Today in Douchebaggery: Ballpark Edition

So here' s a hypothetical question for anyone foolish or lonely enough to be reading this: Say you're making a complete ass of yourself at a sporting event. You're abiding pretty closely to the strict guidelines laid out in the Code of Douchebaggery; getting very drunk, being very loud, and swearing significantly more than necessary at another person in the stands for some reason. Perhaps you picked this person because they had their 11-year-old daughter with them, perhaps you were just didn't like the way this guy looked; whatever it was, you were just being a complete cock.

Now. The man at whom you are directing your taunts asks you to stop. What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?!?!?

At this point, I imagine some multiple choice options for potential responses have popped up, Terminator style, on your HUD. Apparently, they read like this:

1. Cease "being a dick" protocol
2. Initiate volume increase
3. Initiate obscene hand gesture protocol
4. Vomit on the dude.

Now, most people would not give themselves the opportunity to have to make one of these four choices. Even the douchiest of douches would likely choose from options 1 - 3. Not Matthew Clemens.

You see, dear Matthew decided to stick his hand down his throat and forcibly vomit on his opponent. And his opponent's 11-year-old daughter.

This is a story that first caught my eye a few months ago, when it first occurred. My daily stroll through ESPN's homepage took an unexpected detour through their baseball section when I saw a headline that went something like, "Fan Vomit Assault." Instant click through. I was pleased to find the tale of young New Jerseyite Matthew Clemens.

As none of Matty's actions had previously been reported in the national media, I can only venture a guess that he was already a tremendous douche. But when he was given the spotlight, the chance to shine on the national stage of douchebaggery, he seized that moment like it was the last bottle of Jaeger at his local liquor store. This is legendary stuff. This is Douche of the Year caliber.

As a douche, it can be hard to get the attention you deserve. The Douche of the Year tends to be unfairly skewed towards people constantly in the public eye. But some everyday douches back down when given their chance. Not  ol' Matty. this put him over the top. He is now a clear frontrunner for this year's Golden Douche.

Sidebar: To the members of Matty's family who claimed, after his sentencing, that Matty was really a good person who made a bad mistake: No. You are wrong. Your statement is false. This is not something that good people do. Good people do not find themselves in this situation. And even on the off chance that a good person might make a series of poor decisions leading to this situation, a good person would not choose option four. A good person does not have an option four. Matthew Clemens is not a good person. Matthew Clemens is a utter douchebag. Have no misconceptions about this.

If anyone thinks they can beat intentionally vomiting on an 11-year-old girl, I ask that they not try. The world doesn't need any more of this.

On the other hand, we really must applaud the sheer ingenuity and originality of Matty's actions. How that thought even crossed his mind shows an absolutely unfathomable level of creative vision. So cheers to you, Matthew Clemens. You are, truly, a king of kings. Even LeBron might have trouble topping this.

We'll see you at the Golden Douche Awards Ceremony in January. (Hint: Have a speech ready.)

Chocolate

So I'm currently in the process of watching Chocolate. And I've got to say I'm pretty impressed.

Despite lacking any serious filmic craft (story structure, character development, um... plot) it has some very cool Tony Jaa-lite action. And by lite, I don't mean less graphic, or "for the young-ins," I just mean smaller scale set pieces and whatnot. Toes get cut off, asses get stabbed with rusty nails, people, pretty generally, spend the movie getting the shit beat out of them. Despite the latter being what people pay to see in a movie like this, the movie packs some pretty big emotional punches.



Now, every trick in the book is pulled out to accomplish said emotion, as the story concerns an autistic girl, Zen, and her overweight, bullied friend taking money from corrupt businesses to pay for the medical bills incurred by Zen's cancer-stricken mother. That's like the trifecta right there. Instant sympathy. And if that's not enough, Zen and her mother are also pariahs, hunted by a group of Thai transvestites because Zen was fathered by a member of the Japanese Yakuza. So, naturally, that's beefage.

But don't worry about it, because Zen can absorb fighting skills by watching Tony Jaa movies. This is supposed to be a selling point of the movie, but it isn't really that big of a deal, because I can totally do that too.

All of the above makes it hard not to care for this little girl whooping on people to save her mom. The end result: Awesome. Check it out. Especially if you crave a River Tam-esque, girls in flowering clothing kicking people fix.

And naturally, the fighting sequences feature infinitely better choreography and cinematography than any stateside action offering. The whole time I'm watching this, I'm thinking, "Oh. So they just must not care if they kill their stunt team." There are numerous times where it really looks like someone got killed. I'm talking about single shot, multiple story falls onto concrete.

Watch the outtakes. One of the aforementioned falls results in a very serious injury, and someone asks, "Should we go to the hospital?"

The answer, is no. You should go hard. Which you are doing. And the stunts look great, as a result.

Comic Gone

WORDPLAY!

But I bring up a serious issue here. At some point in the past decade, the San Diego Comic Convention, more commonly known as #comiccon, (which I always internalize as Comic Cocoon) warped into some hideous orifice that popular culture realized could be used to fuck the previously socially quarantined Land of Geekdom.

I blame the success of Marvel's bastardization initiative, through which they have increasingly churned out highly successful cinematic fecal based on the canons of their beloved characters. The financial returns on Marvel's films have done what few would have thought possible: Make comic books cool. Well, not actually cool, but make them a cool source for easy ideas. I can just see the coked-out studio execs tripping balls when they realize they don't have to hire anyone involved in preproduction.

"And, it's like, it's like, it's like.... it's a script.... but it's storyboards at the same time, bro! We don't have to do shit!"

"FUCK YES BRO. Get Shia on the phone. We can be shooting by next week!"

"TIGHT. Now let's skull-fuck this treatment of Halo in, like, 20, and then it's Jaeger bombs at the Geisha House!"

Also, that episode of Entourage where they go to Comic Con didn't help. But it was too late by that point.

Even less than ten years ago, it was something of an intriguing novelty that movies based on comics had panels at Comic Con. Now, MTV is debuting its new Teen Wolf series (the existence of which in and of itself makes me want to hurt things) at the convention.

Much of the convention is still devoted to comics, but that fact gets very little press coverage. I don't know why I'm surprised at this, but I just find it upsetting that no media outlets seem to have any desire to cover any of the convention's titular implications.

Eh. I'm ranting.

Also again

While we're on the topic of me cruising BBC News, I don't understand this.

Now, maybe there are certain intricacies to African diplomatic relations of which I am blissfully ignorant, but this seems like a pretty simple scenario. A war criminal comes into your country, a country in which there is an active warrant for said war criminal's arrest, and the rest should kind of figure itself out, right?

Yet this doesn't happen.

Consider me befuddled.

Also

Screw cricket scores. That is just obscene.

Fuck the Internet

I have, like, 12 e-mail accounts, profiles on a bunch of random websites, and AT LEAST 14 different passwords to remember. What the hell is wrong with me? Spoilers follow.

Also: If the end of Inception was indeed taking place in limbo, wouldn't Cobb just come back to his dinner table a couple of hours later, say, around dinner time, find the top still spinning and just be like, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK."

Red Dead Redemption OR Suck it, Roger Ebert

So I'm a few months late on this one, but I just finished Red Dead Redemption yesterday, and for the most part, I was actually pretty underwhelmed. From the disconnect between the player character's motivations and actions, to the litany of worthless tasks put forth to him in the primary story, I was about ready to write the game off as good, not great.

But then I got to the ending.

The game concerns a former outlaw, the grizzled, semi-literate John Marston, who has been forced into the business of bounty hunting by some rather despicable members of what will become the F.B.I. You see, they've kidnapped his wife and son, and are holding them as collateral until Marston hunts down and kills all the members of his old gang.

This storyline does well to bring about a Heart of Darkness inspired storyline, as Marston is forced deeper and deeper into the world he tried to leave behind. Unfortunately, this storyline, which would have served a two hour film brilliantly, is very forcibly stretched to accommodate a 15 hour game.

Developers Rockstar have christened this with the magic touch they bestowed upon 2008's Grand Theft Auto IV, meaning some great dialogue, memorable characters, and absolutely meaningless story missions designed to flex the writing staff's muscles, more so than provide enjoyment for the player.

This approach does its best to ruin any sense of pacing, and the mechanics of the GTA system can mean finishing one mission, immediately starting the next, and having characters speak to Marston as if they haven't seen him in days.

Overall, though, I was never too concerned with the story (until it hits its climax and then it's oddly long yet compelling coda, that is). The real draw here is a chance to live life in the dying days of the wild west; roaming the plains, hunting both animals and treasure, helping strangers you meet along your way, gambling, horse-breaking, bank-robbing; it's all there, and it's all wonderful.

I found myself going for days at a time without touching the story missions, simply wandering about the vast wasteland, reliving moments from all my favorite westerns. All along, though, the theme of modernity's encroachment on Marston's way of life, and the way of life in the old west in general, permeates every layer of the game.

Marston is a relic of a dying world, and the way the game communicates this is utterly fascinating. When you finally do catch up to Dutch, the ruthless leader of Marston's old gang, and the Kurtz figure of the story, he delivers some truly powerful parting words that so wonderfully echo the game's themes that it is positively haunting.

Not so coincidentally, about the time you run into Dutch, the game's story gets good. Really, really good. Great, even. But just when you think the game is over, the extended, and intriguing epilogue begins, throughout the duration of which there is an unwavering sense of dread. Despite the fact that everything seems to be at peace, you know it most certainly is not. The whole time, you know some crazy shit is about to happen, yet you never know quite when, and when it finally does happen, you still aren't ready for it.

To discuss it further would be even more spoileriffic than the preceding paragraphs, so I will just say that the ending is one of the best in video games. It's shocking, heartfelt and profound. It's not to be missed.

But if you'll excuse me, I'm off to roam the plains.

Inception

Yeah, it was bound to happen. I would like to write about something more original, but the simple fact is: I cannot stop thinking about Inception.

I can't stop thinking about how great it was, I can't stop thinking about how much was wrong with it, and I can't stop thinking about how much I need to see it again. I wasn't kidding when I walked out of the theater and told my compatriots that I would turn around and buy a ticket for the next showing, had there been one.

So let's get the basics out of the way:

1. The scope of the film is absolutely incredible. Such a wholly original idea so executed flawlessly is an unbelievable achievement.

2. That executed flawlessly bit? Not hyperbole. PERFECTLY shot, edited and, despite what anyone may say to the contrary, written. Bouncing through four dimensions of reality while maintaining a judo grip on my stomach is not an easy task. The way the film recreates the jumpy, illogical nature of dreams through mid-conversation cuts to completely different locations is pretty cool. It is true that there is A LOT of exposition. But it is all quite necessary, as creating an entire universe without explaining it to the audience would probably not go over too well.

3. Zero Gravity fight scenes - fuck yes.

4. It has been a long time since a film has so thoroughly consumed an audience. Not a single person in the theater I was in could take there eyes from the screen. The film simply engulfs you, makes you a part of its world, and doesn't let you out, even when it is over. 

5. James Cameron should get pretty familiar with that 2nd place spot on the podium. Christopher Nolan has staked his claim as the king of Hollywood. (And he's actually a talented writer! Who would have guessed?)

But, as I somewhat ominously mentioned in my opening sentiments, there is a lot wrong with the film. At the risk of overusing an all-caps A LOT twice in one post, I feel it is necessary. Because there really are A LOT of problems.

That isn't entirely true, it's just that the problems are very basic plot holes and contradictions. The one that keeps gnawing at me is so simple that I am borderline frustrated that it is not addressed. 

Mild spoilers follow.

As you may or may not know, the film concerns a team of crack dream-invaders who specialize in stealing ideas from people through said people's dreams, a process known as extraction. The kicker of the film, however, is that they've have been tasked with planting an idea in someone through a dream, known as inception. 

Now, inception is supposed to be incredibly difficult, if not impossible to perform, yet I couldn't help but find myself thinking how often I have crazy ideas from even crazier dreams. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to fabricate an idea in dreamland. But this issue is handled quite well, and is not my qualm.

My problem is that this premise leads to the vast majority of the cast being asleep for a vast majority of the film. Everyone is technically "asleep" for the its entire second half. In order to commit inception, the team, along with their mark, are all heavily sedated with a special sedative designed to preserve their inner ear functionality, meaning they are still susceptible to waking up from the sensations of falling or imbalance.

This is key to their plan, as they will need to trigger a "kick" (somehow making their sleeping selves fall or get splashed with water or something) in order to wake from their shared dream. They arrange to do this by having the van they are all sleeping in (within the dream - because you know they pull some dream within a dream business) be driven off a bridge into a river. 

Now this is supposed to be what wakes them up, and it does so quite effectively, yet the fact that on the way to the bridge, the van flies off a freeway, rolls over about four times and crashes, all without stirring its occupants arises that nasty little skeptical bastard that lives in my brain. Again, this is a very basic plot hole, and it is rather frustratingly brushed aside.

Perhaps more pertinently, the actual device that allows people to share dreams is not even remotely explained. I don't think anyone even mentions it. It's just kind of there, absolutely integral to the plot, yet utterly mysterious. 

Sidenote: I don't know how many neural synapses are in your wrist, but that does not seem like it would be the most likely port for plugging yourself into a mind-melding device.

And lastly, I just wanted more. I wanted to know more about Nolan's world, more about the business of dream-sharing. I want to see what happens when someone has an off-the-wall, coocoo bananas, flying-motorcycle dream. All of the dreams in the film are loosely based in reality. I want to see a surreal dreamscape that I've seen so many times at night, but can never remember when I wake up. I want to see what happens when someone has a nightmare. I want to know more!

This sounds like ample opportunity for some fan-fiction.

See this movie. There won't be a better one for years.

Welcome to the New World Order! of this blog

The real question when rebooting this classic and well-loved, but currently listless and self-parodical, blogging franchise was, "What gimmick to place as the centerpiece?"

I mean, that one dude already makes fun of white people, which is cool, albeit a little easy. Not exactly the most dangerous game. Not even a moving target. White people are lame. We know this.

In that vein, there's already the anti-hipster blog. But again. Fish. Barrel. You figure out the rest.

It should be noted that my immense jealousy of how perfect the above two blogs are is the only reason they have elicited mild scorn from myself. That and Stuff White People Like is just way too close to home for it to be funny.

I could do food! I like food. But a food blog? Meh. Not exactly the best thing ever. My real problem... or at least one of my more major problems, is that I have too much shit I care too much about. So this blog must encompass them all. 

A daunting task, surely, but the worldview of an international jewel thief who runs a bar in Hanoi called "Flowers for Algernon" with his homie Raul, will be an invaluable contribution to the blagosphere.

Raul is a G! Communist insurrection, shmommunist shminsurrection.

Also, I henceforth vow to write every post while clad in a kimono and cowboy hat, and pray I am never photographed doing so, lest it show up on latfh.