The Promise

The Promise
(Chen Kaige, 2006)

Little girl bashes little boy in face w/ helmet, loses bread, grows up to be to be the cat's meow, but can never know true love. Had something to do w/ a lady that resembled Final Fantasy boss concept art.

A really awful movie that makes little sense and the cg is basically prerendered PS One intro movies. Rotten Tomatoes give is a 32%, but I find that a bit harsh and would give it a 35% due to the cgi forest bathing scene in which the viewer witnesses some seriously hot twenty something hong kong booty. Had me thinking dry hump. After a brief search there are currently no nudie pics of the actress and interest has been lost. Don't watch it ever for any reason, unless you only watch the surprised young filly hide her boobs which involves squeezing them together (uber hot). Whom ever recommended this to me will no longer have their suggestions validated by my hand.

Not recommended

OMG M$

Very quick plug here for the most promising critter to stagger out of the Redmond campus and into the interwubs in recent memory: Photosynth.

Here it is being debuted at TED:

Style of the season: New Rave

Excuse me for writing something that's soooo 2007, but NME just had a big thing about New Rave and today I just saw something in The Stranger about it as well, and i wanted to share my thoughts.

WHAT A HUGE DISAPPOINTMENT!

First off, I hate the name, however you spell it (New Rave or Nu Rave), although, on a side note, i'm still looking forward to nu-noise as the ultimate death rattle of the "nu" label. But yeah, the name stinks more than IDM.

Second, look at the guy to my left. Please. New rave looks like a clumsy attempt to bring electroclash back, and ends up just being shit. Dance punk born again? Lame.

Third, speaking of dance punk, what's rave-ish about this?

Shitdisco


New Young Pony Club

Nothing electronic about it, except maybe a synth line or two here or there. It's a fine dance punk track, but it's breaking no new ground. And I hate this trend in music now to create a new genre every year and declare the old genre dead, only to create a bunch of hype! Then all the shitty "new" bands remix each other and cross promote to create a new "scene". Then the process starts over again next year. It's retarded. How many genres do we need? I thought 90s electronic filled up every possibility (Uplifting Progressive Trance anyone?)!

HOWEVER, I would like to see some new, sexy electronic music come out and stir people into dancing again. If I had it my way, and could have shaped "Nu Rave", it would have been called Hard Wave (i'd use Hard House, but that was used in the early 90s) and feature sounds like this:


Klaxons (the best "new rave" have to offer, btw, and only a few songs)


Justice


Vicarious Bliss


Busy P

Basically, I guess I'm guity of just wanting everyone to look at France's Ed Banger Records... But seriously, give me dirty synths! Give me some beats! Give me something a little new at least! New Rave is what's getting media attention? Dance Punk under a new label? Do yourself a favor and don't support this shit and check out something else. With any luck this trend will die out by the end of summer.

Pyrat XO Reserve

Pyrat XO Reserve

I went searching for a new rum the other day and got recommended this little beauty. While I should probably focus on taste first, check out this bad-assery:


Round, thick, jug-styled bottle, with fatty, long cork, yellow and gold ribbons, and a little icon of a fat guy (web research says it's Hoti, the god of bartenders). Make no mistake: this sets the bar well above Bacardi on looks alone.

Opened, Pyrat XO Reserve, like it's appearance, was all class. I enjoyed it on the rocks (well, one large rock thanks to these huge ice cube trays I got), and was immediately was struck by its sweet and spicy aroma. And, I have to say, i was completely won over by the first sip. Sweet, roasted sugar cane, with smoky oak, vanilla and spices (cinnamon?). Left me feeling like i could drink A LOT more.

I'll be honest, I haven't really tasted many high quality rums before, but Pyrat (the medieval word for Pirate, btw) made me feel like i wanna give up my love of whiskey for the summer and explore them, and why not? The taste is amazing and the price is a MUCH better! I'm not hating on whiskey, but when I can get a premium rum for 20 clams, compared to 35-50 for a good whiskey, what's not to like?

Further thoughts:

Pyrat XO Refresher

• 2 oz Pyrat XO Reserve
• Tonic
• Lime Wedge
  
  Pour over rocks into bucket glass. Garnish with a squeezed lime.
  

Spiced Pyrat XO

Add cinnamon and nutmeg to taste. Serve over rocks or with coke.

Dark and Stormy
(thanks Hazelwood - this is a personal favorite)

• 8 Oz Ginger Ale
• 2 Oz Pyrat XO
• Lime Wedge
  

driftwood shreddin' 12th or 13th century style

as per usual folklife serves very little function other for teenagers to smoke dope in public and give women their much needed fix of crappy handicrafts. however, for those brave men out there would have, if not for the cursed luck of being born in the here-and-now, explored, mapped, and ultimately dominated the world there is the ancient chinese art of driftwood shreddin'. The old fellow sat behind what looks exactly like the sweet as drift wood thing in Hero where they all be fighting in teh rain at the chess yard or whatever. During the warm up the old codger totally shredded. Volvo and I received erections from the display of masculinity while it is suspected that Drain supressed his since Way-To-Big-Of-A-Truck was there and he surely would have crushed her beneath his pulsing veiny might.

Also, juggling is always rad as long as they are juggling and not doing dumb stuff like trying to all showmanship ala 1875 Wild Wild West (wiki, wiki).

In conclusion - there were absolutely no babes there. Total sausage fest since ugly chicks don't count.

Ixnay on the Unatay

Why must Subway(tm) bookend their otherwise lovely workweek $3 specials with soggy meatballs and insipid tunafisk? Above shenanigans set me back an extra 200 Swedish fish for the privilege of eating something that doesn’t possess odors akin to the dysfunctional mini-fridge chock full of mold-ripened, rat-digested pork product left for two months to its own devices on a back patio of yore. Shit took three sets of rubber gloves and a quart of bleach to half-way disinfect.

Anathallo + Ghosts & Liars (Atlas clothing)

Summary: First good show at Atlas? Ghost & Liars were mayonnaise, but Anathallo brought on the roast beef (NY style)! Neither are great names for ones genital region.

Cost: 9 monies (see: cash, moolah, bread, rich beans, cheddar, jam jam, bones, grip, paper, etc)

You enter the dark cave, in the middle of the wild forest, dressed in your best chain mail, bastard sword, and a trusty torch in hand. The air is cool on your cheek. In front of your is a large, rusted iron door, with a sign, written in the common merchant language, which says "9 GOLD DRAGONS TO PASS". Next to it is a scale.

-- if you put 9 gold dragons in the scale, continue with this review --

The scale creeks downwards, almost touching the floor, with a POOF of magic steam, the dragons disappear and the door swings suddenly open. You find yourself magically drawn inwards, deeper into the cave. You think you can see lights up ahead and the drip of water coming from somewhere. You loosen your bastard sword in its sheath behind your back and continue forward. As you round the first corner of the cave, you are surprised by Ghost & Liars (the better members from previous band Some By Sea, plus two random sailors, apparently, both sprouting impressive facial hair 1 + 2 ) who play what can only be described as a Some By Sea-lite set. "All these actors and actresses" + clapping.

-OF NOTE- all singing in my reviews will be set apart in a sort of fuchsia, unless it's sweet. Then it will be in red. --

They magically disappear and you left confused.

-- if you wish to draw your bastard sword and continue on deeper into the cave, keep reading this review --

As you glance behind you, you notice that your footsteps are slowly disappearing into the growing darkness behind you, swallowed up by its many inky fingers. You grip your sword tighter and you shift your chain mail. In front of you, the lights and sounds of water are getting brighter and louder. The tunnel, however, is getting smaller and smaller. You squeeze around a tight corner and sudden come face to trunk with a giant, stone oak tree, in the front of a huge cavern. Its stone branches seem to quiver as you step into the room and beneath the echoes of your footsteps, you think you can hear your name being called.

-- If you approach the stone tree, continue to read this review --

You hesitate for a moment and then approach the giant oak tree. There seems be an enscription on its great trunk. You move a little closer and can barely make out the words "Anathallo". Suddenly the ground shifts under your feet. You fall to your knees, as large, stone roots break through the stone ground and wrap themselves around your legs and arms. You are unable to move and must stare in horror as, from the top of the stone oak tree, eight brightly colored acorns begin to roll and bounce towards your trapped body. Their every bounce sends a bass note pounding through your guts. and as they gain speed, they seem to emit a high, harmonized pitch (something around a high C). All eight acorns suddenly come to a stop, directly in front of your watering eyes. They regard each other and yourself, because bring out their tiny acorn guitars, trumpets, keyboards and percussion equipment. They bounce and squeal, shake and twist, then harmonize. Such sweet harmonizing! You think you can't stand it! Your eyes are watering, your ears feel tight against your brain. You can't feel your legs or your body. The acorns charm you with witty banter about their studio time and how at home you make them feel, playing in front of you in this dark cave. They seem to play forever, but you have no concept of how much time has passed. Sudden, they bounce a few last bass notes, and magically disappear! All of a sudden you find yourself on your back, outside the cave. Shaking the sleep out of your eyes, you stand and look around. The acorns and the cave are nowhere to be seen.

immortal barbarian killed by vultures final score:

8.5 raped and burned villages out of 10

Bosch : totally hooked it up

totally bought one got one free but prior to that...

some cracked out fake-and-bake peroxide blonde was tweakin' cause her 19xx XYZ had shit for breaks like the rotors wore thru. this caused a yelling match at the parts counter that neither her less cracked out girlfriend or early retirement major league boyfriend could calm. she insisted on slappin' on some pads, but not that shizzle is suicide. and " I NEED THAT CAR " ; borrowing wouldn't do, refused to have it towed, declined the house call mechanic (i can't have people at my house! this phrase always means "i'm cooking some serious shit and don't need folk knowing i make w/ the drugs even though you can totally tell by my behavior"). the tirade* never really ended, just went to the parking lot, into some poor bastards car and surely proceeded for another three hours. minimum.

cashier tried to charge me full price for amorall products despite my coupon. wasn't having that. he caved and admitted to charging people full price all day.

such is ballard

(outro, play notorious b.i.g.'s "everyday struggle" and sip some tanqueray)

*http://dictionary.reference.com/search?r=2&q=tirade

not since i was thirteen

volvo, jeep, myself. all at teh local mart. grab some Colt 45s, grab some MD 20/20s, grab some candies. a fellow gentleman shopper approached us and specifically singled out jeep. why we all drinkin' MD? that tastes like kool-aid. volvo, jeep purchase. the gentleman purchases. all leave. i remain. my purchase begins. the gentleman returns. he notes that i too purchase the MD. he notes, and i quote (mostly kinda sorta, more like a quote w/ light paraphrasing) :
"i used to drink that shit when i was thirteen on mondays before school. once i got past thirty i said fuck that shit and now i only smoke weed."
he did, despite the light chastising (not seen such since when the older fellow called taurus and i pussy boys at teh smoke shop) wish me and mine a good evening. as i told him, it was just going to be that kind of night. and that kind of night it was.

In Volvo's Arms, Murder Waits!

I show up and LS400 is already there. Taurus shows later while I was getting huge. A sandwich containing avocado as an ingredient was consumed. We watched pretty animated boobies (DOA, you keep a juvenile part of me alive and I like it). The Volvo came home (it is after all his house and basement). We all observed that he was on edge and quite angry. He had spent cash money on a banjo to delude himself about his problems. While we three attempted to sooth our angry and gigantic friend (because we are after all nice people, very nice people indeed) Volvo espied a mouse. Being the fair weather friend of animals that he is the Volvo attempted relations. Mr. mouse did not wish to be Volvo's friend and scurried off which angered the giant. Volvo snatched the mouse from the ground and crushed it in his gargantuan palm exclaiming, "I hope I see its brains!" Once the poor bastard had the last breath squeezed from his miniature frame the Volvo realized his folly. We three then took him to Safeway in an effort to cheer him via the charm of comfort feeding. This, however, did not satisfy and Taco Bell was struck upon instead. Upon departing from the cozy lair that is Volvo's basement I checked for the mangled form of the mouse which Volvo had so callously dumped in some bushes. It was gone. Miracle of easter, neighbor cats, or return of the raccoons? You decide.