Friday, January 14, 2005
“For my next trick, I’ll make you all understand me”
The past few days have been packed full of more television, reading, and irradiated zombies than you could shake a mint condition copy of Detective Comics #27 at. Tables were turned, lessons were learned- last night I talked to a girl named Rebecca and fell asleep to the sound of David Cross’ voice. At Wal-Mart I saw an Asian guy with carefully tousled hair and form-fitting girl jeans. He looked like a Cantonese pop star, slumming in the states while working on material for his next album. He had this distracted, far away look in his eyes. I wonder what he was thinking about. Clothes? Lunch? Hair products? The girl he met at the club last night who was all over him on the dance floor, but responded with cool indifference when he later tried to get her phone number?
Recklessly piloted my cluttered, battle-damaged Nissan through the streets of Atlanta while a terrified Michelle/Elle/Ella berated my Mad Max approach to driving. The radio was tuned to 96.7, and they were playing the song from Handsome Boy Modeling School with Pharrell and Julee Cruise. When we arrived at the Vortex, we grabbed a seat in a corner that was darker than Nicole Ritchie’s cold, black soul. While chewing on a rubbery piece of chicken, I closed my eyes and realized “This is not my house. This is not my beautiful wife. How did I get here?” That was right before the cyber ninjas fell from the sky.
My thoughts keep going back to the Sin City trailer. Robert Rodriguez, will you marry me? Mickey Rourke’s in full blown badass mode, and Bruce Willis is finally in a movie that doesn’t suck (I hope). I’m still “cautiously optimistic” about Constantine. I wish they’d kept the British accent, but the trailers are so promising, I’m almost willing to overlook it. Should I see Elektra this weekend? The tea leaves are telling me to stay away, yet I feel strangely compelled to part with my hard earned cash for the opportunity to see Jenny Garner on the silver screen.
I’m hanging out with Joslin tomorrow. Gentlemen, start your self-loathing.
Recklessly piloted my cluttered, battle-damaged Nissan through the streets of Atlanta while a terrified Michelle/Elle/Ella berated my Mad Max approach to driving. The radio was tuned to 96.7, and they were playing the song from Handsome Boy Modeling School with Pharrell and Julee Cruise. When we arrived at the Vortex, we grabbed a seat in a corner that was darker than Nicole Ritchie’s cold, black soul. While chewing on a rubbery piece of chicken, I closed my eyes and realized “This is not my house. This is not my beautiful wife. How did I get here?” That was right before the cyber ninjas fell from the sky.
My thoughts keep going back to the Sin City trailer. Robert Rodriguez, will you marry me? Mickey Rourke’s in full blown badass mode, and Bruce Willis is finally in a movie that doesn’t suck (I hope). I’m still “cautiously optimistic” about Constantine. I wish they’d kept the British accent, but the trailers are so promising, I’m almost willing to overlook it. Should I see Elektra this weekend? The tea leaves are telling me to stay away, yet I feel strangely compelled to part with my hard earned cash for the opportunity to see Jenny Garner on the silver screen.
I’m hanging out with Joslin tomorrow. Gentlemen, start your self-loathing.
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I know what you mean- I feel the same way about Parker Posey. I suffered through Scream 3 and Blade: Trinity just because she was in those movies. The Sin City trailer is amazing. The images look like they were ripped right out of the comic books, and Nick Stahl is totally unrecognizable underneath all that makeup as “The Yellow Bastard.” If they hadn’t flashed his name on the screen, I wouldn’t have even known it was him.
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