"Precious Little," based on the idea that people are just far to happy with life and need two hours of depressing, soul sucking viewing by Sapphire

Another film I have been witness to over the past weekend was "Precious" based on the novel "Something" by Someone. Besides having possibly the most irritatingly pretentious and agonizingly unnecessary title in movie history, it was an incredibly harsh and terribly over the top depiction of the craptastic life lived by this poor, poor girl. Here's a brief synopsis:

Poverty stricken, illiterate, African-American teenage mother has worst life imaginable. Mariah Carey wears no make-up. Mo-nique (?) cries lots at the end. Nothing gets solved. I feel so depressed I want to vomit. Roll credits. Notice Oprah and Tyler Perry have executive producer roles. Actually vomit. Call my Mum.

I don't know why I watched this. When it came out, I wasn't necessarily inclined to watch it at all. I heard it was powerful, and I thought it might be a feel-good kind of film. I was wrong. I thought it might be something perhaps to be inspired by. I was wrong. I thought there might be some enlightening denouement and possibly some things about the human spirit that I could take with me. I was very wrong. Basically I watched an impressively overweight teenage girl from the ghetto get shit on for 120 minutes. Good times?

Between being impregnated (twice!) by her father, and being beaten and basically enslaved by her mother, this insanely mentally decimated child has no education, no contact with anything positive, and is forced to dream of a life lived as a famous model, singer, or actress. Okay, okay. I'm sold. How can I help her? Tell me, I'll do it. Just tell me! Why won't you tell me-he-hee?! Unfortunately, the film offers no answers. She ends up going to an alternative school, and it starts to look like Dangerous Minds but with no hope.

No Coolio either.

My only thought while watching this was "what are they trying to accomplish with this fictionalized, almost sensationalistic story disguised as entertainment?" I found absolutely no joy, no satisfaction, and no clue as to why somebody would even write this, let alone green-light it for a studio. I guess it sells and wins awards. I mean you got the Big O behind you and let's not forget Tyler Perry's Tyler Perry brought to you by Tyler Perry's hand prints on it as well.

Tyler Perry's Tyler Perry.

And why does the novel HAVE to be mentioned in the title. It's like "oh by the way, if you didn't want to blow your head off just from watching this movie, here's a plug for the book so you will definitely be left with no other option after reading." This movie was horrible during awards season. Every time it was discussed or announced, it took five minutes of embarrassing recitation just to say "is nominated."

Wow, I sound pretty grumpy don't I. I sound like someone who has no soul or is a little hard-hearted. I might sound like someone who just sat through this film and can't understand why things are so shitty for some people. I don't believe in anything anymore! Well, I do but it is now a struggle. Thank you Ope, Tyler Perry Tyler Perry, and Sapphire for extracting the good thoughts and replacing them with more helpful and meaningfully useful negativity. Guess you needed the trophies.

I will say this. The scene were she steals the bucket of chicken is great. But seriously, you can't catch a 300 pound girl with a bookbag and a 15 piece?! Your business is going to crumble.

Steroids.

Life is a little better than all this. At least for some. And I'm not saying that stories like this shouldn't be told, but not fictional ones. Document the ones that are similar and stimulate change. If you don't, it's just glorified snuff meant to make award givers feel guilty and that they owe you something. And Gabourey and Mo-nique (seriously I don't have time to Google. is this how her name is spelled?!), you killed it. I was very impressed. But Gabby, if you ever host SNL again...now I feel like crying again.

Who knew porn was that scary?

It's Friday night. The curtains are drawn and the angry rain outside provides an eerie soundtrack adding pathetic fallacy to any events forthcoming. A solitary light is on in the house but is situated in an area so far from ours that it is rendered almost redundant. There is a cold beer on a coaster and a hot girl on the couch. It's movie time. Scary movie time. On demand, what you got?

Actually, all of this happened on a Saturday afternoon. But the movie we were about to watch made the above atmosphere feel oh so real. I am a self confessed wuss when it comes to the horror films (you may notice their absence in my upcoming movie review posts henceforth to be called "Talkin' 'bout Talkies." Incidentally, stay tuned to my 17 part series about the Golden Age of Silent Cinema: "Mimin' 'bout Muties.") so the mere idea of viewing this film, a film I had tried very hard to ignore, held no appeal whatsoever. Baby Girl hit the menu, found the flick, and pressed the button. Ladies and Gentlemen, Paranormal Activity.

Ghosts. Pant-poopingly terrifying.

Now to be honest, when the lady decided (read demanded) that we watch this, I was a little anxious. We had just finished watching what we both agreed to be one of the better movies we had seen in some time (Youth in Revolt, fucking brilliant!), and to switch gears to something that different was a bit disconcerting. I mean 90 minutes of Michael Cera and then on to demons is like finishing a fantastic meal with the waiter kicking you in the balls. But after the pleas and the begging and then the usual threats of bodily violence, I benevolently gave in and watched her select this blockbusting scarefest and sat back to drink in the terror.

Well, 10 minutes in, the word "meh" became an internal mantra staving off perhaps thoughts and feelings of impending girlish screams sure to allow her full licence to confiscate my man card. It's actually quite funny, I'm sure, to watch a dude try to manifest swagger while laying on a couch.

No, not really.

That being said, day turned to night in this indie flick, and hands crept closer to face.

Let it be said that as a concept, this movie is extremely effective. It is very Blair Witchy in it's "Oh this is a true story (wink, wink)" and it did scare certain bejesuses out of me, but as a movie, it kind of fell flat. At least for me. I was too busy worrying about what was going to happen to dwell on the really scary thing: the acting. Well, I dwelled a little. Here we go.

The whole thing looks like a high-class porno. From the characters trying to act as if they are normal and yet smacking of more effort than that asshole kid in class who always has his hand up, to the framing and camera movements asking us to truly believe that people who are doing the things they are doing, and experiencing the things they are experiencing, have time and presence of mind to always pick up the damn camera and start turning over. I half expected the "demon" to be a wayward pizza delivery-boy who will come in for a nice glass of lemonade thank you very much. Even though he could lose his job.

Extra sausage.

Either way, the horrendous acting aside, and also the fact that as the movie went on (a movie she promptly fell asleep halfway through leaving me to fend for myself should some shit go down) you actually want to see some scary happenings because these characters are annoying as shit, the way that tension and the camera were being used, made me understand the trailer with all those movie goers being shocked and the terror on their faces. You stare at the screen...and stare...and stare...taking in every piece of the bedroom. Waiting for something to happen. Hoping for a little fright. Not understanding exactly what all the hype was abouUHHTHEDOORJUSTMOVED!!!!! What the fuck was that? I didn't see that comiUMMMITJUSTMOVEDBACK!!!!! This technique is very effective on people like me. Never before has a four inch movement of a door made me almost urinate. And then when she gets up and stares at the dude for HOURS!?!?!? That's effed yo. That is scary. I don't care who you are. When I move in with a girl now, damn her feelings, we're gonna seriously discuss my own room with a lock.

Overall, I'll be as truthful as possible. It's not really my type of film, but you have to respect the idea of it, and the fact that it can make powder footprints and the ominous flicking on and off of a light pretty terrifying. I am sure that it has little to no replay value but hey they got a another one coming out now. I hope she falls asleep during that one too. These movies murder my ego.




Hold me...

“My girlfriend’s dryer eats my buttons,” and other tales of temporary domesticity

For those who are married or currently just cohabiting with their significant other, the overall trepidation of the first period of living with your partner might be a bygone memory. It might be to a point right now that the thought of coming home to an empty dwelling or to a roommate that’s just a friend is so passe, it almost becomes a story of yore. Well, if that’s the case for you, allow me to take you back to maybe those first few weeks of domestic bliss. Those times when excitement of spending time with your special friend and building something together begins to wane and you try to mask the fear of immediately going from this…















To this…
















My relatively brand new relationship recently took a rather large step/risk. My new girlfriend’s cousin, whom she lives with, was going to Europe for 3 weeks and I was asked if perhaps I would like to stay there over that period of time. It wasn’t by any means on the same level or category of seriousness as marriage or having a baby, but considering this particular union was in it’s infancy, spending the first 1/3 of your companionship under the same roof with no buffer has two endings: the potential of movin’ in, or the necessity of movin’ on. Which one would this end with? I wasn’t really sure either.













This, also a possibility


So aside from the “can we get along for this prolonged chunk of time” contention, I failed, at first, to consider the details. Things like, she has no dishwasher. So every spoon, cup, and plate, if not cleaned almost immediately, is evidence and maybe a bit of foreboding, that I might be slobbish in future. Also, the dog needs to be taken care of in her absence. The cats need to be fed and litter cleaned. Because of the animals, vacuuming is required quite frequently, and absolutely, positively, NO CLOTHES ON THE FLOOR!

All of these tasks and minor considerations notwithstanding, the transition was remarkably smooth and issue free. I packed a bag, was given a key, and thus began the domestic bliss I was sure would fertilize this sapling of a romance into a strong, redwoodian trunk-like affiliation of affection. With a hopeful, excited air I strode into the domicile to begin the three weeks of stayin at my girlfriends. I had been away with girls before (granted, only for maximum 4 days straight) so I figured it was just those experiences times 5. No big deal. Plus, sex. Like, whenever. Seriously, whenever. That’s good things. What could possibly be tough about this?

Then I remembered the bathroom. The one bathroom. Call me immature, and yell at me to grow up, but I’m still not one hundred about using the bathroom after my girl does. Or, for that matter, having her use it after me. This was going to take some getting used to. But, after a while, I became more comfortable and accepting of the fact that she is in fact a human, and she can’t be sexy ALL the time. Okay, meaningless crisis number one sorted out and beaten. What’s next?














Her neighbour, Miguel, was excited about our progress also.


Well, misunderstandings abound. I was under the impression that this here deal was gonna be somewhat of a quasi-vacay for this guy. Limited responsibilities, new relationship perks on a daily basis and at a close proximity, and sex whenever. When-ever. But no. Baby girl had plans and jobs that needed to be done around the house. By the end of the stay, I had hung two sets of blinds, planted a garden in the backyard, cleaned and scrubbed her bbq, and shampooed her rugs. Then we would make dinner, have some drinks, smoke a joint, and pass out watching Intervention. This was some serious house playing.

Luckily, the potential of the two of us getting on each-others nerves was temporarily interrupted by a much needed and always awesome cottage weekend with the boys (as evidenced here). A perfect little comma in our domestic sentence. It was great timing too. Sometimes, tempers flared a little. Mostly mine.

For example, coming home from work one morning, I was expecting to be met in her backyard by her and the dog for a cigarette and an open door. Walking around to the back, they weren’t there. Okay fine, I would walk all the way around the complex to the front door and open it from there because she’s obviously still sleeping, I mean it’s 730 am. I get to the door, slide my key in and turn til it clicks. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I realize she had locked that from the inside making any entry into the house through that door impossible from the outside. Getting a little perturbed at this point. Tired, hungry, and sweaty. Where was she? I knock. No answer. I call. Voicemail. I knock again. No answer. I call again. Voicemail. I am about to turn my fist to prepare for some good ol’ door poundin’ as my temperature begins to spike, when she opens the door and smiles. I’m about to turn into dick-mode and demand to know why I had been made to wait, when I am smacked in the face by a familiar and delicious fragrance. My face softens and my anger cools down as I notice what is awaiting my return home…

















You can't stay mad at bacon


After that, I decided patience and some steady nerves was one way of making this work. I’d need to remember that this thing is not just about me, but that there is like a whole nother person involved. Look at that! Learnin’ stuff about makin’ things work all the time. Just tackling all these problems head on and for the most part, sorting them out and getting through them. Doin’ all right so far.














Miguel’s constant encouragement was essential.


All in all, the experience was enjoyable and fun, low-key and low-drama, and enlightening as well as educating. We both have a long way to go mind you. There was no fights about money or anything important. No kids and no real stresses to complicate our relationship. However, for a first kick at the domestic can, I’d say we passed with our sanity in tact and a stronger union as a result. I’ll still never understand why she has to wash clothes inside out but I’ll let it go for now. As long as breakfast is on the table!

And the flag comes off my back window...

Wow. I mean, I kinda struggled to start this post. I've began and erased and began again, mostly because I don't know really what to say. I'm still seriously affected by the unbelievable trouncing I just witnessed. I'm still reeling with disappointment and anger from the spectacle I had recently been privy to. I knew I would have to comment on it. That's what I do. Should I just let the fingers do the walking or should I plan out a calculated, fiery diatribe leaving no German unscathed. Maybe I could take it from a sporting aspect, or maybe a vicious rant about having instant replay in this tournament. My mind is a trailer park during a tornado. The winds of anger and sadness are wiping out barns of competent thought and displacing my cows of reason. However, amid this chaos I was able to attach myself to an underground water pipe and remain focused as the F5 swept past. My depression, fury, heartbreak, and disappointment, made it clear what I should write about...Why am I so affected?

For four years you wait. Well, if you're an England fan, for forty-four years you wait. You watch teams come and go, you get excited about the prospect of the Cup coming home, and you imagine, when all is said and done, that the captain holding the trophy aloft, perched atop a well-constructed podium with sparkly confetti being cannoned out into the atmosphere behind him, will have three lions on his jersey. An intensely goose-bumpy image to be sure. Alas, it never comes. Alack, not even at the Euro. Tournament after tournament, I open myself up for this unhappiness, and that's really the only thing I can count on at this point. Sad, no? Well, why do I still care so much?


I guess sometimes we have to allow ourselves a little slack when it comes to ultimately unimportant things and their affect on us. Would it be great for me to see all my favourite sports teams win championships and be considered the best in the world? Of course! Would I have had anything to do with it? Of course not! Is there a reason I'm yelling? Probably! These things would happen with me in front of the T.V. or not. It doesn't affect my life really but allowing some emotion to grab a hold of you in such a way is good I think. I guess it gives us a high apart from the mundane lives we lead. So I guess being affected isn't so bad. Caring about millionaires that don't necessarily care about you can have it's positives. And cheering for grown men playing a game can be beneficial to the soul. It must remind us that we're all human. And that it's okay to be moved by irrelevant things. It's almost like art in a way. So, I'm okay. I'm not overdoing it. I'm just really glad it's only every four years.

Smilers never lose, and frowners never win...apparently

I've been told recently that sometimes I can be a little negative, critical, harsh and negatively critically harsh. From time to time, my generalizations have been a little unfair, and that I possibly expect a little too much from humanity as it were. I tend to make comments about things that could be misconstrued as being embittered and maybe a little too judgmental. It's also been brought to my attention that I am in the habit of summing up people and situations at first glance and off of first impressions. All very potentially useful critiques of my personality and definitely some things that could give one pause. And now a look inward...

I admit, due to my relentlessly sarcastic nature, I tend to observe the world at large not just with my eyeballs, but with biting comments and scathing verbal editorials orated for the benefit of any people standing close-by. If only to keep my wit sharp and to amuse myself and others. I could stand to be a little nicer in that regard sure, but what is not understood is that it's extremely hard to keep quiet when there is so much material out there to comment on.

I am not, by any means, perfect, nor do I aspire to be. An impossible goal is the ultimate waste of time. It would be like me training to be a mailbox. And, I do not expect others to be perfect either, contrary to the comments I might make. My problem, and this could very well be a true sign of getting older, is that it becomes my only weapon against what I see as an incredible decline in the society on the whole. I need to let people and myself know that I'm not buying into this bullshit. The world needs a renaissance, and it needs it now.

I'm not going to get too heavy on this one. I know there are some of you out there who know where I'm coming from and might find yourselves in the same boat. I only wish I could be a complete live and let live kinda guy, but it's that kind of malaise that gets us to this point. Where is the art? Where is the discovery? Where is the cultural advances? Not that any of my random statements do much to change the world. I just know that as long as I make them, I'm not falling for it.

I know I should just go with the flow and my negativity does little to stem the flood of mediocrity our species has been enveloped by, but I just can't. We're better than this. Let's open a book (NOT TWILIGHT!!!), or see a play at Stratford, or write a story, or see the symphony, or take a walk, or eat at a different restaurant, or do this, or do that, or do fuckin anything!! Again I don't expect people to be perfect, I just expect them to be constantly driven to be better and always be hungry to be more. I am. And I would never ask of anyone what I wouldn't do myself.

So my negativity has a purpose, all be it a pretty weak one in effectiveness. However, it is my duty as a fellow human to point out the douchiness and stupidity of my brethren and sistren as we follow the path of existence together. It's a back-breaking, thankless, horrifying siege, but one I relish and accept with humility and hope. I would want others to do the same for me. So go forth my children and open your mouths with sharp and rapier witticisms. Make your snap judgments and sarcastic comments soar for those to learn from and better themselves. If anything it feeds our inferiority complexes. I'd do anything to be ignorant. Or have enough hair for a faux-hawk. It looks like fun.

It's good to be back...missed y'all!!

The reasons I pray for death's sweet ball-cupping...

Everybody gets irked from time to time. I am somebody who gets bothered quite a bit actually, perhaps even more than the average person. Is it because I am more sensitive than most? Maybe. Is it because I expect more from humanity than the "normal" person? Could be. But mostly, I think it might be because a small, secret part of me likes being annoyed from time to time. If only to have something to complain about and share with you good people.With that in mind, a list I say, of those little irritations that, unfortunately cannot be cured with a shot of penicillin.

-People who sneeze unnecessarily loud.

-The fact that, for some reason, people on motorcycles get to go WAY faster than us automobilists.

-Server's who gauge their final thank you's based on the tip they received after a quick peek.

-Painfully unfunny people who constantly joke.

-One-uppers.

-People who only like one kind of music.

-Bartenders who give you back $15 in change after ordering one beer hoping for a large tip.

-Anyone who claims to be a Dr. but uses their first name. (ie. Dr. Phil, Dr. Drew etc.)

-People who NEVER signal

-People who have no idea their breath is bad. You'll know them. They're the ones who stand the closest to you when they speak. And God help me, they will not take your gum, no matter how many times you subtly offer.

-People who talk to other people in a different language in front of you.

-People in zombie movies who board themselves up in a house rather than just walking past the bastards. You have like 5 shotguns idiot.

-People who read the menu at any fast food restaurant.

-Slow eaters

-The rapid growth of my nose hair since 30.

-People with hair who waste it by styling or cutting it stupidly.

-Anybody in an Eharmony commercial.

-The Italian soccer team. And fans of the Italian soccer team.

-Those days where you constantly think someone is calling your name.

-The 3 days in between burning your tongue and tasting again.

-The ridiculous amount of poker on TV.

-The Doctor who told me after I tore the ligaments in my ankle that I would have been better off breaking it. "Sorry to let you down Doc. I'll try harder next time."

-People who sleep in public. Creepy. Rob them. Unless they're homeless. Then there's no point.

-People who tell me to pull up my pants.

-Gauging the appropriate distance a person behind you has to be for you to either hold the door for them or just let it go.

-Being completely off on that and the feeling you get when they see you holding the door and have to do that half-assed jog to it. Thanks for the unwanted exercise asshole.

-People who point with their lips.

-Endless road construction, or highway shut downs that show NO change or difference whatsoever afterwards. I guess we just don't understand roads.

-Nickelback fans.

-Josh Groban's voice.

-Rob Thomas. That's it. Just him.

-J-Lo being called a triple threat when she is insanely mediocre at all three.

-George Carlin being dead.

-MLSE!!!!!

-Old Navy commercials. Every single one since the company started.

-The fact that cold air drops and doesn't rise. My room is boiling.

-Having to sleep away nice days.

-Sparkly vampires.

-Blueberries

-Showering with someone.

-Apartheid.

Wow I feel better. Thanks for letting me vent. You know what doesn't irritate me though? You. Yes, You. And if you liked this, don't you worry, they'll be another. BIG UPS AND I'M OUT!

My thumbs are buried...

So me and ma gurl have been frequenting the local moving pictures lately and have seen all manner of Hollywood fare guaranteed to entertain, enlighten, and dare I say, allow consumption of mass amounts of overpriced concessions before the previews have ended. We've embarked on the Kick-Ass journey and both believed it to be indeed kick-ass. We've viewed Date Night, on a date night, and the coincidence still tickles us. We've even seen Death at a Funeral which should be retitled: James Marsden on acid surrounded by sad black people. But the "film" I am going to tell you about right now is one that I can honestly say is the worst movie I have ever gone to the theatre to see, EVER. And I have seen Police Academy 6: City Under Siege. This movie is entitled: The Back-Up Plan. (Should be called The WACK-Up Plan. Yeeeah nice).

Let's begin the review of this J-Lo vehicle at the beginning. Oh and spoiler alert, I am going to seriously ruin this for you. Well, at least the first 34 minutes because that's all I actually saw. Besides, if you wanted to go see this, either read this or throw $12 directly into a Slap-Chop. Save yourself the gas money.

J-Lo needs a baby!!!! Apparently, she is a hideous dog-faced Latina with absolutely NO prospects at all?! Livin' in New York as all those sad incredibly hot spinsters do, bein' a great person, friend, aunt, and having a lot of integrity as well. See, she used to be high on the corporate ladder, an exec somewhere making large coin, but had an epiphany or some such and now she owns and operates her own Pet Shop. AWWWWWW!! You can totally see why she's single. Who the fuck wants that?! She also has a pet dog who gets around on a two-wheeled contraption because his back legs are useless. Much like this premise, ha-HA! The dog's name is scrappy, or rollie, or Stephen Hawking or something. Best character in this.

She's also got a sister who has like 146 kids or some shit, just running around in the scenes they're in, being complete bullshit children. As her sister is preparing a chicken for dinner, the bastards just grab it, raw and all, and book. This is just bad parenting. Anyhoo, Opening shot is of J-Lo's feet, in stirrups, getting basted by creepy doctor. She's lamenting on the fact that she hadn't had a pedicure before getting impregnated. This is where the script is taking us. A two second idea needing dialogue to fill 90 mins. I am hitting the keys very hard right now.

So she gets out of the clinic and hits the street. She sees a baby carriage and bends down to say "hi baby" and the woman pushing it yells "get away from me!" and goes on. Amen sister. The only laugh that escaped me. She's gotta go to her Pet Shop which is always empty. How does she afford any of this shit? But, yet she manages to get Cesar Milan in as a guest speaker a little later on. Completely makes sense. Blah, blah, blah, boring dialogue, stupid jokes, and now she is somewhere and has to get somewhere else, she's gotta catch a cab, so she does...

The Meet Cute. She gets in a cab, he gets in on the other side. Could happen. Instantly in love because their fighting over the cab sweetly and friendly instead of either cussing or backing out slowly (this IS New York). They both get out, he follows her to the Subway. Some stupid thing about picking up lucky pennies and it is now the next day. J-Lo and sister at the open air market looking at shit. She sees him at a stall. Makes sense in a city of about 8 million people. He is a dairy farmer who makes goat cheese. Of course he is. They flirt. He pursues her by finding her pet shop, they make a date.

Seconds before he is to arrive, she decides it's a good time to take the pregnancy test. As the doorbell rings and she realizes "Oh shit, right I made a date with creepy, goat teat pulling guy", she drops the test and the dog eats it. Ehh?...Ehh? That's good writing. So she goes on the date in a public park with a romantic table setting and wine and stupid, stupid conversation and ends up setting fire to it all. For real people! At her door they kiss and he invites her to spend the weekend up at his dairy farm. Of course he does. She says yes, walks into her house and discovers...GASP! The test smothered in her dog's puke reads positive!!!!!

So she goes to his farm, and they have a typical rom-com moment (sorry, bad rom-com moment). It's when she plucks up the nerve to tell him she's pregnant. "I have something to tell you." "Wait, before you do, let me show you something." He opens up his barn full of cheese, and there are candles lit everywhere like it's a romantic restaurant for fromage. Then they do it. In a barn full of cheese. Cool off ladies. Then ma gurl turns to me and reminds me why she's ma gurl, "This is fucking stupid do you want to go?" YYYYESH!! Went to Guest Services, said I had an emergency and had to go, got two free passes, and bounced. First and only movie I've ever walked out on. Went down to the lake and smoked a joint by Ontario Place. All in all a great night. Got to hang out with ma gurl and smoke a joint, and got something new to complain about. Not much else you can ask for.