Today's Movie Reviews

In the past week, I have the pleasure of seeing some great films... and not so great ones. Here are my thoughts on the ones that stood out, for reasons positive or negative.

1) Persona - Directed by Ingmar Bergman, Starring Bibi Andersson & Liv Ullman

I'm a sucker for Bergman. Ever since I heard one of my idols, Woody Allen, claim that Bergman was his favorite director, I knew I would love his work, and it was only confirmed and magnified by my viewing of The Seventh Seal, Wild Strawberries, and Fanny & Alexander, my first foray into the mind of a mad cinematic genius. With Persona, Bergman brings something much different than many of his other films - a deliberately experimental fever dream-like story that cannot be summed up in words as much as understood on a psychological level that goes far beyond the limits of language. In his narratively simple tale of a nurse and actress spending a summer away from the world, Bergman captures more about the human condition, and more importantly how we relate to one another and project our insecurities on one another, than in the past 15 modern American films possibly could.
Even the opening sequence is more resonant and powerful than pretty much anything seen on the screen today, and the emotions it provokes and confusion it leads to only act to strengthen its purpose, engraining itself in your mind and lingering there well after the final, beautiful frame fades out - perhaps even further than you want, so impregnable are the concepts the film aims to attack. Combine that with stunning cinematography and absolute pitch-perfect acting by Andersson and the near silent Ullman (who can convey more in a simple movement than many actresses can with a histrionic, oscar-clip worthy speech - a fact which may be attributed as much to Bergman as the actress herself), and you get a film that is one for the ages, and rightfully so. It is a cliche, but I must say it: They don't make them like this anymore. Challenging, intelligent to a fault, and wildly ambitious in derailing audience expectation (or simply not caring what the audience wants, instead giving them a taste of what they need) Persona is an essential film in cinematic history, and one I must go back to fully understand, despite my assurance that Bergman is so much smarter than me that whatever I discern from his work of art will merely scratch the surface of what he intended to say.

Final Grade: 9.5/10

2) Blue Ruin - Directed by Jeremy Saulnier, Starring Macon Blair

Getting rave reviews nearly across the board, Blue Ruin had me more excited than I can remember for a definitively independent thriller from a director I had no familiarity with and actors I had never seen before. Reviews relating it to the methodical noose-tightening of the masterful No Country for Old Men solidified the fact that this was one of my more anticipated films of the first half of the year. Unfortunately, while Saulnier is clearly a talented filmmaker, creating tension-filled scene after scene with an impressive eye for simple yet effective mise-en-scene, comparisons to the Coen Brothers classic simply acted to remind me just how much this film is lacking in terms of narrative structure and even full-on credulity at times. Telling the story of a down-on-his luck homeless man thrust into a battle for his life after taking revenge on a man who killed his parents very long ago, Ruin suffers from its repetitive nature and, more importantly, stilted dialogue and delivery of said dialogue that act to completely take you out of the film, rendering the well-executed action scenes (showing impressive restraint in terms of the violence shown versus the violence implied) relatively dry, due to the lack of stakes felt and the lack of empathy I had for the main character. In an interview speaking about the film, Saulnier said he gravitated towards the idea of a revenge thriller because very little exposition was needed in order to understand what was happening. While the lack of spoon-feeding the audience is of course much appreciated, it also acts to make the film leave little impact, for it retreads similar thriller ground as many other films, without a strong enough personality to make it truly memorable. Yes, the locations are gorgeous and some scenes run with an unique energy that sets it apart from many others similar films, particularly in the opening 15-20 minutes, but ultimately the whole thing feels a bit weightless, and by the time the climax rolled around, I simply was not invested in what was going on: there was too little characterization, some of the acting bordered on mundanely amateur, and the tension established plateaued early on, almost like Steven Soderbergh's Contagion, which rose to such a fever pitch intensity in the onset that the rest seemed underwhelming by comparison. Ultimately though, Saulnier is a talent to watch, if only he could have someone else write a more original script and if he was not so set on casting his best friend in a role that while admirable to take on, required much more than Blair delivered.

Final Grade: 6.5/10

3) Joe - Directed by David Gordon Green, Starring Nichols Cage and Tye Sheridan

David Gordon Green has become one of the more prolific directors of this era and one my favorites, in large part because of his ability to bring artistry to the most outrageous of environments, perhaps best seen in his brilliant episodes of Eastbound & Down. His combination of dark, absurd comedy and intense pathos is unique to him, and combined with his "southern gothic" mystique, gives him a cinematic personality all his own - a special thing in a world filled with derivative or copy-cat films becoming more and more commonplace. With Joe, his follow up to the wonderful, very different Prince Avalanche, Green is at his most indulgent, with varying results. His protagonist, Gary (Sheridan), lives a grown-up life in a child's body, forced into maturity due to an abuse, alcoholic, incoherent father. Joe (Cage), takes him under his wing (as much as an introverted fuck-up can), and the two form a bond that grows stronger as the tension in the world builds. This description sounds relatively mundane and ends up being so, with not very many emotional beats surprising me, leaving me underwhelmed with the main story. That being said, Green is a strong enough filmmaker to leave indelible impressions despite merely satisfactory material - specifically in his characterization of Gary's father, played by unknown Gary Poulter - a deeply troubled man with great misfortune all his own. It is in early scenes depicting the poisoning of trees that the film works best - and shows that Green needs no structure to entice and enchant an audience. Combined with the rambling of other unknowns, all tasked to poison a forest (I believe the same forest used to absolute perfection in Avalanche) Poulter gives the impression of a man so upset with how his life turned out that he simply has to destroy everything around him. In the hilarious, tension-filled scenes of him arguing with the African-Americans in a dialect almost impossible to understand, Green is nearly at his best, using the landscape and blocking to depict the emotionality of the moment. It is when the script falters when Green falters, and most of pertains to Joe's story, despite Cage's best (and impressive) efforts to give the film a mind of its own. Cage plays Joe as troubled, brooding, but right-minded man who simply cannot keep himself under control - and lets his emotions get the best of him at the exact wrong moments. Similarly, Green indulges a bit too much, and the script becomes a bit too predictable - exactly when it could have separated itself from the pack - leading to the entire film to fill a bit underwhelming, if still beautifully shot, directed, and acted. Everybody involved is clearly talented, but at times it does not result in a coherent whole - a shame considering how all the talents coming together correctly could have led to another independent masterpiece by a director chock full of them.

Final Grade: 7/10

4) The Great Beauty - Directed by Paolo Sorrentino, Starring Tony Servillo

Winner of the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film, Paolo Sorrentino's follow up to his first American production, the mixed bag, eccentric to a fault This Must Be the Place, The Great Beauty is much less of a narrative film than an expressionistic piece of art about culture, fulfillment, aging, life, death, and the high-society in all its beauty and misery. Depicting an undetermined period of time in a journalist's life, Sorrentino leaves a mark on its audience through the coherence of stunning visuals, a beautiful score, an an unbridled energy that simply is too hard to ignore, and too charming to not be swept up in. Scenes cut in and out of one another with little narrative purpose, focusing more on an emotional and intellectual understanding of how all the seemingly random vignettes might fit together - similar to how a man, in this case the journalist played by Servillo, might try to build some structure and meaning in a privileged life that ultimately might have wasted that which makes us most human. From the high-society parties to the amazing museums of Rome, there is not a single frame that Sorrentino does not find beauty in, leading me to believe the "Great Beauty" of the title is not the journalists long-lost love (whose death prompts Servillo's journalist's reminiscing) or the beautiful sculptures and painting of a city left behind by most of the world, but life itself. For many it is stale, but for just as many it is magnificent, unpredictable, and absolutely breath-taking just what the world can offer, if only we would take the time to look at it. At times, the unevenness of the film is a distraction, particularly at around the hour and a half mark, where hilarious scenes of high-society art shows are mixed with lavish parties (undeniably enjoyable but ultimately not serving much of a purpose), and at 2 hours and 20 minutes, the film is far too indulgent, but much of this can be excused because the moments of cinematic purity and power are so successful at what they set out to achieve that you can tolerate a few extraneous moments. A bit more problematic is the semblance of a plot the film ends up trying to have, particularly in Servillo's relationship with a friends daughter, played by the stunning, quintessentially Italian Sabrina Ferilli, which builds momentum and ends on a strange note that leaves her fate unclear and unsatisfying. While we are whisked off to more beautiful landscapes and moments of intense reflection, I couldn't help but feel cheated by the emotional connection I had made (and perhaps to my own fault defined as necessary to the film's overall "story") and disappointed in how scattered the script turned out to be. Ultimately though, much of this did not matter, for the film will be remembered not for it's scattershot approach to storytelling, but its profound images of unique cinematic language which marks Sorrentino as one of the more defined visually artistic voices, at least as far as my realm of artistic knowledge goes. A reminder of a bygone era of Italian Cinema, The Great Beauty is the rare film that is heavily flawed but emotionally grand nonetheless, a love letter to life in all its glory, mystery, and occasional misery.

Final Grade: 8./10

Today's Quotes to Mull Over

-No Mr. Sterling, Black History Month is not in March, nor does "underprivileged" imply "black." (and for good measure, couldn't you have chosen any other black player on your team, not an albino ginger?)

This past weekend, the sports world was given a serious dose of realism and controversy set off by unfathomably inappropriate comments by Clippers owner Donald Sterling. Now that the storm has settled, the punishment has been handed out, and every important figure has had their say, here are some of my favorite quotes regarding the matter.

1) People want to Boycott Clippers because of one man? My house has been burned to the ground, animals tortured and burned as well. Along with anything we ever loved, and held treasured, because of the color of my dads skin. We lost everything and had to start over. Did we hate the collective people, culture, and race who's skin was responsible for our hardship? No. One man cannot have the power to make me feel hate towards a group, race, or another persons skin color. Nor would I allow them to have the power over me to not support the players and coaches that have done nothing wrong...
-Jeremiah Rivers, son of Doc (Head Coach of the Clippers)

2) "There's no place for racism in the NBA, any business I'm associated with. But at the same time, that's a decision I make. I think you've got to be very, very careful when you start making blanket statements about what people say and think, as opposed to what they do. It's a very, very slippery slope."
-Mark Cuban, Mavericks Owner, Resident Loudmouth (albeit a highly intelligent one)

3) "I agree 100% with Commissioner Silvers findings and the actions taken against Donald Sterling."
-Mark Cuban once again, making sure his voice is heard.

4) “So, if we’re all going to be outraged, let’s be outraged that we weren’t more outraged when his racism was first evident. Let’s be outraged that private conversations between people in an intimate relationship are recorded and publicly played. Let’s be outraged that whoever did the betraying will probably get a book deal, a sitcom, trade recipes with Hoda and Kathie Lee, and soon appear on ‘Celebrity Apprentice’ and ‘Dancing with the Stars."
-Kareem Abdul Jabbar, NBA Hall-of-Famer, Voice of Reason

5) "Mob rule is dangerous. Well-intentioned, TV-baited mobs are the most dangerous. They do not consider the consequences of their actions, and they're prone to take a simple-minded, instant-gratification approach to justice rather than a strategic one.

Removing Donald Sterling from the NBA solves nothing. It sets a precedent that will likely boomerang and harm the black players and coaches who are shocked and outraged that an 80-year-old man with a documented history of bigoted actions also has bigoted private thoughts."

-Jason Whitlock, sportswriter for ESPN

6) In American sports, issues of race are unavoidable. But when we turn our attention to those issues, we tend to do so in discussion of sensational topics. And we do so with little more than passing interest. We're more concerned with people saying stupid things, transgressions that even undeniable racists could criticize. People from every walk of life are entitled to slam someone for talking too much. In Sterling's case, we're confronted with racism in its most problematic form. And up until now, we've said very little. Many of us lent thousands of words to lambaste the Vikings' stripper party last season, but we've been silent on this? That doesn't mean we should campaign for Sterling to lose his team. But we should wonder what David Stern thinks of there being an owner in his league who seems to have disturbing views about most of his players. We should ask Sterling what he thinks of his players. More than just talking about racism and debating whether it exists in a few situations, we should attack it directly, especially when it's so destructive and glaring. 

-Bomani Jones, Sportswriter for ESPN, in a 2006 Article

Today's Thought for Food

I WAS going to waste today's post on my own personal examination of the healing power of music, specifically the importance of having such a companion when toiling away at your goals individually, but I stumbled upon this speech by an idol, Kurt Vonnegut (who doesn't consider him a major influence?) and figured I couldn't possibly put it as beautifully as he does here:

I was so innocent once that I still considered it possible that we could become the humane and reasonable America so many members of my generation used to dream of. We dreamed of such an America during the Great Depression, when there were no jobs. And then we fought and often died for that dream during the Second World War, when there was no peace.

But I know now that there is not a chance in hell of America’s becoming humane and reasonable. That is because power corrupts us, and absolute power corrupts us absolutely. Human beings are chimpanzees who get crazy drunk on power. I myself have experienced that intoxication. I was once a Corporal.

By saying our leaders are power-drunk chimpanzees, am I in danger of wrecking the morale of our men and women fighting and dying in the Middle East? Their morale, like so many of their bodies, is already shot to pieces. They are being treated, as I never was, like toys a rich kid got for Christmas.

But I will say this:

No matter how corrupt and greedy our government and our corporations and our media and Wall Street and our religious and charitable organizations may become, the music will still be perfectly wonderful.

If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:

The only proof he needed of the existence of God was music.

And I have arranged for a Strauss waltz to be played as you depart, so you can waltz the heck out of here when it is time to go. For those of you who don’t know how to waltz, nothing could be easier and more human. You go step, slide, rest, step, slide, rest, step, slide, rest. Oom, pah, pah, oom, pah, pah.

Bill Gates doesn’t seem to realize that we are dancing animals.

During our catastrophically idiotic war in Vietnam, the music just kept getting better and better. We lost that war, by the way. Order couldn’t be restored in Indochina until the locals could finally kick us the hell out of there.

That war only made billionaires out of millionaires. This war is making trillionaires out of billionaires. I call that progress.

And how come the people in countries we invade can’t fight like ladies and gentlemen, in uniforms, and with tanks and helicopter gunships?

About music: I like Strauss and Mozart and all that, but I would be remiss not to mention the absolutely priceless gift which African Americans gave to the whole wild world when they were still in slavery. I mean the blues. All pop music today, jazz, swing, bebop, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Stones, rock ’n’ roll, hip-hop, and on and on is derived from the blues.

How do I know it’s a gift to the world? One of the best rhythm-and-blues combos I ever heard was three guys and a girl from Finland, playing in a club in Krakow, Poland.

The wonderful writer Albert Murray, who is a jazz historian among other things, told me that, during the era of slavery in this country, an atrocity from which we can never fully recover, the suicide rate per capita among slave owners was much higher than the suicide rate among slaves. Al Murray says he thinks this was because slaves had a way of dealing with depression, which their white owners did not. They could play the blues.

He says something else which also sounds right to me. He says the blues can’t drive depression clear out of a house, but they can drive it into the corners of any room where they are being played.

I am, incidentally, honorary president of the American Humanist Associated, having succeeded the late, great science-fiction writer Isaac Asimov in that utterly functionless capacity. We Humanists behave as honorably as we can without any expectations of rewards or punishments in an afterlife. We serve as best we can the only abstraction with which we have any real familiarity, which is our community.

We had a memorial service for Asimov a while back, and at one point I said, “Isaac is up in Heaven now.” That was the funniest thing I could have said to an audience of Humanists. I rolled them in the aisles. It was several minutes before order could be restored.

If I should ever die, again God forbid, I hope some of you will say, “Kurt’s up in Heaven now.” That’s my favorite joke.

The moral of this story? Keep your head screwed on, but your ears screwed on tighter....

Salud

RIP DJ Rashad & DJ EZ Rock

DJ EZ Rock

DJ Rashad

Tough weekend for music. Remember to have fun, as I'm sure these two did to the fullest... gone too soon:

Some Jammies for the Mammies

Anyone trying to find some creative motivation? Here's a tip: watch this videos, listen to these songs - perhaps they'll inspire something within you... or at least show you what a good clean fun time used to look like.

Today's Short Story

                     Two Dope Boys in a Cadillac

The two boys slowly got out of the Cadillac and stood at the bottom of the hill, staring up at the house. Matthew took his sweatshirt off, began airing it out, and suggested Nick, who was merely standing watching him, do the same. Smoke still seeped out of the car as the boys put their sweatshirts back on and began their ascent up the hill. “Yo, uh, you got any Visine?”

“I’ll one up you. I got Roto. Feel the burn.” Matt tossed him the eye-drops and watched as Nick struggled to properly apply them to his cornea.

“You’d think I’d be able to do this easily by now.”

“You’d think you be able to do a lot by now.”

Nick finally cleared his eyes and hurled the eye-drops back at Matthew. “Asshole.”

They continued their march up towards the house, neither of them remembering it being so difficult of a walk. They finally stood in front of the cozy confines of Matthew Harris’ family’s home and approached the door. Nick grunted.

“What’s that about?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no, that was like a—some sort of moan or something. You OK?”

“Yea, man, I’m fine.” He rapidly shook his head twice and with his index and middle finger on either side of his nose began rubbing the corner of his eyes. 

“Calm down, dude, she won’t know.”

 “Should I apologize?”

“I’ve done enough apologizing for the both of us.”

Matthew put his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned.  “I’m going to apologize. I’ll just wait till the right moment.” Immediately the smell of finely spiced chicken and steak hit them, and upon entering the house they could see a bucket of chips next to a tray of homemade guacamole sitting on the living room table.

“Dude, my mom makes the best Mexican food. You came on the right night.”

“And it’s cool that I’m here, right?

“We’re about to find out.”

 “Hello?” A motherly voice called from the kitchen. The sound was muffled by the oven vent that simultaneously cleared the room of smoke while adding a good ten degrees of humidity to the scene. Matthew took a few steps further into the house until he could maneuver his long neck around a corner of the kitchen wall to show his face.

“Hi Mom.”

She closed the oven door and turned around. “Hey you. How was your day?”

“Not bad, pretty typical.”

“You decide to bring anyone over for dinner?”

On cue, Nick slid out from behind the wall with an ear-to-ear grin. “Mrs. Harris!!”

“Nick… how are you?” She turned her head towards him but kept her eyes on her son.

“Come on, bring it in for the real thing.”

“What?” Before she could even finish the word, Nick went in for the embrace. He squeezed Mrs. Harris like he might never let go; his way of apologizing. She stood firmly, not bothering to return the heartfelt grip, instead looking directly at her son with confused, angry eyes. She slowly backed away from the hug until Nick got the idea.

“Thank you so much for having me. I LOVE Mexican food.”

“Oh yea?”

“Definitely. Taco Bell, is like—“ he clasped his hands together to show how passionate he felt—“my GO to, late night.” Nick glanced at Matthew, who would not even return the favor. Mrs. Harris turned around and bent down to open a cabinet at her knees.

“Nick, do you think I could talk to Matt for a moment?”

“Yea, no problem. Go ahead.” He did not move.

Mrs. Harris came back up with a large pizza cutter in her hand. “Alone?”

Nick smacked himself on the head, rolled his eyes, and smiled at her. She was not amused. He scrambled out of the room.

“It’ll only be for a moment.”

“Take your time!” His voiced faded off as he went to indulge in some chips and dip.

Mrs. Harris walked to the oven, put the pizza cutter down on the adjacent counter a bit too emphatically, and turned to glare at her son. “What do you think you’re doing bringing him here?”

“You told me I could bring a friend over for dinner. He was the only one I could get to commit on such short notice. ”

“What a surprise.”

Nick tilted his head slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That drug-addict never has anything to do; he’ll always jump on an opportunity where he can get something for free.”

“Drug addict? He smokes some weed!” His enthusiastic flailing of the arms did nothing to help his argument.

“That is a DRUG, Matthew.”
            Matthew snickered. “Oh, come on—“ But he was now sweating, either from the heat or the fear that he was wrong.

 “Have you not learned your lesson by now?”

“I have.”

“Well then why would you bring him over here?”

“I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t—“

“Oh- you weren’t thinking? What a new development that is…”

“Do you really have to talk to me like that?”

 “Until you start taking responsibility for your actions, yes.”

The distance between them grew as a long silence filled the room. The only audible sounds were the vent and the faint sound of chips crunching in Nick’s mouth from over twenty feet away. Mrs. Harris took this as her cue to begin unloading the spice rack, looking for anything and everything that could make her meal more unique.

            “So what do I do about Nick?”

Almost indifferently, she replied, “Nothing, I guess, there’s enough food for four. You just better hope your father doesn’t come home.”

Five minutes later, Mrs. Harris brought out the last plate of tacos and sat down with the two boys.

            “Thank you again, so much, for having me Mrs. Harris. Really.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure.” Matt pretended not to notice the half-ass grinned she sent his friend’s way. They ate silently for a few moments; their soundtrack consisted of the hard crunch of taco shells and the painful ringing of glass against glass after Matthew put his water cup down three inches too far to the left. Matthew stared straight down at his food, Mrs. Harris stared straight into Matthew, and Nick, not being able to control himself, stared straight at Mrs. Harris’ chest. She cleared her throat, lowered her head a bit, and locked eyes with Nick. Nick’s attention immediately reverted to the Jackson Pollock that hung on the wall behind her head.

“I saw your sister today, Nick.”

“Oh, really?” He couldn’t look her in the eye.

“I mean her classroom is right next to mine, I see her pretty much every day. Ms. Peterson says she’s learning really quickly.”

“Oh, well, you know little Brenda,” Nick said chuckling nervously, “always just a little bit ahead of the curve.”

“Mmm.” Mrs. Harris nodded, sipped her water, put the glass down firmly, and watched Nick as he unsuccessfully tried to keep his taco from completely falling apart. “You having some trouble there?”

“What? Oh”— Nick hadn’t noticed, and suddenly he was frantically spooning all the meat he had dropped onto the table back into his taco shell, now in shambles. His plate looked like a dog had gone to town on it. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s quite alright. Blame the cook, right?” Nick looked at her and quietly chuckled to himself, quickly looking back at his plate, then up at her again and back down.

Matthew, embarrassed for his friend and himself, was getting comfortable playing the role of silent observer until he heard the faint sound of a car engine. Suddenly, he ran his hand through his hair and started shoveling everything from his plate into his mouth. He grabbed a quesadilla off of the communal plate in between the three of them, knowing he needed to consume as much as he could before what he thought was about to go down did. Nick finished his glass of water and started to stand up. Mrs. Harris, also aware of the car outside, darted her eyes and Nick and got up out of her chair before he had a chance to.

“You need some more water?”

Confused by her sudden enthusiasm, Nick seized the opportunity to stay seated. She walked around him and he handed her the empty glass. As she disappeared into the kitchen she lowered her eyes at her son, acknowledging what was about to occur. The front door opened and Mr. Harris’ figure appeared in the doorway. Nick, seated with his back to the door, leaned towards Matthew and began speaking in a low whisper.

“I’ve got such cottonmouth, bro. You were right though, this shit is good.” Matthew looked at him only for a brief moment, nodded lethargically, and focused his attention back on the tiny amount of food that remained in front of him.

In no time, he heard his father walk into the kitchen to kiss his mother on the cheek. He could tell by his father’s footsteps that he had a pep in his step this evening. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so awkward.

“How was your day, honey?”

“Oh, just great.” Nick, engaged in his taco reorganizing process, suddenly propped himself up in his seat. He glanced at Matthew, who offered no help. “And to come back to a home-cooked meal, AND to get to eat with my family: God, what a treat.” He began approaching the dining room, loosening his tie as he did.

“Hey, kiddo—“ He stopped dead in his tracks.  “What is he doing here?”

Promptly, Nick slid his chair back, stood up, and, with his best military face extended his arm in the direction of Mr. Harris. “Mr. Harris, good to see you again! May I please take this time to apologize for”—

“WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?”

“Excuse me?”

“Matthew, answer me.”

Matthew abruptly sat up firmly in his seat and whimpered out, “He’s just eating dinner.”

“Get out.”

“What? Who?”

Nick, knowing defeat, did not say a word and turned towards the door. Matthew stood up but just as quickly sat back down. “No. Son, you stay. Mr. Vasquez, you get out. And do not step foot in my house again lest you want to see how I handle real business.”

“Yes sir.” And like that, Nick was gone, scampering out the door and down the hill and past the car and into the wooded forest to go finish the blunt that he and his girlfriend had rolled the night before. “Living room. Now.” Mr. Harris’ tone was sharp, as if he were speaking to one of his inferiors rather than his own blood.

Matthew sat on the couch, drumming on his thighs, staring at the bucket of chips. A beat in his head kept him rocking back and forth ever so slightly. His mother had the sink running on high in the kitchen as his father stood on the opposite side of the table, looking down at his only offspring.

            “Why are you still hanging around him?”

Matthew, preferring to look down at the floor than at his subject, replied weakly, “He’s my friend.”

            “What did I tell you would happen if I saw you with him again?”
            “I don’t see why you think he’s such a bad kid.”

            “He got you arrested, son. Almost cost you your future.”

            “And he was the one who came and bailed me out.”

            “Cause he was responsible for putting you in there!”

            “You didn’t do anything.”

            “You’re mother and I were both working. To give you a better future. And you’re fucking it all up.” Mrs. Harris, standing in the kitchen, turned on the sink to full power and began thoroughly cleaning dishes. After a few moments, Matthew mustered up the best response he could.

            “He took responsibility for what he did.”

            “Yet he still hasn’t learned his lesson. And apparently you haven’t either.”

            “Dad…”

            “No, Matthew. Nothing else needs to be said. I think you know how disappointed we are.”

“Give me a chance to talk.”

Mr. Harris gazed at his son, who looked even weaker then he usually does. “Are you high?”

“What?”

“Did you really have the gall to come into this house stoned? A week after getting caught?”

“No.”

“Christ, son.”

Matthew slid forward, now on the edge of the couch. “Dad, just let me say something.”

“You’ve said all you need to.” With those words, Mr. Harris rigidly turned away from his son and went upstairs to decompress from a hard day’s work. Matthew sat in the living room until he finished the entire bucket of chips.

At 2 AM that morning, Matthew Harris snuck out of his bedroom window and drove to his friend Nick Vasquez’s house to smoke some weed and shoot the shit.

Today's Quotes

We gawk at that which we do not wish to take the time to understand

When someone is down in the dumps - the world seems against them, they cannot seem to find optimisim, and a problem lurks around every corner of their brain - one might seek out inspirational quotes to remind them of how valuable they can be, each and every moment...

...This is not one of those times. Today I bring you a collection of funny, ridiculous or just plain baffling quotes from my myriad of adventures and eavesdropping (context where necessary)

1) “If the alter ego was a woman, wouldn’t she be confused why she had a penis?”
-Overheard in a Gender Studies class in college - food for thought, for sure.

2) “I’m sorry, I thought you were the trash can.”
-A woman in New Orleans to an African-American friend, just after crinkling an empty cup and no-look tossing it at him - no further comment necessary...

3) “I haven’t had sober sex in years. I don’t even know what it feels like anymore!”
-A gem overheard on a party bus - the party being a Keith Jarrett concert; I can only imagine this gentleman being severely out of place.

4) “I’m so cold, I need to find my… birth control.”
-A girl at a pool party - one who needs to straighten out her priorities.

5) “You’re a drug addict, you should know better!”
- A pure optimist (exact context unknown, but anyone saying something so ignorant ought to be addicted to the drug themselves)...

6) "OH MY SCIENCE!!!"
-South Park (Go God Go series) in a world ruled by atheists. Why any single person on earth would not think this is funny is beyond me.



Think 'em over: How can you relate? How are you flawed?  (Because let's face it, we all can be pretty damn stupid a lot of the time, regardless of our actual intelligence