'll accept anything he throws at me, but I definitely look forward to reading his latest work . . . and tearing it apart and writing a review (naturally).
Movie News
The Big Clock
(Ray Milland, Charles Laughton) 1948: 85%
House of Wax
(Vincent Price) 1953: 72%
The Bad Seed
(Nancy Kelly, Patricia McCormack) 1956: 93%
Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow
(Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie) 2004: 89%
The Big Clock
(Ray Milland, Charles Laughton) 1948: 85%
House of Wax
(Vincent Price) 1953: 72%
The Bad Seed
(Nancy Kelly, Patricia McCormack) 1956: 93%
Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow
(Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie) 2004: 89%
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