Baley

Yeah, misguidedly, I though the emo-looking bloke on all the posters did - some of - the kissing; the Eminem-aping douche was sort of disappointing, given my expectations (considerably enlarged); I'm still not sold on Van Sant, but this was certainly a grave improvement on his last flick I saw (Finding Forrester)... yeah, dude got balls, I might as well watch Gerry next. Yeah, I remember the - 6th? - one dealing with Kirk's racism - speciesism? - being inadvertently hilarious. "They're Animals!" Really: I don't think I've ever seen a single episode of the original series, but I'm kinda fond of Shatner. :plays Has Been:

How often do pretty boys kiss, again? Oh yeah: is The Wrath Khan hilarious?

Yeah, which should've been obvious, since you can't really transpose that novel's charm onto the big screen. Slaughterhouse-Five was just average and boring (I literally fell asleep half-way through). Mother Night - his third best novel, I think - was kinda competent, though, if I remember correctly, Nolte was emoting in all the wrong places; uh, extrude it from the category of adaptation and you might have a pretty decent film. Um, yeah,

I haven't listen to this since I was 12; the boyband hate was so rad (I owned a Backstreet Boys CD, too - the hypocrite!). And he called out, Britney! (Seriously though, Drug Ballad's pretty good, and the man could really flow, and sometimes even approach grown-up humor, and he had this fat weed carrier who was naked on stage and rapped about raping people for no apparent reason - rad).

Yeah - and avoid all the movies.

Scarecrow: um, yeah, just about perfect; the whole humor-is-a-flimsy-buffer subtext, and the artless direction... pretty great; Pacino kills me. Elf: kinda average, and rarely funny, uh, Bob Newhart shines as bright as, uh, rhodium. Sex, Lies, and Videotape: so, San Giacomo was pretty hot; the movie's great too. Night at the Museum: how much do you reckon they paid Coogan and Wilson to dress up and beat on each other? Pretty entertaining. Edmond: way too stilted - and needlessly theatric - for it's own good... that peck near the end between Macy and his cellmate - I liked that, the resignation of it all. Punch-Drunk Love: okay, it's great. The Bourne Supremacy: I was kinda suspicious of Greengrass' free-cam excesses, but it works pretty well. The Wendell Baker Story: Wilson should abstain himself from writing, yeah; I still kinda like Eddie Griffin. Divorzio all'italiana: again, just about perfect - one of the finest satires I've ever seen; trenchant and constantly funny; Marcello Mastroianni was the man. Okay, now, I've been browsing the Grand Prix|Palme d'Or winners, so now I'm looking for recommendations (- anyone?) Here's what I have (watched or not - I've bolded the ones I've yet to see, for whatever reason): * Apocalypse Now (I know.) * Barton Fink * Black Orpheus * Blowup (Once, when I was 10 or 11; I don't count it.) * The Conversation * La Dolce Vita (Again - I know.) * Elephant * Fahrenheit 9/11 (Parts of it.) * If... * Kagemusha * The Leopard * MASH * Man of Iron * Marty * Nazar

Try The Sirens of Titan.

Yeah, so I uploaded it; the album itself, Sieg Howdy, is fairly solid. He even kvetches the re-formed DK. And talking about disses, Eminem - Bully; now - I know - with a few exceptions Hip-Hop diss tracks are intrepidly retarded and juvenile (and Eminem himself isn't exactly a symbol of maturity), but this ain't isn't bad (good thing he dropped the angst). Still: the chorus, for one, is comfortingly awful, and the beat is merely okay. The first verse, though... well, I really like it.

Disposable Heroes Of Hiphoprisy - Satanic Verses; Michael Franti is perhaps the worst rapper I've ever heard, he just blathers banalities on and on in this unbelievably boring monotone, like, his stuff might be bearable if he actually had a pleasing voice, but as things are... uh, it baffles me how often this album finds its way onto best-of lists. Also, so as to link this post with my previous one - up! up! up! - they too covered California Uber Alles. If I remember correctly, it was the worst song on that Virus 100 tribute album compilation (NoMeansnNo's a capella rendition of Forward To Death shone brightest, I believe, but - really - there were a lot of decent attempts).

Yeah, well, that really is a glorious mullet. Of course, it all just reminds me of that Dolly Parton|Sly Stallone joint venture. (I'm a wretched human being.) Hah, for starters he sings parts of it in this mock-Schwarzenegger accent, and the lyrics are altered to reflect both what Biafra perceives as the more immediate threats (Enron-like firms, Abu-Ghraib, etc.) and Schwarzenegger's film career. Also "girly men". D'you ever hear that Lounge version the DK did with Reagan as the new villain? We've Got A Bigger Problem Now. Talib Kweli - Get By (that's where your second link's more from this user lead me).

You know, I be thinking the king of thoughts Walsh wants you to proffer are more easily found in My Name Is Earl, than Saint Augie's brain addles.

Ouch! You know, mate, you could've actually told me how fully it totters into mawkishness. Like, "Ouch" doesn't really cut it - you know? Although, I have to admit, there were some pretty nice breasts. By the way, Starsky & Hutch - because I, uh, really like Snoop Dogg (I've even watched Bones) - and Slither - which, I gotta say, was a lot better than I expected, the direction was surprisingly competent (no, good), and, like, it was pure merriment.

You know, I'm pretty sure I've never heard a Toby Keith tune. Jello and The Melvins - Kalifornia Uber Alles.

Why, baba, I think the good doctor was not of the prurient sort, and kept the lad's schwanzstucker aloof on a shelf. Of his grandson, I cannot say, though.

What howl did Frankenstein howl?

I think that killed the thread, baba.

You betta shut ya trappa, or else I'll fill it full of foot!

Nostalgia spawns recrudescence, yaar.

Mon dieu! (Merde! Merde!) OK, bien, bien: Eat Cow! :t-rex: You sanitized funambulist!

En-Garde! :t-rex:

We don't want to play with you! You don't smell badly enough! :t-rex:

Oh my, would teeth in any way impede the slapping?

By drilling, may I ask, does your unnamed exert its toll? (The knowledge of your cuffawklinghood brims me with joy, dear Sir.)

Is your cuffawkling also true, and thus official, you cuffawkler? Or be it a mere ruse... You shall not ensnare me! I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings! It sings for me!

Yes, but... but... at least I don't smell! Cloy-boy!:t-rex: