Baley

You should try finding Le salaire de la peur, apart from being one of the few thrillers to ever thrill me (and thrilled me it did), it's hilarious, beautifully shot and has the great Charles Vanel for a co-lead. La r

Guess, I sort of hope you like it. Remember to laugh. An Exercise In Style I'm sitting in a car. Half past noon and rather hot. I'm wiping the sweat off my face with a cotton handkerchief made in Havana. Bought for me by a Mister J. He's about 50, tall, dark and civilized. Used to be a farm boy, a long time ago, got himself some nice muscles underneath all them clothes and fancy hats. I've known him half my life, he was on the run the first time we met and he still is in a way, his time with me hasn't done him much good. Maybe he's a little bit richer and maybe he's a little bit smarter, but all them flashy rags don't mean [....] next to a brief moment of happiness. And that's why I'm sitting like a dud in the midday sun staring at the big ball above my head and thinking out loud bout Mister J. Because I'm waiting for something to happen. And that something's got itself a name. Alphonse, French immigrant turned delivery boy turned pusher. A complex individual, came to the States some 20 years ago at the wish of his dear old mother. She told the kid to get rich and get rich fast, and while he ain't rich yet, he's getting there, one step at a time. Step 1. He brings the coke. I pay him. It's not much, just enough to make a decent living. He's looking at me, straight into my eyes as if something's wrong, it's not sadness, depression or fear, no, it's different, something different. I ask him if he's feeling well to which he nods his head, lips don't even part. That's as close as I'm getting to a good deed today. A slap on the back and I'm gone. "Jesus Christ and Moses walk into a bar on 4th Street. Jesus orders a Tequila. Moses asks for some water. They chug their respective drinks, eyeing the barman and his pal for the night. Jesus gets up, moves closer to the Barman and shouts something about love and peace. Thing is, no one's listening, the barman's taking care of the next client and the boozers are busy with their jugs. So now he's..." Door opens. Tall fellow enters the room. Sits on a chair. Looks mean. Starts talking the talk, grumbling bout his sick family and their dead dog, shows me his empty pockets. Says I should've locked the door. I agree. There's nothing you can do once the devil finds your room. "Hey pal, wanna hear a joke?" "There's this old story, "the embodiment of all that is holy" they call it. It's about common folks getting cheated on and raped by a church with vapid nuns in sweet chocolate braziers. I dunno if it's true or not, not my line of work, but they say there's an ounce of truth behind all jokes and legends. And tonight we're playing poker in this Korean joint downtown. Wanna play? You can make a couple bucks and buy your girl that corset she's always wanted. " Satan says and smiles at me. I smile back. Everything's fine, cozy and peachy. Problem is I don't have a girl and I've never liked corsets all that much. "I was expecting something different" I say. "A hood and gun smoke? Be real." He replies to which I laugh out of fear for my everlasting soul. Everything's just peachy, yeah. I tend to ramble when things get out of control, that's my thing, I ramble on and on. Tried talking ole' Beelzebub into taking some cash and leaving the room with me in it. Well, he took my cash and left a card on the doorstep. Edward. D. Ramirez. Accountant. "Now don't you forget about that game tonight, the address is written on the back of the card." He smiles. "See you there." It's 4 PM and I'm smoking a cigarette on my woman's porch. Her name's Janine. I go to her once a month. She's the only person I know always happy to see me and my leather wallet. Everyone else's just day-to-day filler. I kiss her on the forehead like an old man going to war, a father figure facing the big bad world or just a plain sicko with a pony-tail fetish and mucho dinero. More rambling. Lost thoughts. "Seen J?" She asks. "Nah, I have this package for him, no clue where he's at." "Well, there's been talk bout this big poker match. Everyone's going." "Everyone?" She squirms. "My clients." Emphasis on clients as if I'm supposed to give a damn who pokes her inner beauty while I'm away. "Yeah. Someone gave me his card, a mister Ramirez. Know about him? Tall, fat, ugly." I look for the devil's card, find it inside my back pocket. Show it to her. "Hun, you just named half my clients." Same emphasis. Getting tiring. "Yeah" I say, kissing her goodbye. I pass the woman a 50 and jump in my car. Lost thoughts. The devil's an evil bastard. I've always been told to fear the devil and I've always feared him. As a kid his name scared me almost as much as Jesus'. The only difference being that I knew the devil was outside, even as kid, yet Jesus was everywhere, his invocation always following a bad deed on my part. And that meant a spanking, or even worse, a grounding, separation from my friends and the world at large. I couldn't handle that so I ran. I've been running ever since in one form or another. Started with me running around the farm and ended with me driving this Chevy at full speed looking for J. "Where are you, man?" Teenage rebellion filling the air. Some 18 year old dumb[....] had just murdered his girl. They had been living next door for months. The sound of them [....]ing kept me awake at night. Can't say I minded. That girl had quite the mouth on her. Can't say I blamed him either. If she was as much a talker as she was a moaner a fast slaughter was too good a fate. Yeah. They scraped fragments of her skull from the front door. Sorta funny. They had him caged like an animal in that police van of theirs. I'd have cried a little on the inside but there aren't enough tears in life to waste on trivial bravado. Got inside my pad, lit a cigar and let myself fall on the bed, half sleeping, half thinking about J and the magic coke bag. I've got loads of dreams, some good, some bad. Yet on that day there was just me and my friend dubbed nothingness, playing poker, looking at the moon, passing time. A knock on the door had woken me up, still shaking, I approached it and peeped at the dark man standing outside. "Let me in!" He shouted. "Let me in!" I did. "You've got some dough?" He asks. "How much you need? Anything for you, remember?" "I dunno, man, you better come with me." Distressed, panicked. "Just give me a second to change. Where we goin?" "Some place downtown, you don't know it." To which I smile. "Yeah, tell me more." "More? More? What more do you wanna know? Look, man, I just need your help, I'm your friend, your brother. What's with all the questions?" "Never mind. There's a bag of coke in my leather jacket, bought it from Alphonse yesterday." "Yeah?" He got his face dirty in God's powder. Now there I was, with this tall pig face all white, thinking about Satan, poker, my failed nap, teenage angst and good ole' fashion camaraderie. Boredom. J's growing old and knowing it. Approaching 40 with no prospects or cash in his pockets. Sometimes, I think I'm all he's got. Maybe that's true, I don't know, maybe he's all I've got too. There are about 5 people I care for, me, Janine, J and two old bitches I haven't faced in years. One's my mother. The other's my wife. She's gotta be around here somewhere, God, I don't even miss her. Just have this feeling I should be giving her a call. Someday. There are thousands of homeless kids surviving in this city, a little theft here, a little theft there and you've got yourself a pretty good life if you don't mind the constant fear and mountains of junk. At least they wash Chevys. They're about the only ones left. I've always thought God did a good job on me. I ain't ugly and my mind works well enough. I've lived through [....]ty job after [....]ty job, drank enough milk to last me a lifetime, drank enough booze to last me even more. He gave me two good legs, God, I've ran so much, I've ran and I've jogged and I've walked my life away. And I still am in away, afraid to meet the Devil head on. Afraid to be a man and get it over with. But I've got J with me and I'm always a little saner with him around. The Joint was a rich place for rich bastards. How did that go? Yeah, "Ben Franklin was the only man I ever loved". Bull[....]. "Hello." The devil said, placed his cards face down, and smiled. "Hello." "Ready to gamble?" "Yeah." We played at the Devil's table and took the route of the trash. Drunk and broke, we woke up in a muddy alleyway, birds singing. We were alive, God, we were alive. It's a great feeling, waking up in some sodden alleyway at 7AM, seeing your life throbbing in the gutter. There's nothing quite like it. So, what do you guys think?

Mine would be something like, Hana-bi (Fireworks) One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest Monsieur Verdoux Hotaru no haka (Grave Of The Fireflies) Jungfruk

Hey, Caribou's my favourite track as well. No, I lied, it's Dig For Fire. And I've just realised, and this has nothing to do with the Pixies, the Geto Boys are from Houston. Scarface was born in Jersey. Blah. Pixies - I've Been Tired

Yes. And I'm missing Gravediggaz, Jungle Brothers, dead prez, Stetsasonic, Masterminds, DJ Muggs & GZA, De La Soul, Jedi Mind Tricks, Kool G Rap & Dj Polo, The Roots, Geto Boys, Onyx, Digable Planets, The X-Ecutioners, Brand Nubian, Black Sheep, Three 6 Mafia, Pete Rock & CL Smooth, Ultramagnetic MCs, uh, and the list goes on and on. Yeah, I know, my tastes are pretty East-Coast centred. I'll add NWA, Da Lench Mob, Arrested Development, Cunninlynguists, Deltron 3030, Madvillain, OutKast and The Pharcyde. Wilco - Jesus, Etc. Fancy some buggery? God, I need some Against Me!.

That reminds of a scene from Coupling, which goes something like this, basically they're all eating, talking about Steve's cinematic preferences, which by the way include lots and lots of lesbian porn, anyway, Jeff states the fact he's seen so much pornography he's fast-forwarding regular flicks now, watching a lot of films per night that way. Time swoops and they're now chatting about The Piano as a chick flick, horrible to all true-blooded males. The blokes agree, except for Jeff, who, and I paraphrase, Jeff: The Piano's a great movie. Holly Hunter's practically naked the whole time. Susan: She's only naked in one scene. Jeff: That depends on how you look at it. Yeah, so I fully agree with that as far as the above-mentioned movie is concerned. I'm a nerd.

Brother! Hanson Brothers - Blitzkreig Hops

Schizopolis A student art flick gone tediously wrong. Frankly, I didn't know dullness was avant-garde these days, whatever avant-garde might mean separated from the pompous dweebs that call themselves fans, buffs and geeks. If you think this stingy flick speaks hidden truths about the human condition you're probably just another sheltered knob. Funny enough to deserve a viewing. Maybe. Office Space Well, you know, this one's actually funny. I mean, sure I'll probably never watch it again, but it was fun, engaging and had a great soundtrack. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta. Whitebread nerds, hardcore rap and getting back at your Porsche-driving employer. What more could a guy want? One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest Tackling great movies is hard, because, well, they're great movies. There's nothing new you can say about them, and you've probably heard the old "ooh-ooh-what a great movie of mystifyingly puissant proportions" shtick before at least half-a-dozen times, the greatness is just methodically hammered into you. This one though, this one deserves its reputation, it's so bloody funny and sad and tear-jerking without resorting to cheap audience-pleasing tricks and shallow narrative spins. Jack and the Chief are both great. Wong Fei Hung (Once Upon A Time In China) Hark Tsui's a terrible terrible man. He's just so bloody awful, he makes kung-fu dull. And all the waa waa poor oppressed Chinese peasants fighting off their Colonial masters plot was such a freaking bore. Get off my screen, commie. Tristram Shandy: A [....] And Bull Story This is basically the funniest comedy in a long long time. You take an unfilmable novel, few funds, a few comedians, a fledgling crew and focus your script on the trouble such people would face filming an actual adaptation. And the brilliance is well, in the way it makes fun of film nerds with the whole Lancelot Du Lac scene, in the way it makes fun of know-it-all primadonnas who never actually read or experience the things they chat about, in the way it just flows freely from one scene to another never afraid of directness. The closing credits with Coogan and Brydon are hilarious and worth the wait. House Of Sand And Fog Another excellent film, the ending's a little over-done and it's depressive nature's much overrated. Kingsley's brilliant and Connelly's jugs are huge, I mean, I just stared there transfixed by their beauty. I think I've reached a point where they could just film a movie around Jennifer Connelly's breasts and I'd pay to see it again and again. The Weather Man Great great movie, so bloody cynical and funny. The whole camel-toe scene had me in stitches, the fat blob of a teenage-daughter was hysterical in her apathy, I felt a little sorry for the counselor, I mean, everyone secretly craves for teenage boy-ass, pederasty's the foundation of Western culture after-all, nothing to be ashamed about, you just have to be more attentive with your presents. Anyway, Cage was perfect, the script had some memorable lines and the direction was damn fine. Wild At Heart Lynch is the most glorified amateur filmmaker. Cage good. Dern Ugly. Mingy second-grade symbolism. A bore. Citizen Kane I cried. I sat there for two hours, without moving an inch, staring at the screen, and at the end, I cried for a character, for a man that lost it all because of too much or too little love. I don't know. Who does? By focusing on the technical innovations one tends to forget that at its core lies a great story. And that, my friends, is a shame. (Also watched a few Coupling|Blackadder IV episodes. All great.)

You're 24?

Or For all you gringos out there.

Two pretty good tracks from the new album at his Myspace page. And this here is the Nomeanso myspace, the track selection ain't all that great.

Would you still say you know everything about Warcraft?

And you call yourself a fan? Pff.

Well, the original Nomeansno song, Dad (From the Sex Mad LP) was recorded prior to the release of NOFX's first EP. That it and absolutely rocks. They basically took one of the most popular song from the sorta-early days, more like middle-days nowadays, anyway, they replaced Dad with Brad and a psychotic pedophilic|pederastic|whatever father-dear-rapist with an annoying tit of a younger brother, both set on ruining the narrator's life and sanity. That and it rocks. Dad's on the People Choice Best-Of, if you ever happen to find it and you're still interested, well, The Hanson Brothers - Joey Had To Go

Here's the title track from the Brad EP by The Hanson Brothers, http://www.southern.com/southern/band/HANS...540_01_brad.mp3 (Southern Records) Hey, Drabs, what do you think? It's a spoof on an old Nomeansno song dealing with Child abuse.

Does music ever get any better than Brad or The Last Canadian Boy (In The NHL)? I think not.

http://www.le.ac.uk/pc/aw57/world/sample.html Romania - 136

You know, Hades, instead of living on in a world where no one loves you, where no one cares if you live, die or bloat like a fat pig on Christmas and go pop on New Year's, you could kill yourself and donate the corpse to some poor Liberian kids via UNICEF, give 'em one last feast, Hades, be a good sport, they're dying in Africa while you eat away their world.

You're both close, but not quite there, in fact, I'm almost certain the most pretentious band in existence is: te' 1. It must be called Intelligence if people stop when they realize they are not able to become what they are wishing to be. 2. A thought would never let people watch what they choose. Instead, it let them see what they hope to see. 3. Anxiety is not about the issue. It is actually about people's mind related to the issue that they are afraid of. 4. Avarice would speak with every word, it acts every part and it even pretends to be not avaricious. 5.A real imitation is the imitation that let people see ridiculousness of boring original one. 6. It is supposed to be ordinary that imagination moves much faster and more freely than bright light in the darkness. 7. Existence of eloquence is only in a look of people's face that remain silence, and it even beats any kind of words. 8. Anger kills all the idiots, and envy would torture foolish people and all the instants being involved. 9. We promise with a view to hope, but the reason to accomplish what we promised would be fear. 10. A reality that people are living in this world is a lot more complicated than fantasy-land that they imagine. 11.

I'd rather have us not spamming a thread for once. I mean, sure, this might not be the most original topic, but how many times do we actually speak about ourselves on this forum? How many times do we offer a little insight into our mundane little lives? God, this place can be so bloody empty at times. We post movie titles and song titles and book titles, but sometimes, sometimes we need more, a little story here, a little story there. Anything. I'm already done with you, she says Of course, you don't believe her Why would you believe her? Just turn your back Open the door And walk away. Mother's waiting. I'll have to buy my grandmother a present tomorrow, it's her 72nd birthday, the world at large is hotter than ever and I'm a little afraid to go outside at noon, so I'll have to do it early in the morning, early for me being, um, 9ish? Yeah. Any ideas?

How many people enjoy all forms of music and how many people say they enjoy all forms of music? Have you ever met anyone that went from Grindcore to Musique Concrete to Hard Bop to R&B to Indie Folk to Horrorcore? I haven't. Hell, I don't do that most of the time, maybe when I'm feeling happy and ready to "boogie", or something. I don't even know a lot of people who recognise all those genres\subgenres. You see, it's all about mood and recognising the emotional element found in almost all forms of music. I guess, to use another cliche, it has to speak to you in a way, it has to make you open your mind (soul\heart\whatever) to it. And feel. Or whatever. Babble over.

Dude, Has there ever been a more awesome band? Maybe Brujeria. Close though.

Notice how I didn't make a statement concerning the aforementioned albums' quality? Yeah. Anyway, just to be clear, which is the the most pretentious band ever? I'm guessing your second comment refers to Akon, well, I first came in contact with his work on an Akon/Baby Cham remix. Yes, the production on Trouble is awful, from chipmunk vocals to boring, annoying beats, yes, a lot of it is tedious filler, yes, sure. But, and this is a big but, a track like Ghetto makes it all seem worthwhile. Am I worse than someone who listens to Britney Spears? Maybe, I dunno. What I do know, on the other hand, is that I'm not gonna to discount a genre/artist until I give it a meticulous listen. So then, what's good music? Objectively, I know there's no way I can answer that. Good music, I suppose, makes the listener feel, cliche, I know, but that's it, the emotional connection it creates. That's good music, and it's throughly subjective.