I Want To Snuggie With You

Just take it all in.



Man, life is tough. It's cold, it's busy, and if I want to use a blanket I have to go through the trouble of reaching my arms outside of the blanket.
It's a sick world we live in.
But suddenly a hole in my life was filled when I saw the infomercial for Snuggies, "the blanket with arms!"

Some might question why we need this invention, or how exactly it's different from a shawl/mumu combination. The answer? This one can help you take part in such incredible activities as:

"Use the Remote"
"Read a book"
"Enjoy a snack"
or apparently play backgammon with your girlfriend.

Amazing. I used to be helpless in my blanket, incapable of finding my arms in the midst of the sea of fabric. But now that I've discovered a blanket with holes, it's as though I'm seeing music for the very first time.

They also take the liberty to inform us near the end that it's "great for college." I'd say. If there are two things my roommates hate, it's not being able to hold the remote while encased in a blanket and looking ridiculous. Thankfully, the Snuggie takes care of both of these problems by dressing us like Buddhist monks.

Now if I could only combine it with the Hoveround...

Let The Right One In - movie review

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Let The Right One In
*****

If we're going to talk ages, 12 isn't a great number to be. 12 is an age of emotional purgatory, where an individual is no longer a child, yet not quite an adult. It's a period in the midst of transition. I think we can all agree it's no age for an individual to spend a lifetime. In the case of Eli however, it's potentially the rest of her eternity. For Oskar, it's just torture. Let The Right One In is perhaps the most effective portrait I have seen depicting young adolescence and the unexpected discovery of new love, only this time it's between a very young man and a vampire.

The life of Oskar, a twelve year old boy living in the Swedish town of Blackeberg, is a life that resides in the virtual crevasse between two divorced parents. His only primary social interaction is that instigated by a team of bullies. He is essentially alone in his middle-school world, that is until one day when he meets the mysterious girl who moved in next door.
Eli exhibits a sort of ethereal quality in the fact that she merely exists. Her pale complexion almost glows, and the cold air condenses as it escapes her every word.
She tells Oskar that he can't be her friend. Naturally, a relationship begins to bloom. Let's just hope Eli's unquenchable thirst for blood doesn't get in the way.

Subtlety is the fabric that holds this film together. There is hardly a method to fully explain the intricate storyline, especially the relationships between the characters, without going through the entire story from beginning to end. This film is one that doesn't fear it's viewer asking questions, in fact, it practically dares them to. It's one to talk about. What exactly is the relationship between Eli and her elderly caretaker? Is that fatherly concern in his voice when he tells her not to meet that boy, or is it something else? What kind of a man is Oskar going to turn into? For that matter, exactly what kind of creature is Eli?

There is a lot of depth here, along with meaty substance. Adapted from the Swedish novel of the same name, the film version of Let the Right One In will only reveal what is necessary for the viewer to know. John Ajvide Lindqvist, author of both the original novel and the screenplay, understands that the "how" in this case is not as important as the "who." Who these characters are and the way in which they might mature (or stay the same) is where the emphasis is placed.

It also helps that this is one of the most visually striking films I've ever seen. Eli inhabits a jungle gym with a ghostly charm. Oskar touches the window with his warm fingers. Moments are captured on film, and within these moments entire conversations are expressed without a single word. Two hands, one hot and one cold, delicately touch each other in the snow. Meanwhile, the camera follows it's prey with a surreal, calm, hovering motion. The final shots, entire scenes, will no doubt be part of film history.

Let the Right One In is a haunting experience, an unforgettable experience. It flutters beyond the description of horror or drama. At the same time it maintains an overall sweetness. It delves into the anatomy of all relationships, young and old. It ends not just with a bite, but the word "kiss." It really is one of my new favorite movies.

Take Me Literal

For some reason beyond me, I never posted the additional "literal music videos" that popped up a few weeks ago.

In case you didn't see them, well, now you finally can.



Do they match the greatness of Pipe-wrench Fight? Probably not. But then again, what can?
Still, they're pretty great.



People need to make more.

Day one

When my father said that my mother had been stabbing him with a pen, my initial thought was, “Well, what kind of pen?” Was it a bic? Was it one of those pointy fountain pens? What if it was felt-tipped, would that really be worth complaining about? Not once did the situation seem out of place for me, and it was this realization which confused me most.

My mother denied the entire pen-stabbing incident took place, and although I believe she doesn’t remember the act, I do somewhat doubt why on earth my father would make up the story of being stabbed with a pen, of all things. After all, just add one word, and a “pen-knife” stabbing incident would make so much more sense.

I wasn’t there to witness the act, however, I was awoken from my brief nap to my mother running down the stairs and screaming that my father was “trying to kill” her. This was because the method of keeping track of all of her chemotherapy pills, by writing them down on napkins, was thwarted when none of said napkins were thrown out. My mother, whose memory has been affected by the mixture of medication and over-activity, simply cannot keep track. My father, according to my mother, cannot be trusted. Any pill mix-up is potentially a disaster. So to my mother, a swift pen stab is probably within her realm of reasoning. It’s also within my fathers realm of reasoning to leave whenever he might get stabbed by a pen.

So, after arriving from a red-eye flight and going without food for a significant period of time, I had the task of figuring out which pills my mother had already taken, and which ones she still had left to take. This process is harder than it sounds.

In the midst of this I decided to pet my cat Furball. In some ways, I’d say I missed her more than anything else in the city. As I reflected on this she quickly swiped a paw at my face. Recoiling backwards, I felt the hot sensation of liquid running over my lips. I grabbed a napkin and realized it was blood.

I had to go to the store to buy supplies: a bar of soap and digestive pills. I stepped outside and breathed in the freezing air. I tried to zip up my jacket, but in the darkness it became caught on something.

I went to Giant, a store we’d call Albertsons in the West, and grabbed what I needed. On the way to the checkout a girl recognized me, and it took me a moment to realize it was someone I once had a crush on in high school. I wondered what she would think of me now, in the midst of my West Coast accomplishments. I could even mention my girlfriend, maybe rub it in a little.

Then I caught a reflection of myself in a cardboard shaving stand.

I hadn’t shaved in three weeks. My hair was brushed straight up. My jacket zipper, which I thought was caught, was only partially holding on to the other side, forming a sort of bizarre cape. In one hand I was holding a box of “Smooth Moves” laxatives, and the wound on my lips had re-opened. It looked like I got in a knife fight at a retirement facility.

I didn’t make a great impression.

Later that night I called Beth on the phone. She sounded happy and relaxed, and I felt better. I felt as though D.C. wasn’t as hard of a place to be in anymore. I felt as though I had something I never had before. She told me about her day, and I told her about mine.

Of Scientologists and Hoverounds

I'm not sure exactly how the name "Hoveround" is supposed to be pronounced, or if it's actually two words cleverly mashed together with a shared "r", but after seeing their latest commercial featuring the latest line of automated wheelchairs, I was blown away.



The commercial begins simply enough, with elderly folks seemingly abandoned at the statue of liberty, and yes, the middle of the God-forsaken desert. Then something magical happens...

That's right, the brilliant mastermind Tom Kruse appears on screen.

Now, I must say, I have been a long term admirer of the work of Tom Kruse. After all, Collateral is one of my favorite movies. With that said, the guy has a lot to make up for. Such as Vanilla Sky.
Finally, after all these years, Tom Kruse appears not as an actor, but as an inventor. Had I known he developed the Hoveround, or that the Hoveround even existed, I would have promoted the product endlessly. Now I can.
At the same time, I must say that I'm actually a little worried about Tom Kruse. Clearly, from his appearance in the commercial, the man has put on a few pounds, dyed his hair brown, and looks virtually nothing like the way he did in Mission Impossible, Top Gun, Minority Report, or Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey. But then again, it must be hard to maintain that figure while making movies AND inventing hover-wheelchairs all day.
Maybe the guy needs to cut down on his use of E-meters.
Then again, I don't know. I'm not a doctor.

Right Now

I'm in Oakland California. If you're wondering why, it's because I'm in the middle of a connecting flight to D.C. for thanksgiving break.
There are a lot of really important things I learned today, and one of them is that Oakland California is a place that actually exists. I've heard of it before, but now I know for certain. Oakland is in fact, a real life location. It's also further North, and is cold.
I wish I could tell you more about this place, but all I know is what I have managed to gather since walking into the terminal. There are pictures on the wall of snowboarders, so I assume there must be winter sports held in the area, although I could be mistaken. What I do know, however, is that the Starbucks next to my gate is closed. Although I don't drink coffee, I take this to mean that Oakland is a town of simple folk who carefully limit their caffeine intake. Good for them.
Here is their state flag:

Is it a green tree? or a massive nuclear explosion?
The mystery continues, yet I say it's the latter.

Perhaps a random quote from Wikipedia can shine a light on this dilemma...

120 murders recorded in 2007 made Oakland's murder rate third highest in California, behind Richmond and Compton; however, Oakland suffered rape and robbery rates per capita that were almost twice those of Richmond and Compton, making Oakland's violent crime rate the highest overall. In the Morgan Quitno's "Most Dangerous Cities of 2007," Oakland was ranked 4th most dangerous in the nation behind Detroit, St. Louis, and Flint, the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd most dangerous cities in the nation, respectively.

Hmmm. Yeah. Nuclear explosion. Most definitely.

Burn After Reading - movie review

Burn After Reading
**---

I didn't really know what to think. My thought process after watching Burn After Reading, the latest film from the Coen Brothers, paralleled that of the infamous clown from the Simpson's, who, after narrowly escaping an approaching tank, tragically had his massive inflatable butt popped. "I'm alive" Sir Wide Bottom said, "but why?"

I just don't know.

There's a lot to like in Burn after reading. Bradd Pitt steals the show as a charming, if not over-zealous, bike riding enthusiast. George Clooney plays his part as a lethal womanizer with a strange mixture of ignorance and innocence in equal parts. Even John Malkovich, in his self-indulgent obnoxiousness, somehow manages to be likable in a crazy jack-nicholson-in-the-shining kind of way. Virtually every character is worthy of screen time. The problem is what that screen time amounts to.

The film is a little over an hour and a half, and beginning with a slow roll the picture begins to pick up speed. Connections are made, situations complicate, and predictably, people start to get killed.

Joel and Ethan Coen have in their previous endeavors exquisitely displayed their penchant for gruesome executions of their characters. It doesn't matter whether they're making a comedy, a tragedy, or something in-between, somebody eventually gets thrown into the proverbial wood chopper. They're destined for it. But there is something undeniably unnerving about the swift touches with death in Burn After Reading. When the blood suddenly splatters, and the fellow gets carved, there is a sense of heartlessness exhibited. It is directed towards not only the characters, but the audience as well. There are no heroes in this picture, but at the same time no one specifically deserves to die.

Funny Games, a film I have trouble recommending yet consider one of the finest I've seen, questioned what it is we look for in our story-telling. Ultimately, it's what we want out of life; for good to overcome evil. Burn After Reading features neither of those qualities. There is only a pervading sense of evil, and not much untainted good. There is a sense of what is wrong, but no tether to what should be right. It is an unflinching look at a society imprisoned by it's own fear and paranoia. You'll find yourself laughing, but you won't feel very good about it.