What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Tuesday, June 10, 2003

DUMB, DUMBER, DUMBEST

Dumb:
During my trip home this weekend, I brought along a copy of "Die Another Day" to watch with my dad. We missed it in the theatres last fall -- it was gone in seven weeks (seven weeks!!) -- breaking a tradition dating back to 1987, in which we go to the latest James Bond movie opening around his birthday at the end of November. After watching this one, however, neither of us felt too disappointed in missing it in the theatre because the end was quite dopey. The first three-quarters of the movie are fantastic, with all the great cars, gorgeous women, beautiful locations and cool gizmos that have made Mr. Bond so famous. Why, then, can't anyone write an action movie ending anymore? My friend Tara arrived for dinner right when the movie began to devolve into ludicrous stunts, pointless explosions and endless fight scenes. Sitting beside her on the sofa, I could feel Tara's eyebrow poking me in the side of the head. Dad just shakes his head and says, as he has for the last couple films, "It's not the same without Connery."

Dumber:
Thought I'd check out some new TV show on Fox tonight called "Keen Eddie," with the likeable (and, let's face it, easy on the eyes) Mark Valley as an NYC cop transferred to Scotland Yard. Not a new premise by any means but I'm a big anglophile who can never resist that "Fish Called Wanda" American-in-London stuff. Too bad I had to turn it off within about ten minutes. It was just that stupid -- full of showy camera trickery and goofy overacting, even from the great Alexei "Who's that fat bastard?" Sayle. I was disappointed but the very words "new TV show on Fox" should've tipped me off. Worse yet was a commercial for their other new show, "Paradise Hotel," in which a group of "real" bimbos and pretty-boys screw around in some Caribbean resort. "Parental Discretion advised!" shrieked the announcer, and I couldn't aim the remote fast enough. I still don't get why everyone on "reality TV" seems like a walking cartoon to me, while the fictional characters on "Once and Again" or "Six Feet Under" are so compellingly ordinary.

Dumbest:
That would be me on Sunday night, when I popped over to Don and Amanda's -- they just got a place together and seem very happy. I brought over a few movies and we hung out and talked, until Don offered to light up a joint. I never smoke up, as it makes me quite stupid and, sure enough, I had virtually nothing to say for the rest of the night. Even dumber was realizing on the subway home that I was no longer carrying the DVDs I'd had on the connecting bus. Nothing irreplaceable but an annoying waste of money, nevertheless, and a clear reminder of why I avoid getting stoned. It makes me dumber than "Die Another Day" on the Fox network.

Labels: family, friends, movies, TV