Recent Films I've Seen and Enjoyed

• Strange Days- I was on a kathryn bigelow kick for a spell, which started with this film. Grossly underated, Days is a massive production sci-fi thriller pedelling apocolyptic paranoia. It's rabid glimpse into streetlife and the crooked cops who police it, parrallels with genre-relatives but stands alone as the cooky idealistic cousin.
• Ghost Dog- "Broken Flowers" has the critics in a flurry, as did many of Jim Jarmusch's films. Ghost Dog: The way of the Samurai is as compelling as it is ambiguous. Culturely cruel and aesthetically harsh, Ghost Dog triumps in its peculiar naration--readings of Samurai codes, but flounders with pretentious scenes and dialouge. Jarmusch attempts a culture juxaposition with two masculine, loyalty-based brotherhoods: mafia and samurai, all the while infusing various sub-cultures. If nothing else, Ghost Dog is worth viewing (oddly enough) for its sound. Wu-Tang-Clan's RZA is responsible.
• Crash- Ensamble pieces are a dime a dozen-- good ensamble pieces rest with Crash. Written like a impromptu essay on race, crime, and culture, Crash explores social barries, structures and institutions while highlighting and demonizing its players. Its examanation is harsh and seeminly unmeditated. Crash works circular--nonchantly connecting all its charachters in various dramaticlly scripted scenes. One by one, each charachter reaches his/her arch moment--the pinnacle inner change or awakening--by the aid of the other charchters, whether through reasonability or folly.

I admit, it bothers me sometimes when I'm sitting all nifty and comfy, settled and pleasent--watching Family Guy reruns on TBS--when I get the ole' beckon from another room--seemingly another planet--to "come put the jam back in the fridge."

The mood-buster of the ages.

My either, forgetful nogin, or lazy behind leaves these little gems all over the house. But it isn't until both are engulfed with soft padding that the presence of the little left-behinders are discoverd by the Mrs.

So I do what any loving husband would do in this situation--

"You do it," I yell, while fixated on Stewie's lemon-shaped head.

Well the other night, Ty flanked me from out of nowhere. "Hey bud," she whispered in that you're-gonna-get-some-tonight croon, "I've got a secret for you downstairs, come see." Lured, like homeless to a trash bin, I get all bug-eyed and ancy and follow the siren's tempting voice in a hypnotic trance. Once in the kitchen she let me have it.

"Put the cereal away," she said as she pointed to the taunting box infront of me. My counter call would be no use, for she had cornered me like the prey that I was. I had cereal hours ago, and would no doubt have another bowl soon. But again, her cackal whipped the air swift "Put it away," as she pointed, this time, to the Lazy-Susan in which the cereal belonged. And so I obeyed.

I opened the Lazy-Susan cabinet and discovered an unnatural sight. There infront of me was.....

A gallon of room-tempeture milk.

Ooops.

Then it dawned on me, in my mind I had already put it away.

Ty and I went shopping last night at Dillards for Trina's bridal shower. Well, I didn't really take part in the actual shopping effort, but I did notice how bored I got waiting for Tyrel to pick something out. I was so bored, I felt like I was driving to blanding.

It boggles my mind how a female can have an entire list filled with options--filled with options already selected by the intended reciever, and still not be able to select a gift under an hour. Yet, if I were to comment and suggest any possible time-saving techniques, any number of minuete-crunching solutions I would simply be rubbed off as a person who "doesn't understand." But thats just it. That's one thing I do understand, as does every man on this planet, the variable that makes the most sense: Pick the cheapest thing in least walking distance away. Its a simple matter of deduction and practicality. How could you "not understand?"

Either way, there I was, bidding my time with the kind of foolish stupor only acheived when put in place by a woman on a mission. I decided to make my self as useful as a useless husband could by juggling any three objects relativley of the same size and weight. At first, I tackled those cashier-close, mushy, stress-releif balls. But Oh, how easy. Why must I even bother? I needed something more challenging, something with bit more umph. It was then when I spotted them: those muted-toned rooster-shaped porcelein container lids. Not as heavy as they look I said while grasping the goldish one. This will be cake. You know that moment when you absolutley know you shouldn't do what your about to but know your going to anyway-- mine was beautiful. A little internal argument, bashed by that thread of male stupidity-the one that will do anything to prove itself through.

I started off well. The first toss is always the hardest, but once that's down, it's just a simple matter of rthymn. Infact the first effort began and ended with zero casaulties. But why stop while you're ahead, right?

Suddenly I got this freaky feeling, like someone was watching me. I slowly turned to the right and sure enough, there he was, just a staring. Ugly too. The kind of face that makes you instantly close your eyes, hoping to wake up at any moment. I can't tell you how truly horrifying it was when I discoverd the face was my own. But thats when the brilliant idea hit me. sure I can juggle looking directly at the objects, but what If I juggled while looking at the reflection of my objects, truly a feat. And so it began.

Like I said the first toss is crucial. So if the first toss causes two cocks to smash face to face, well, then that would ruin the whole thing. And believe me it did. Oddly enough, nobody heard. The two little unattached beaks could quickly and quietly be kicked under a display case and the lids positioned heads-away.

I learned my lesson. Next time it will be geese.

This is cletus the fetus.