i have an idea . . .

A movie about . . . VAMPIRES! They're sun-sensitive, hate garlic and wooden-stakes, feast at night . . . Hollywood - get on that.

Netflix: Live Free or Die . . .

while holding onto the tail of an F-35 whose hover engine has been knocked out and whose pilot has ejected, but no problem, it's spinning rapidly and you have that giant slab of concrete to jump onto - how far is that 30 feet? WHEEEEEEEEE!! You made it. Super (2007)

For me the charm of the original was that it wasn't too outlandish. Having seen many other ridiculous action movies BEFORE seeing Die Hard, I remembered thinking it was completely plausible. But this one was total silliness. I'm all for the suspension of physics, but does he really HAVE to jump a car into a helicopter?

I don't know. Maybe it does.

Side note: Anybody else notice the bad case of lockjaw the main bad guy had? What's the deal with that?

kathleen turner was never hot

I was watching half of Prizzi's Honor the other night (you know, tired, sleepy, hey, maybe I can finish this off before I got to bed - oh wait another hour-twenty left) and Jack Nicholson was all about Kathleen Turner.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I remember in my younger years Kathleen Turner was considered a sex symbol. At this time in my life, I was easily influenced and severely under-loved, so I kind of just went along with it. "Sure, Kathleen Turner - hottie." As I've gotten older, I've realized that Kathleen Turner must have had employeed the most sophisticated group of ad whizzes ever to perpetuate the notion that she was even remotely awesome. I mean, she was very accurately cast as Chandler's dad on Friends.

Ok, at the time she might have been comparable to the hottest mom amongst your friends' moms, but this is back in the '80s when there wasn't such an emphasis (let alone an acronym) on hot-momness. Supposedly her deep, manish voice is especially sultry. Sure, men everywhere want to be seduced by Froggy.

the tyra banks show is the best on tv

I know - bold claim. But you're going to have to take my word for it until you watch it yourself.

The first episode I saw Tyra had created "Tyra Town" (basically a large, dark room) in which women were "honest" with other women about their (the other women's) bodies. This required flesh-colored body suits, which were hilarious in and of themselves. I mean, what percentage of the population looks good in a flesh-colored bodysuit? 1? .1?

Anyway, the catch was that Tyra had created as many placecards as their were women. Each card could only be used once. As the women discussed which card to present the judgee, she was standing behind a "wall" (an empty white frame hanging from the ceiling). Picture frames cannot stop sound though and this is where most of the hilarity stemmed from.

For the first 10 to 15 women, the descriptions were . . . generous. This was much to the chagrin of brutally-honest European lady. My favorite quote from her was, "We should really think about using the 'Fat Slob' card for her." Oh yah, she was gold. 99% evil, 1% looked ok in that flesh-colored bodysuit. And that was where her power lied. Of course, Tyra is mad smart. She made Euro go last. And guess what was the only card left. "Fat Slob." This did not sit well with Euro.

She expressed her displeasure to everyone when they would cut to in-studio discussion where Tyra would interrogate the women, "You think she's a fat slob?" And crazy Euro lady's all, "I'm afraid to say, cuz she might eat me." It's just something you have to watch.

Oh, also, catch the episode where they gussy-up the ugly sister and uglify the good-lookin' sister. Tyra was uglified as well. And then they hired a bunch of guys to say incredibly cruel things to them. Sadly, Euro lady was not there to lay down the law.

wham! with the right hand

If you were at the Cavs game last night, you can probably skip this post. (Nothing to do with the actual game.)

theMonica and I got there about 20 minutes before tip-off. As we're walking to our seats one of those "scream team" kids (generally they run around the arena throwing stuff at people) stops us and asks if we know who Joe Tait is (radio play-by-play voice of the Cavs). I'm muttering, "No thanks," while theMonica is saying "Yes." (Even though I come to find out she only KIND OF knows who Joe Tait is.) He tells us they're having a "Talk Like Tait" contest. All you have to do is make a game call like Joe Tait. You compete against one other person. Now, I'm no Frank Caliendo, but I suspected my Joe Tait was better than some randomly selected crowd person. After all, I'm been listening to the guy for 15 years.

These perfectly logical thoughts convinced me that, yes, I could "Talk Like Tait" and I should do that in as public a forum as possible! I filled out this form and as we're walking away I thought, "Wait, Brain, why did I do that?" " I don't know Roger, but we need beer – fast." I then started to think about how there were going to be upwards of 20,000 people in the arena. And really, my Joe Tait isn't that great (although I can busta-rhyme). This inspired an impressive consumption of 4 16-oz beers in about 30 minutes. After all, there were going to be a lot of people watching me make an ass of myself. You might say that I make an ass out of myself sometimes daily, via this blog. True, but that's making an ass of myself on my own terms. This was something else entirely.

I had to be at a certain section concourse at the start of the 2nd quarter. I was there, but my opponent wasn't. And some time passed and I was like, "Maybe I'll get out of this. Awesome." But, the scream team is too industrious. One of them went out and grabbed another person. It was on.

The in-game entertainment/announcer, Nicole, comes over to MC the event and tells us we're playing for DiGiorno pizzas for our section and gives us some pointers (basically, spaz as much as possible). They are going to show a "classic" Cavs clip, first with Joe's call and then twice more with me and Frank (the other guy) doing the call. The whole time I was waiting – I was sure it was going to be a LeBron drive and slam or a LeBron alley oop. Simple and fun. So when she said "classic," I was all – uh-oh. They show the clip and it's Damon Jones' Game 6 series winner against the Wizards from 2006. Per se, not a bad call, but there are like 5 passes in a few seconds before the pass to Jones for the shot. Whatever. I go first (they had me in a little picture-in-picture on the scoreboard). I start, not sounding exactly like Joe, but definitely getting the tone and pacing down. And what do I hear? People booing! F#@K YOU! You invent something like inward singing! Ok, so more people were cheering, but you can definitely hear the boos. It's very disheartening. I do my best with all the stupid passes and when Jones hits the shot, the requisite, "GOT IT!" And then I tell "Cavs fans to put a DiGiorno pizza in the oven." Frank goes. (I'm happy to hear he gets booed too). And I swear to you he mumbles some sh1t and at the end screams really loud. That's it. For the first second he was trying to sound like Joe Tait, but he abandoned that for his regular voice.

Now, the judging. I'm thinking I got it locked up. I mean, Joe is not effusive. He's kind of surly with a gravelly voice and he has that edge of bitterness from seeing so many completely terrible Cavalier teams. Joe doesn't scream when the Cavs win. That's the whole point of the contest, yes? Joe would never partake in the kind of histrionics Frank was pulling during his call. Not even if the Cavs won the NBA Finals. It wouldn't happen.

Surely, Joe Tait gets to pick the winner, right? Wrong! The ignorant masses get to decide via "loud-o-meter." I was really hating going first at this point. My fans adore me, true, but the bar is set and Frank's idiotic fans know how loud they have to be. And I had a bit of a cold . . . and . . and my finger hurts and and –

Ok, so I lost. Bitter, bitter, red-faced shame and embarrassment – literally my face was the color of a baboon's ass. I got a bagful of Cavs stuff, along with a DiGiorno pizza (DOG FOOD!). I was famous for like 2 minutes. On the way back to my section this woman in the concourse asked me if I won. I said no. She said she would have cheered for me had she been in the arena, but she was waiting in line for a beer. I called her a stupid drunk and slapped the beer out of her hand. No. I said thanks. People in my section were pretty supportive and I apologized that I couldn't bring home the pizza. One guy in my row was like, "That other guy didn't even try to sound like Joe Tait!" That's what I said! We had a moment there.

At any rate, it was a valuable learning experience. First, I call bullshit on the whole thing. 90% of the people wouldn't know Joe Tait if he delivered their next DiGiorno pizza. On almost every level, I was the superior Joe Tait impersonator. But, alas, you must give the people what they want, which, apparently is a lot of yelling - and judging by the first quarter contest a lot of people sticking their heads into plastic tubs full of mashed potatoes in search of ping-pong balls. They say there are no moral victories in "Talk Like Tait" contests. But I think we all now know that that's not true.

tuesday is the new hump day

I am getting old. Well, I am at least getting sleepier as I thought old people slept less. I used to routinely go to bed after 1 and be at work after 7 (and before 7:30, wiseass). theMonica and I went to see No Country for Old Men last night. I liked it a lot. I think I loved it, but I want like to see it again to confirm. You know what I mean? Mostly what this guy said. At any rate, I could not wake-up this morning. And my arrival time has gradually been creeping later in the morning. Is this a function of being married?

Two people that are annoying me at work lately . . . Oscar the grouch (via his looks and not his attitude) asks me, nearly every day, "Are you still married?" He thinks it is the most hilarious thing (I mean, obviously). And ok, I chuckled at his persistence over the first 3 weeks, but now it's a little much. Oscar - go back to your garbage can.

Another person I've helped do some stuff and I don't get a thank you. It's just rude. Granted, I'm a big proponent of the driving "thank you wave," so maybe I'm a little sensitive. Nonetheless a little civility can go a long way. Anyway, you're welcome.

Netflix: Shopgirl (2005)

Remember when Steve Martin was funny? Yah, neither do I. I bet the novella was hilarious and thing got f*cked in rewrite. Because it turned out to be a less-funny episode of Three's Company.

(With apologies to the movie's lone bright spot Jason Schwartzman. I met him once at the Cleveland International Film Festival. Nice guy.)

Netflix: Butterfield 8 (1960)

Kind of like an angrier version of Pretty Woman except the hooker dies at the end.

Netflix: Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)

(I'm basically going to tell you everything that happens in the movie, so if you really want to see it then don't read on, but you're like 30 years behind.)

It's a really dumb movie.

Ok, these aliens sail their spaceship around the US/globe (?). Said spaceship/alien power compels humans to follow it/do stupid shit/Spearsian levels of insanity. The spaceship also gives you a rash/sunburn. Dale Carnegie would not approve.

Richard Dreyfuss is out on a work service call when he spots the alien spacecraft. From that moment forward his is a complete pain-in-the-ass to his family and friends. He begins sculpting things - anything - into a giant monolithic shape (we later find out it's a rock/alien landing beacon). Naturally, his family deserts him because who hauls 10 yards of mulch into their living room in order to construct a giant phallus? Better yet, who stays with a person that does it? Apparently, this is the aliens' way of clearing your schedule for you. If the sunburn/psoriasis doesn't scare people away, how about your husband/father seemingly constructing sex toys with his mashed potatoes?

Eventually, he meets the mom from A Christmas Story. She's crazy too (her son ran after the aliens into the woods in the middle of the night, fucking bears and wolves walking around out there - thanks a lot Alf) and draws pictures of the rock (crazy, but less destructive) too. Oh we have so much in common! So they meet and are crazy for each other.

They see the rock on TV and go there where the government is staging a big, crazy-fake syphillis epidemic or something. Mr. Holland is not scared though. Eventually, he gets someone to admit something or whatever and they leave/escape the military compound. Then they're all hiking over to the rock. Eventually they get there and - WHEEEEE - there's the spaceship.

The aliens and some government scientists/Liberace play this weird-ass protracted game of "name that tune"/Simon (fuzzy here). The hatch opens up and all these skinny-ass aliens come walking out. Because the aliens have exercised complete mind-control over these sun-burned yokels they all want to hitch a ride on the Olsen Twin mobile. You know Dreyfuss wants in on that. Out of their probe-mobile, the aliens dump out all these "old" (but not aged) WWII pilots, in full uniform and completely disoriented. Said abductees have obviously not achieved any higher realm - they're just looking around like, "WTF is going on?" These douchebag aliens capture all these people, take them from house and home, drop them back off 40 years later into a strange world which they don't understand (it's the disco era for God's sake) - they're soon to discover all their loved ones have long passed or are wearing diapers - and I'm supposed to want to believe people were clamoring over each other to hitch a ride? Fuck that Spielberg. When the aliens come here to harvest your brain for their cinematic benefit and you go running out of your giant mansion to greet them, don't say I didn't warn you. Aliens are bad news. Did V teach us nothing?

(Oh - Truffaut is in the movie. I liked Shoot the Piano Player.)

what emilio estevez hath wrought

Wisdom (1986).

When you're flipping through the channels and you see a movie is written and directed by Emilio Estevez the imp of the perverse compels you to stop and watch. Ok, maybe the imp only insists that you Tivo the movie and watch it as the strength of your stomach allows. The imp is compelling but not overbearing.

It might not surprise you to find that this is a terrible, terrible movie. I guess it's an homage to Bonnie and Clyde wrapped in the disaffection of '80s youth. Ok, I'm just making shit up. The movie is bad-bad. Not bad - so bad you should watch it bad - but completely terrible, "How could anyone think this movie should have been made?" bad. Like, "Who's the ad wiz that came up with this one?" bad. Oh wait, Emilio Estevez was that ad wiz.

I will give Emilio props for having the ability to write horrible, horrible dialogue. It's hard to write dialogue so bad that someone (theMonica) can watch the movie for 4 seconds and say, "The dialog in this movie is terrible." Emilio, you are my herio.

Netflix: Pride and Prejudice (2005)

It's Jane Austen. You know (or you should know) what you're getting from the get-go. And I liked it with one reservation. Keira Knightley decides to challenge herself by eating a handful of Gobstoppers during every scene.

you don't know JACK . . . . still? For Serious?

I was watching 24 last night. I watched the first season and then parts of the second season. Back then it was kind of understandable that the higher-up government types didn't get on-board with Jack's crazy conspiracy theories and seeming clairvoyance.

It's now season 6 and I have to wonder, when are these people going to realize that Jack Bauer KNOWS EVERYTHING? Dang. Besides that mystery, one of my other favorite parts of the show is when some CTU person has written Jack off for dead when suddenly Jack calls in on his cell. The CTU person will say, "Jack, I can't believe you're alive. How did you get out of that horrible and terribly dire predicament?" And then he says something like, "We don't have time to discuss [how awesome I am at not dying]."

At any rate, just a heads-up to all of Jack's bosses: If Jack says don't blow up that guy's house because he's not the guy you want to blow up - don't blow up that guy's house. I don't care if you're the president (who is the brother of the old president - I think) just do what Jack says. And if Jack says he hates the sun, you say, "Yah, fuck the sun. I fucking hate it too."