Hey drunkards!
For all 2 of you who tuned in before summer, apologies for the hiatus. I had some soul searching to do. I kid, I kid. Cliches aside, I was actually making a dent on the film biz front, picking up steady work as an extra ('background actor' for those with a superiority/douche-bag complex) throughout the summer. Fyi, if you get a chance to work on a flick whose plot requires winter attire and films during the dog days of August, pass. Unless you dig heat stroke. Anyway...
Basically, I've resurfaced to tell you to wait longer. I'm applying for an intern position with Collider.com within the coming weeks, so that's given my motivation a kick in the...a jump start. Can I swear in my own blog? I should probably take a poll to get a grasp of the age group I'm talking to. Whether I need to censor my language or make prune juice and Alzheimer's cracks Alzheimer's cracks.
Before my next article/review/doodle/whatever I so please goes live in a few days, I'll leave you with a mini rant about society and the zeroes that inhabit it. Mind you, these are a frequent occurrence. I'm not afraid to say that I consider the theory of evolution an insult to apes...
Okay, so I was watching Mother, Bong Joon-Ho's phenomenal latest about the evidence-free conviction of a mentally-challenged young man for murder and his overly-protective mother's vigilante investigation, and as many do when the sound is inadequate, I punched the volume (+) button down until I could hear the thing. As I'm partaking in this heinous act, a flatmate walks in, his eyes roll up into his skull and says, "Why bother with the volume? It's a foreign movie. Do you speak...what is that? Chinese? (it's Korean). Not like you're missing anything by not hearing it." No, old buddy old pal, I am. I'm missing a few tiny tidbits called an actor's performance, soundtrack, and sound effects. No biggie. I mention this. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named then proceeded to inform me that I'm a "silly goose" (his word not mine...actually it was "idiot" but I like mine better) for thinking there's anything more to a performance than the lines they speak. So I punched him in the stomach. He glared and yelled "What was that for?!". I told him to go look in the mirror and mull whether he'd be more or less intimidating if his face wasn't red.
P.S. His name is ____ (gotcha), I've never abused him physically or emotionally, and we're still friends. Sorta.
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