Part II: The Shoes That Were Destined To Fit

The spiraling staircase could have been likened to the soul-wrenching path down to the mines of Moria. With each new step all thoughts of the world above (and with that, happiness) faded, and the stale, dank air of the deep enveloped us. Without the flame to provide warmth and a semblance of bearing, we would surely have gone insane.

"We have arrived" uttered Havey.
"How can you tell? I can't see anything" I asked. He must have made the trip so many times, his feet knew the way.
"Oh right," The shoe-shaman said, "Here we go." He switched on the lights to his left, and the great cavern lit up with an fluorescent buzz. "Sorry, the lights are out in the stairwell."

He led me in silence through the rows of footwear that seemed to stretch for miles into the vanishing point. We walked by marvels of technology and science that boggled my mind. There was some sort of dry-ice fog coming out of the walls in all directions.

"What about this one?" I asked, as we passed a particularly comfortable looking shoe. As I was about to touch it, the shoe, as if magnetically charged, skidded away from my hand. I again tried to grasp it, only to see it skid off the counter onto the floor. The oracle threw his cloak over the shoe quickly and wrestled it back onto the shelf.

"Do NOT... touch anything" he said, as the skidding sneaker finally seemed to stay in one spot. "Those shoes will bring you nothing but trouble. Only one man has run in those."
"Who?" I asked, "Was it Steve Prefontaine?"
"Huh? No. He used Nikes." the oracle said. "This guy Bob Turner, lives in Maple Grove. Ah, here we are!"

We stopped our trek in front of some non-descript boxes. He paused in deep thought. "What are you, like an eleven, eleven and a half?"
"Yeah."
"Ok," he said, grabbing a box from the bottom."We are done here."
"Should I at least try them on?" To that comment, I received a look that still haunts my dreams. A look that told me nobody questions the oracle.... right or wrong... he is always right.

We took the elevator back upstairs, because the torch ran out, and he was pretty sure the door locked behind us. "Plus" he said, "the eye-patch really messes with my depth perception".

As I paid for the new shoes with my debit card upstairs I couldn't help but feel in safe hands knowing that my shoes, no matter what size they ended up being, would be the best pair of shoes I have ever run in. Because whether the oracle is right or wrong... he is always right.

Shoe-Shopping Part I

With my knees starting to ache and my soles wearing thin, I knew that the time for new footwear was long past due. Being able to trim my toenails without taking my shoes off was the final indicator of this.So I decided to consult Oracle Havey.

Oracle Havey is the town's mystic shaman of shoe-smithing, and while few can understand his methods and sheer genius, everyone knows that when you need new shoes... you consult the Oracle.

So with a healthy dose of trepidation (and intimidation), I knocked on the 14 foot Oak Doors, adorned with ornate carvings of famous runners, walkers, joggers, and saunterers alike. As I was studying the carvings, the door slowly opened with an ominous groan, and lightning crashed in the sky behind me. Crap, I forgot to roll my windows up. The Oracle stood there in front of me, skin weathered by winds of the road, and shoulders heavy with the knowledge of studying so many training logs. 'Come in' he uttered, and lead me to a seat. As I sat down I noticed that he was wearing an eye patch made of what looked to be the bib of a marathon past. "Grrr." He growled "So you've come for advice."

"I have," I said "and I have brought my old shoes as a sacrifice to you and your Gods." I presented the Oracle with my old tattered running shoes trying to to engage in direct eye contact. It was hard to tell beneath his grizzled and forlorn appearance, but I think I saw him flinch at the sight of the wretched foot accessories. But it may have been illusion on my part, my vanity playing tricks on me (who am I to think anything could surprise the great and powerful Oracle?). He studied them for a few moments, pausing at parts and mumbling to himself in agreement. And then, with a flick of his wrist, cast them into the large fireplace to my right. The flames, which were tepid and small before, erupted into a burst of blue and then orange, sizzling and popping like an alka-seltzer on steroids. The expression on Havey's face grew grim. After a moment of ponderous silence, he spoke.

"This is worse than I thought." He said, "I haven't seen that color from the Great Flame in nearly ten years." I didn't like the sound of that. "But", he added emphatically, "if anyone can help you. I can." It was obvious that whatever the Oracle saw in those flames had rattled him. "Follow me," he instructed.

He lead me to the back of the room where a dark and winding stone staircase plummeted into what appeared to be the bowels of the earth itself. "We are going down into the darkness" - he said, "stay close to me, and under no circumstance, pay any attention to what you see!" I wasn't really sure what that last comment meant, but I agreed to stay close. "Oh, and watch your head, it's a low ceiling." he added.

So with a gasoline-soaked torch he started the decent cautiously into the dank and cold stairwell. I wondered what awaited us in the depths of the shoe store, and what the Oracle's cryptic warning could have meant. But that fear was soon replaced by pain and regret as my head slammed into low-hanging stone ceiling.

To Be Continued...

MTVJams Update

In case anyone is interested...

To start off, I noticed that Eminem is back. He has a new album entitled Relapse. As someone who was very much into the Eminem scene back in high school, and even through early college, I was curious to see how he had evolved, if at all...

If nothing else, the song is a sophomoric (SAT verbal study-guide word!), overly-emotional tour de Marshal Mathers, showing more symptoms of depression than symptoms of empathy and maturity. And then I remembered my high school experience, and realized this is exactly why I used to like Eminem. It's like David Wooderson said in Dazed and Confused, "That's what I like about Eminem, man. I keep getting older, but he stays the saaaaaame age."

I also saw Rick Ross' new music video. It inspired me to write an onion-like article entitled "Hip-hop Artist Makes Reference to Scarface". And then my second Coors Light washed that motivation away.

And while I realize that writing original music is time-consuming and difficult, hip-hop has taken music borrowing ("sampling") to a whole new level. Of the four songs that I watched on MTVJams, two of them sampled Steam - Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye. TWO!! out of FOUR!! I think that the producers are digging pretty damn deep into the old hit-lists.

I will post the video for one of the songs that uses the Steam song below. Because it is Jay-Z. And this is only included because I want to illustrate how to respectfully and appropriately cover a chorus, so take notes. This video represents that genre of music that I really respect and appreciate, but don't listen to nearly enough; a thoughtful and purposeful vehicle of talent, ideas and emotion. I am suddenly ashamed at the number of T-Pain songs near the top of my iTunes most-played list.

Water Jumpers

Once thought only to exist in the storied Lake Winnipesaukee near Meredith, NH - another group of lake-maids and lake-men were spotted in Third Crow Wing Lake, in Chamberlain Minnesota.

These unique and fantastic creatures, similar to flying fish, are able to leap clear out of the water and jump onto boats in a single bound.

This footage is the second of it's kind, and is one of the rare moments these creatures strange habits have been captured on film. Let's sit back and enjoy:

The Legacy Of Billy Mays

Bon voyage to the big infomercial in the sky. Full of ever-sharp knives, non-stick easy-clean utensils, of course, the Big City Slider.

It's, like, so MODERN, you know?

I'm getting started on 'Summer Mix 2009'. Something that takes research, preparation, and a hours of consideration. Summer 09 will take the place of my not-so-successful 'Spring Mix 2009'. Before that was Winter Mix 2008 (AKA no sun = depressing emo music). I think you can see the pattern developing here.

I must say that The Current is probably where I get most of my songs. And, for the record, I can speak with confidence when I say that the current is VERY hit-or-miss. And before my inbox gets flooded with pro-89.3 listeners, let me just say this: No. I am right.

During the course of any given hour, the current can rattle off a barrage of songs that, in one corner, epitomize the spirit and the evolution of modern music and are a titillating pleasure to listen to, and in the OTHER corner are the songs that are played by the bands that are so off the deep end, that they THINK they are the spirit and evolution of modern music ("was any of that noise made by an actual instrument?" you might say to yourself).

And while I know that you can't have rainbows without the rain. It just seems like sometimes I can't smell the roses without stepping in dog shit. Or something like that. When in Rome, right?

So I'll continue to wade through the current's playlist with the cautious persistence of a sugar-frenzied child during an Easter egg hunt in a minefield, knowing that the longer I listen, the more likely I am to come across a really bad song. Or to explode in Cadbury deliciousness.

Pimp.com

You can click on the title to hear the first cut of our song.

I was trying to embed a media player in here, but I couldn't figure it out this morning. I'm sure it's something simple, but after a few hours of trial-and-error, I sucked it up and threw in the towel.

And it Can't Be Another 'phobia' Word

Just completed a recording session tonight with the one-and-only Jason "God Save The Queen" Havey. The man who introduced me to youtube. The legend who swoons ladies with a single Mizzou "y'all". The man who inspired Barack Obama to be black. The icon who orchestrated the merger between Smith & Wesson and Unicef.

Wait. I think that last one was Bill Brasky, but I'm sure that they're related somewhere down the line.

The moral of the story is that we combined forces to bring the sexy back to the recording studio. Heterosexually, of course. And with that sexy, NGP productions, ft. Hay-V, will do something, I'm sure. But for now it's just ambiguously aimed into nowhere, being wasted.

So over the next couple of days, it's all about putting in the time in the studio, and hoping I remember where the 'fix pitch' button is.

And can I get some help over here? Could I get a word that rhymes with agoraphobia?

Seriously. I will give you a writing credit if it makes the final cut.

Life Planning On A Sunday

I have found that most of the motivated people in my life, have in some way, found inspiration through a mentor. This mentor is someone that they can see themselves being in the next 20 years, or someone who is happy and successful. A doctor, or a manager, or an athlete. And if you have that person in your life, you can follow their footsteps, and if you're very lucky, you might be where they are one day. It's a beacon that lights your way. They are a model unto your system. A method to your daily routine. And I have yet to find such a person. 

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of people out there who I would like to be. But I don't have that one singular person picked out where I could say, "damn, I'd like to walk around in his size tens."

So I figured that, in order to fix my motivation problem, I first need to address my mentor problem. So I wracked my brain for all of about, thirty seconds, and came up with my top three potential mentors. They are listed in no particular order.

1)Rob Dyrdek: Pro skateboarder, and co-creator of Rob & Big, Fantasy Factory, restaurantier, motelier, and business mogul.

Reason for wanting to be Rob: Made millions skateboarding by age 18, and used those very millions to avoid responsibility... for the rest of his life. If it's not fun or exciting, he doesn't do it.

What's holding me back: Lack of skateboarding talent, care-free outlook on life, and large black bodyguard.

2) Random Boston Taxi-Cab driver: unknown bio information.

Reasons for wanting to be...what's his name: When drunk Ashley asked what's his name if he liked being a taxi-cab driver, he just replied "I have accepted this as my lot in life". Wow. Now that's got to be the most centered, self-aware dude out there. Or he's just terribly depressed. It's hard to tell. But that's what adds to the mystique of...what's his name?

What's holding me back: Citizenship status, and a stable background devoid of strife and civil war.

3) Judd Apatow: Writer/director of Freaks and Geeks, The 40 Year Old Virgin, Knocked-Up, Superbad,  and the new genre of 'Bromance' films. Was also roommates with Adam Sandler early in his career.

Reasons for wanting to be Judd: Get paid to write jokes about dudes farting into each other's pillows. Plus he has a hot wife.

What's holding me back:  Not crazy about LA. Also, not crazy about the name "Judd".

Uh oh.

No good can come of this purchase. Only humiliation.

Now I just need a mic stand that's about six feet taller. And I'm ready to record track #2. As Soulja Boy so eloquently put it (in the critically acclaimed 'Turn My Swag On'):

I'm back again,
I know a lot of ya'll thought I wasn't coming back...
Yeeeeea, yeeeea
I had to prove them wrong,
Got back in the studio and came up with another hit
Yeeeeea, yeeeea

Job Retention

For a sport that is considered by the IOC as a exclusively women's sport, you would be surprised at how seriously men take their softball. And I learned this last week when I was invited by a supervisor at work to fill in for his middle-aged buddy in their mens softball league.

I like to believe that most - if not all - of my decisions in life are calculated and strategic (but let's ignore the quality and fabric of the logic for the time being). So when I was asked to partake in America's female pastime with a bunch of grown Minnesotan men, I internally weighed out the pros and cons.

Pro: I would possibly forge a closer bond with my boss, making it that much harder for him to fire me.

Con: I might commit a game-ending error in the field, prompting my boss to fire me on the spot.

So as I stared into blank space, watching my job inevitably slip away from me, my boss, Imran, prodded again. So I said yes. Because when you can't make up your mind on what you should do, there is always one fall-back question that will break the tie. That question is: Which would make a better story?

So I grabbed my cleats, glove and sweatpants from my house during my lunchbreak and mentally prepared myself to be the punchline of a very good story.

After work, the two of us carpooled down to the softball complex, which, I swear to God, must have hoarded every last dollar of Burnsville's public dollars, and I proceded to get nervous.

Now don't get me wrong - I like playing softball, and I consider myself pretty good at it - but when I saw the guy gettingout of his F350 next to me with a full baseball uniform and THREE bats, I kinda freaked out. I mean THREE BATS? Was he planning on using them all? At once?? He was certainly big enough.

So here I am, wearing sweatpants and soccer cleats, shaking hands with the rest of my team, thanking God that I at least wore the required green shirt so they could tell I was here to play softball. After the brief round of introductions, I took my position and the game started.

And in a manner that sent me reeling back to 4th grade, we all lined up and the manager sent us to our positions - and in a move that was both humiliating and a huge relief, I was chosen for catcher. In slow-pitch. Phew. All I had to do was toss the ball back to the pitcher.


Now I’ve never met Cal Ripken before, but I do know baseball pretty well, and I was starting to get nervous because their shortstop was a dead ringer for him. In fact it looked like everyone on our opposing team had played in the MLB. Cleats, stirrups, chew and all.

So with two outs and a man on 2nd, Cal Ripken steps to the plate cracks one deep right. I stand up and walk in front of the plate to watch the right fielder scoop it up and prepare to throw it back. And as I see him wind up in a manner that would make Johnny Damon jealous, I noticed who he was throwing to. The man on 2nd had just rounded 3rd and was barreling towards home. MY home. And the ball was heading right my way too. Like a goddamn laser.

So , like any good Sportscenter viewer would do, I emulated the move that I have seen so many times. Block the basepath with my left leg and try to catch the ball, and then swing around and take out the runner. And as Andre the Giant came thundering towards me, the ball slapped against my mitt, and I pulled it around and tagged him out, throwing us both into the dirt.

Disaster averted. The score was zero-to-zero and we were now up. Imran came up to me in the dugout right after, with a softball-sized chew in his mouth. Good thing you got him there at the plate, he said. Or else I would have had to fire you. He winked. I had a heart attack.

Garrison! You’re on deck!

A'll Be Bock. Again. From Da Fuutchah

Ahh so much to talk about. That's what happens when my blogging frequency slows to an undefined number. That's right, a vertical line! Anything divided by zero. And while you're scratching your head about that one, divide THAT number by zero again. Biaaaatch.

And BAM! That's how often I've been blogging recently.

After making the Fishing On The Ice video, it appears that I must have drained the creative aquifer, and the urge to throw something down in blog-form just hasn't manifested itself.

Until now.

First things first. After the much celebrated video release, Kaj and I were chomping at the bit to get going on the follow-up. And not a 'Big Momma's House II' follow up, but more like a Terminator II follow up. T-1000, John Conner, bigger explosions, time-space impossibilities and mega commercial appeal! I even bought some sweet 2002 Air Force 1's to pimp out in the video.

But it turns out that Kaj's eyes were larger than his his finals were important. Or maybe I should say, Kaj's creative reach surpassed his grasp on his pharmaceutical lab coat.

No, I think those are both completely wrong. BUT - the point is that Kaj was OUT due to all-too-practical reasons, and I was unable to summon enough motivation, gumption, elbow grease, and all-around stick-to-it-ive-ness to get past stage one. Stage one happens to be the task of finding a microphone.

So the studio remains silent for the time being - until we muster up some motivation - or come across abundant amounts of free time. Maybe I can devote my time to creating a time machine that will allow me to come back and free up my schedule.

But then... I wouldn't have time to build... time machine...

Fishing On The Ice

Ever Wonder If You Have Too Much Time On Your Hands?

My apologies to anyone who has been bored at work recently, and have been in the routine of reading the blog in order to break the monotony. I feel for you. And If i was able to blog at work without being monitored like it was 1984, I would do so.

So recently, I've needed another medium to flex my creative muscles through. My left-brain brawn. And that new medium is a project started by Kaj and myself.

We are writing, performing, recording, editing, and filming a gangster-rap music video. Probably one of the must fun things that I have ever done. And in case you are wondering... no, we aren't taking ourselves seriously (do I ever?). The inspiration was the SNL Digital Short with Andy Samberg and T Pain - On A Boat.

So I have a make-shift studio set up, and we are almost done recording. Here are a couple of pics from the first session. I hope you are as excited about the final cut as we are. I would say that the video should be done in three weeks, or thereabouts.

So now I am going do devote the afternoon to trying to get my voice-filter to create the T Pain effect. So keep it real homies. We be ballin', and so on and so forth.





the inspiration:

A-rod's 'Confession'

What a D-bag.

He doesn't answer ONE question from Peter Gammons. Why? Because he is:

1. Lying
2. Covering his tracks
3. Too afraid to come clean

Gimme a break. I say give him a congressional hearing, and make him name names.

Also, if the player's union was smart, and wanted to get this steroid era over with, they would release a publication naming EVERY player that has used steroids. The list would be so populated that incurring any punitive measures would be pointless. You can't suspend 3/4 of MLB and have it survive. After the names were released, they would agree to a random new drug-testing policy, and increase the fines for positive testing, and the matter will be closed.

But that's just my opinion.

Riches To Rags

A really interesting clip of a man who was fired from a very high-paying corporate job, who is now a barista at Starbucks.

To be fair to the viewers though, he is not poor. He has a NYT best-selling memoir about his experiences which is currently being adapted into a Tom Hanks movie. So - he's not exactly living paycheck-to-paycheck.

BUT. He still works at Starbucks, and seems to be pretty happy with it. Goes against conventional thinking, huh?

youtube yousucking mylife away

You ever just sit there, in front of your computer, paralyzed by the infinite universe of information that lies at your fingertips? Have you ever been completely and thoroughly frozen, not unlike Buridan's ass, numb with the mouse in your right hand?

Welcome to the window of my daily schedule I like to call 'Ollie Unwinding Time'. During daily UOT, there are only a few requirements; I need to be so full from dinner that the thought of movement makes me ill, I need to jam out to my new music downloads, and I need a blanket, because it's freakin cold downstairs. Once those requirements are met - you might as well kiss goodbye to productivity for the rest of the night. Just lean back and let youtube take you away...

After watching Extras season one and two again, I delved a little deeper into some more British humor, which seems to be growing on me. First was Ed Byrne; a wiry, optically challenged Dublinite who, in my humble opinion, is one of the best on-stage story-telling comedians since Seinfeld. I've graduated to the slightly more underground/riske (pronounced "risk-A", but I'm lacking that pretentious french accent mark on my keyboard). So now I've got Eddie Izzard on my playlist - a cross-dressing limey who goes on drug-fueled rants that digress so dangerously that he often has to ask himself out loud 'where he was going with that'. But what Mr. and Mrs. Izzard does have, is a great amiable and charming aura, letting you forgive his on-stage blunders.

For those of you who aren't very interested in the anthropological history of youtube standup comedy clips, this might not be interesting.

So I suppose next time I can talk about the other part of my life right now. REFINANCING!!

I can talk your ear off with amortization tables, current fixed and adjustable rates, origination points, blah, blah, blah, blah...

PHEW! This was the most energy-consuming UOT I have ever taken part of. I even feel a little inkling of motivation brewing deep down inside of me... Maybe I'll balance my checkbook. Maybe I'll do some cleaning.

I'm just so comfortable under this blanket...

Sick!

I've been pretty sick the past week. Which means:

1. Wiping snot onto hidden surfaces and inappropriate materials.
   
   
2. Getting down in the dumps mentally (I think the ass-cold weather takes partial credit as well).

• re-evaluating existence

• questioning the purpose... of everything. Because when you are lacking motivation, there had better be a damn good reason for motivation to exist before you do anything...
  
• other such questions you might ask yourself if you were having a bad acid trip in a mid-level college philosophy class. (these are the things a fever does to me)
  

3. And not having motivation to write, blog, or shower.

4. A lot of youtube.


And here are a couple of gems I found during the past week or so.

The first one is a fantastic live performance of Arcade Fire and David Bowie. Amazing energy, amazing song.



This second one is pretty self-explanatory...

Where's The Spitoon in Here?

My recent forays into the bowels of mortgage refinance have unearthed some surprising information. Information that might surprise, shock and titillate you. Information, that in the wrong hands, could prove dangerous, or even deadly. Accounts of events so unbelievable and epic that they make Homer sound like a gossip columnist. Tales of heroes that make Jack Bauer look like Pee Wee Herman.

When someone signs up to do temp work for Wells Fargo, there are certain norms that pop into your mind. With a company that large, with a full-scale PR campaign running through the national UHF airwaves (or through the coaxial cable networks), a certain shade of expectation is cast before actually starting the position.

I am saying this only because I could not have been grosser in my miscalculations. Wells Fargo is not at all what they portray themselves to be on television. Never in my life have I seen such a corporate cover-up.

My first suspicions rose their curious eyes during our initial job training. I needed to go through hours of compliance and bank secrecy information, which is all fine and dandy, but I would rather just get straight to work. Where are the stables?

Also, where are the carriages? And most importantly, why was I the only person wearing proper work attire? Nobody else had on tough high-heel cowboy boots, nor did I see ONE other pair of chaps. How did these poor suckers expect to stay warm and blister-free as we rode across North Dakota? Don't ask me. One woman had a skirt on.

So guess what? And you are NOT going to believe this. Wells Fargo - THE Wells Fargo - is nothing more than a Full Financial Services Company. Not an armored carriage service that runs across the northern Americas. Wow - you wouldn't believe how stupid the instructor looked when I called him out on that one! He couldn't even tell me the last time he knew they had a carriage service. I assume the phone call he made right after our discussion was to ask his superior that same question.

So the next time you watch your muted commercials and see a horse-drawn carriage canter across the high plains, just nod your head in truth, and find comfort that you heard it here first. Wells Fargo is a bank.

And my job is going to be a lot less exciting than I had hoped for.

Winter Sanity

Sometimes, in the cold and dark northern winter, you need to take extra special efforts in order to keep the spirits up. It's almost as if you need to keep a strict, cohesive schedule - similar to a... power hour?

Huh, that's a good idea. We should do a power hour....

Muffin?

...But Somebody Has Got To Do It

The most interesting and captivating clip I have seen in a long time. If you don't like what you do, or you aren't sure what you want to do, watch this.





What I found especially poignant was Rowe's mentioning of a war on work, specifically by Hollywood, which is an idea that I subscribe to. Hollywood is filled with people that, for lack of a better phrase, don't want a real job - I should know, I moved there. So whenever you see someone at work in a movie, it's usually depicted very negatively (Office Space, Joe V. The Volcano, Wanted, or any job out a restaurant). The combination of a good writer and director and a little Hollywood glam can be incredibly alluring. Just don't watch Entourage if you want to achieve any semblance of job satisfaction.

Ok, So I'm A Nerd

With the maturity of computer-aided graphic design (CGI) about ten years ago, Hollywood finally had the cajones to produce comic book movies that needed a respectable amount of special effects. These movies have been a cash cow in LA for the past ten years, so I thought I would do a little research to see which ones were the best. And for being someone who read comic books back in the day, I was a little surprised to find out how many of these caped-heroes actually translated to decent movies.

Best and Worst Marvel Movies:

Best: Iron Man (2008)


It's OK to have a movie that isn't 100% realistic, but to compensate, it needs to boast creativity, entertainment and wit. It looks like all three of those collided with Iron Man, with Jr. playing Tony Stark to a tee (or is it tea?). Can anyone else FEEL the aura of self-importance exuded by Terrance Howard when they watch him on film?








Worst: Fantastic Four: Rise of The Silver Surfer (2007)


I can only comment on the films that I have seen, and after being forced to sit through this one - I happily declare it the winner. And while I was majorly disappointed in the two former Spiderman flicks, nothing compares to the F4 - a movie reeking of product placement and kitchy gags. But even as I watched, kicking and screaming, I wasn't convinced that it was the worst... until the wedding scene when Stan Lee, playing himself, was bounced at the door for not being on the guest list. Suspension of disbelief? Gone.










Best And Worse DC Movies:

2-Way Tie for Best: Superman (1978) and The Dark Knight (2008)


One was the classic film with Christopher Reeves with a jheri curl, the other is the gritty new-age film that blurs the lines between a a silly comic book and a legitimate and artistic film. No real close-seconds here. Pretty much every DC movie is either Superman or Batman. (This list could be dated as soon as Watchmen arrives in theaters in 2009)




Worst: Batman & Robin (1997)


I haven't seen Swamp Thing 2 yet, but I have seen way too many Batman movies that make me wonder whether their target audience is young boys, or boys town. Enough with the nipples on the armor. Enough with the 'holy rusted metal batman!'. Enough with the 'let's put on tights and tickle each other!'.


Not that there's anything wrong with that...

Don't open that door.... don't do it! AAAHHHH!!!

It's been a little while, but I've been pretty busy - moving all my stuff from LA, to San Carlos, to Boston, and then to Minneapolis. I should be here for AT LEAST a few months. Just kidding, I can't afford to move again for a little while.

After a complete blow-out party at our house for NYE, a bunch of us staggered over to the Riverview Theater to see 'Let The Right One In' at 11:00 PM last night.

And despite the fact that I was dead tired, the movie was starting late, and it paced at near Benjamin Button-speed... I loved it. A Swedish love story between two twelve-year olds, where one was a vampire. And it turned out to be one of my favorite Vampire movies ever.

So.

I decided to start a 'Best Of' list. It may end here, or it may catch on and move onto different categories. We'll just have to see how long my motivation lasts.

Best Vampire Movie:
'Let The Right One In'


While up against the heavy-hitting Nosferatu, and Bram Stroker's, the Swedish version was raw and creepy - and creates suspense based upon what you can't see, not with CGI and 'cheap surprises'. Awesome Vampire movie award is a tie between Blade, and Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter.






Best Werewolf Movie:
'Teen Wolf'

I've only seen about ten minutes of this movie, and it was the scene where MJ Fox was a high school werewolf doing back-flips on the basketball court and slamming some hard-core dunks. Michael J. Fox dunking!! Apparently wolves are good at basketball. Underworld is the only other decent werewolf movie I have seen.








Best Ghost Movie:
'The 6th Sense'



This category is far more saturated than the other two, with the strongest runner-ups being Ghostbusters and The Shining. In 'Sense', writer/director M. Night Shyamalan peaked too early in his career - and has been since given free reign to pump out whatever he wants into the theaters. And for those of you who saw this with me in theater, and insist constantly that I didn't understand the ending... I hate you.