All your votes are belong to us

I have something of a love-hate relationship with politics. Maybe not as dramatic as that sounds, but the sentiment is still there. For example, I enjoy political thriller movies like All the President's Men (1976), Frost/Nixon (2008) and The Ides of March (2011) and all the intense conversation between men in suits and political jargon that they entail. On the other hand, whenever anyone in real life starts talking, or more usually arguing, about politics my attention tends to wander to less grumpy subjects. Fact is, unless you've had some kind of briefing beforehand, any conversation about politics is going to be filled with odd terms, weird names and lots and lots of rules and regulations that only affect you once they've passed through numerous other entities and organizations. In short, real life politics kinda sucks.

The only politics I'm interested in.

With that being said, something happened the other day that got me, if only for a moment, interested in politics on a personal level. I wasn't in a directly political conversation, but the question was nonetheless posed to me and a few others. 

"If you were offered £50,000 a year, but in exchange you had to give up your right to vote, would you take it?"

For some, I'm sure, this question is a no contest. The right to vote, to 'have your say' on government issues is a sacred thing and to give it up would be giving up your freedom. I have nothing but respect for those people and their dedication to local and national politics. For me, though, the question took a little longer to think about.

On the one hand, as someone who doesn't really believe in any kind of fate, that things just happen and no future event is set in stone, it is entirely possible that my vote could one day be the difference between world peace and a second Hitler, or a less extreme version of that scenario. I consider myself fairly capable of the kind of success that would bring at least £50k a year in, so is it really worth giving up something so potentially vital to our nations security so I don't have to work for money? I don't know, but I'd hate to be that guy; as the tanks roll down the street and the flag of the new Republic is being raised, realising that the Crab-People only got into power by one vote, and realising that vote could have been mine. Although, maybe I could tell the Crab-People that I'm the reason they got in, and they'll reward me with some kind of upper-management position. I might be too tempted to eat them though. I've heard crab is delicious, and to be honest there's no better time to find out than when you're surrounded by them during a morning meeting at Crab-People HQ.

However, I also have resign myself to two truths about the world I live in. One, no one in British politics seems to have any real competence or idea about how to get the country back on its feet, and two; money, for all its evils, does very much make the world go round. And imagine all the things you could get done if you were getting £50k a year without having to work. Charities, creative projects, all kinds of things can be done when you've got money and all the time to spare. Invest it right, and suddenly your making £75k, or a £100k a year. Guaranteed money, especially nowadays, is not something to be sniffed at. As responsible citizen and pillar of the community Tony Montana says, "In this country, you gotta make the money first. Then when you get the money, you get the power. Then when you get the power, then you get the women." (Scarface, 1983)

What it comes down to is this; how much power do you believe your vote has, and do you value that power over a guaranteed yearly salary?

For me, some would say unfortunately, the money is the way to go. Maybe I'm too cynical ahead of my time, but at this point in my life, for £50k a year I could live happily and comfortably. I could take on all the creative projects I wanted full time, hang out with my buddies much more often and not feel much of a sense of loss over giving up my right to vote. Sure, things in the government will still annoy me; I won't be happy with all of the decisions they make, but I would hope that in the circumstances I would have made peace with my situation.

Hope this was at least somewhat thought provoking for you, and that you enjoyed it for what it was. I apologise (but not really) if I seemed too dismissive of politics, it just fills me with a big ball of 'meh'. The question is interesting though, I think. Leave your thoughts and answers, even if it is just a yes or no, in a comment; and as usual, a very good day to you, Sir's and Madam's, until we meet again. Or until the Crab-People take over. Any day now.

Edgar Magpie Poe

Back again! Pretty sure last time I promised I'd be a little more frequent, or at least more consistent with my posts, but the fact is I've actually been rather busy. Yup, everything's coming up trumps for ol' Hazy Wazy Wizzly... woo... wudub. Hmmm. That was a blip, and I apologise profusely, but apart from that, yeah, it's all great. So instead of writing about what's happening in my head, I've been putting the things in my head on the outside of my head into other people's heads. But not so weird, or brain-washy. Man, Charlie Manson was nuts. Look his court stuff up on Youtube, seriously, it's not even anywhere near a case of misinterpretation or poor articulation of ideas on his part. It's legit crazy-town.

Anyway, not a lot of time to post because lots of good stuff happening. But it's not all rosy-cozy in Hazyville, oh no. Trouble's a-brewin', and it's threatening to drive me up, down, behind and through the wall. However, before we get into my issues, doc, some good old fashioned backstory is required.

Two or three or four, but definitely not five years ago, on a family holiday in Cornwall (or somewhere similar) we were driving back from the beach past one of those rolling green hills that folk singers sing about, except this hill had about thirty or forty magpie's on it.

For those of you keeping score at home, this is a magpie...

Sinister little bugger, isn't he?

Now, I had never seen that many magpie's all together in one place. That old nursery rhyme says something like "One for sorrow, two for joy/ Three for a girl, four for a boy..." etc. I don't know the full rhyme, so I don't know whether it goes as high as forty. But maybe that happens; birds of a feather flock together, right? What doesn't happen, I'm pretty sure, is that when you pass by the forty magpies on the hill, they suddenly take flight in your direction, AND FLY RIGHT OVER YOUR HEAD TWICE. I'll admit, I didn't take i as seriously at the time. The most I thought, with my writer's brain buzzing, was that this would make a pretty cool story. Little did I know, I'D BE LIVING DAT SHIT.

Fast forward a few months, the muchos muchos magpies incident is almost forgotten. On the way to school or sixth form (depending on how long ago it actually was) I see a couple of magpies on the grass. Bit unusual; don't usually see them around where I live, but then again they're birds, they can go where they want. As the saying goes, they are as free as themselves. Anyway, next day, I see them again, different places, trees, other patches of grass, whatever. Still didn't really register this properly. Happens again the next day. And all of next week, and the week after. They weren't there everyday, but they were there more often than not. This goes on for about four or five months. I didn't tell anyone, I don't think (what am I, crazy?), but inside I was starting to freak out a little. People don't just see magpies everyday of the week, and magpies don't just hang around a person.

And then it just stopped. Not just a reduction to the normal frequency of magpies, no more magpies full stop. Part of me is like "Yay! That brief, weird period in my life is over, never to return, never to be mentioned again!" Another part (the intelligent bit) said, "Well five months of magpies can't just be meaningless, a random occurrence of no significant consequence. You should probably at least look into it, or something." A smaller, less intelligent part said, "Kinda miss the magpies, guys. Just me?"

Anyway, long story short (too late), for the past two years, every five months or so, magpies show up. Sometimes one, sometimes two, but they're always there. And I am losing my mind, friends. So I decided to try and get to the bottom of it. Not much luck so far.

Maybe, if the nursery rhyme does go to forty, then forty is being stalked by magpies for the rest of your life. Maybe the magpie is my spirit animal, and they're actually here for my protection, although how two magpies are going to protect me when that angry griffin comes for his money I have no idea. Maybe its a Truman Show style deal, but I hope not, cause I don't know how to sail and frankly who has the budget for that kind of thing anymore? Maybe I'm cursed. Maybe when those magpies flew over my head they were casting a spell, a 'Fuck You, Strange Boy' spell, and now for the rest of my life I will be constantly confuzzled by ever-present magpies in my general vicinity. Or maybe my hair just has that natural glossy shine that you can only get from washing it in the Fountain of Good Will and Children's Tears. Who knows?

So there's my story. Seriously, its getting a little freaky, and I've seen The Birds, so I know the risks. By the way, Hitchcock; The Birds, what the hell was that? I'm not going into it now, but goddamn, Hitchcock. God. Damn.

By the way, just in case for some inexplicable reason you think I'm looney tunes, a magpie landed on the lawn outside my house the other day, looked at me, thats right, FUDGIN' LOOKED AT ME, then flew away, so explain that, doc.

As usual, leave a comment, share this around, make your feelings known and, as always, a very good day to you, Sir's and Madam's, until we meet again.

30 or less...

Hello there! Oh, he wasn't waving at me. Well this awkward. Oh, hello! Neither was she. Wait, was she. Hello, miss? No, no, now I'm shouting at strangers. Anyway, this is a new thing I'm trying. Very simple concept. Movie reviews in 30 words or less. Old movies, new movies, all are welcome. I will not abide ageism, unless its warranted. Because small children are terrifying. STOP STARING AT ME I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT!

Here we go...

Gangster Squad (2013) - Ruben Fleischer

Had potential to be the great ‘mafia/gangster’ movie of modern era. Fun, good ensemble but plot lacked subtlety. Needed another twenty – thirty minutes. GIOVANNI RIBISI!

Margin Call (2011) - J.C. Chandor

Interesting, informative look behind closed doors before the crash. Exposes the battle between humanity, rationality and business in the financial world. Top ensemble with some surprising turns.

Weekend at Bernie's (1989) - Ted Kotcheff

Top comedy from high concept plot. Silverman and McCarthy excel as in classic comedy roles, but film is made by outstanding physical work from Kiser and stunt double.

This Is the End (2013) - Evan Goldberg, Seth Rogen

Overtly self-referential comedy is surprisingly well crafted, although some in-jokes may be lost on less well-informed or foreign audiences. Self-parody done right. Hilarious Tatum cameo.

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) - Joel Coen, Ethan Coen

Classic Coen brothers take on Homer’s ‘The Odyssey’. Cooky characters, crazy occurrences. Clooney does comedy. Tim Blake Nelson is stand out in subtle supporting role. I’m a Dapper Dan man!

Leaving Las Vegas (1995) - Mike Figgis

Shue is standout, but Cage provides strong central character for her to work with. Cage’s quirks perfect for character on drunken downward spiral, though he doesn't quite win enough sympathy.

Requiem for a Dream (2000) - Darren Aronofsky

Beautiful depiction of the black hole of addiction. Ellen Burstyn especially heart breaking. Climax of movie excellently mirrors come down from a high. Tough to watch, but wonderful.

So there you have it. Apologies for the seemingly random assembly of movies, but I'm reviewing them as I watch them. I'll most likely be doing a few more of these since it's quite quick and fun to do, so any requests for movies are welcome. I think seven is a good number; a happy medium between the 'too short' of five and the 'endless list' of ten. As usual, any tips, questions or thoughts, leave 'em in the comments and, as always, a very good day to you, Sir's and Madam's, until we meet again.

General Thoughts

I'm back! From outer space! Not really, and again, I apologise for my extended absence, Uni and all the related shenanigans. Let's kick off some random musings.

I was asked recently why I watch and enjoy BBC's Strictly Come Dancing, while at the same time avoiding, reviling and ridiculing shows like X Factor and Britain's Got Talent. First of all, SCD is a show where people we've come to know from our telebox-o-vision pair up with a certified professional and learn a new skill. It's a journey of discovery that we are privy too week after week. There is no sense of real mean-spiritedness or placing someone on a pedestal just to watch them fail. Also, as a theatrey type, anything with jazzy dance steps, fancy costumes and an all-round sense of showbiz razzmatazz is going to be to my taste. It is not a popularity contest trying to hide behind the thin veil of a show about discovering new talent; a show remarkably similar to the kind put on in Roman Colosseum's a few years ago, but with the one power-mad Caesar replaced by four pompous versions high on their own illusions of talent. They still listen to the crowd when they bay for someone's head (purely metaphorical) and seem to delight in cutting hopeful participants down. That's why.

During the summer, as a challenge to myself, I purchased a copy of Ulysses by James Joyce with the intent to read and understand it on my own merit, not as part of some educational course. Late on evening I settled down and began to read. About a chapter in I had to stop, promising myself that I would come back to it when my brain was less wearied from a full days events. I have yet to return to it. I had almost completely forgotten about the debacle of that evening until I gazed upon the reading list for one of my modules this semester. On it, a few weeks down, was A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, written by, you guessed it, James Joyce. Although initially a little perturbed, I was reasonably confident, since this novel was almost half the size of Ulysses. It took me a week to get through it. Not that it was boring, bad or poorly written, it was just tough to get through. And yet, I enjoyed it immensely. I think, for me at least, reading the unique style of James Joyce is like wading through a swimming pool filled with Golden Syrup. It's tough, takes a lot of work, at some points you almost want to stop and give up. But on the other hand, being immersed in it is just wonderful. It's rich, deep and when you reach the end you're guaranteed to remember the experience in a positive light. It's also delicious when warmed up and drizzled over dessert. I think.

So there you go, a couple of quick thoughts that will hopefully get me back in to the swing of this blog-writing malarkey. Good word, malarkey, not used nearly enough in conversation. That's your homework for this week folks. Use 'malarkey' at least 10 times in conversation. You'll feel good about yourself.

Anyway, I'll try to write more from now on, probably do some kind of movie one next, so watch out for that. As always, a very good day to you, Sir's and Madam's, until we meet again.

Here's my theory...

Possibly a shorter post today. Sorry I've been gone so long; you don't need to know why. Today's comes from conversation with my sister, who is more intelligent than she gives herself credit for. What I mean by that is that she knows all the facts, but maybe doesn't trust herself enough to stick by what she knows, or something. Anyway, whatever it is means occasionally I attempt to convince her that certain things happen a certain way for reasons she didn't even know were reasons. This got me remembering some of the weird theories I came up with for certain things, a few of which I'd like to share with you.

Keep Moving Forward

So we were out in rural England one summer holiday, Devon I think it was. Walking over the hills and such, exploring nature, alive with the sound of music etc. On the horizon we spot a rare sight for anyone from less rural places, namely a couple of wind turbines, spinning slowly in the breeze. My sister asks a question about the turbines (I don't remember what it was) and I took the opportunity to enlighten her with some wind turbine 'facts'. This is the theory I suggested.

"The world turns, and we turn with it." I think that's an old saying. But what if we don't. The earth turns, sure, but history shows us that land masses split and shift, so maybe they're not always attached to the actual earth. So the world turns, but the land stays where it is. This where the wind turbines come in.

What if the wind turbines have been put up because the countries they're in need the power of the wind to keep them moving around the earth. The turbines are propeller shaped, and something that size probably generates more power than people let on. Britain, one of the smaller land masses of the world, has a few of them. America, a significantly larger land mass, has whole fields, acres of these turbines. 

Sure, maybe they're just generating a renewable energy resource. OR MAYBE THEY'RE MOVING THE WHOLE FRICKIN' COUNTRY!!! WHAT!? NO! IT CAN'T BE! But what if it is? What of the only thing stopping us from slamming into the US East Coast, and France into us, is these huge white propellers; driving the country like and old timey boat.

It's just a thought.

The Little People

This one I haven't tried to convince anyone of, but I've thought about it in the back of my mind for a while. The human brain has long been a mystery. We think we know some stuff about how it works, but then something happens, someone does something wacko that we can't explain and boom, everything's up in the air again. Here's how I think it could work.

Basically, your human brain is like the offices of a large corporation, filled with tiny little you's all working in different departments of your body. Obviously all decisions come from the top, where the Board of Brain Directors decide what they want you to say and do, send those instructions down to the relevant floor (i.e. say "Here's a crazy theory" and fax that down to the vocal department), the wheels spin and your body moves.

Maybe one day you wake up and your arms gone to sleep? Those guys have gone on strike. The limb guys always think they're underpaid. They do the walking, but they can't do the talking. Lose your voice? The vocal team are often understaffed. Being so close to the biggest opening in the body means they get all the diseases right in their face. Sure they get good medical care and preventative measures do exist, but sometimes the guys upstairs decide that the budget won't stretch that far and suddenly, 

"Hey! Why can't I speak properly? Why am I all croaky? Shit, vocal team? Vocal team, you guys in?" 

"Sorry boss, it's just Larry in today. I can only work so many chords!"

Also, just like people at real corporations, sometimes they work nights. Sleepwalkers and talkers, I'm looking at you. Sure the lights are off and the cleaners gone home, but those vocal guys gotta make up the hours they missed from that time you went out in January without a scarf. So they pull up old files from the Brain Database and just play out sound bytes at random. And those guys working nights in the brain? The memory guys, constantly busy cataloguing and filing everything you've ever seen, done or said. Sometimes maybe they get bored, maybe they take a few memories, mix them together (memory guys are big on video editing) and play it out for their own entertainment. Of course, to you this appears as a dream, and makes no sense.

I could go on, but it's probably all gibberish.

But it's just a thought.

So there you have it. Utter drivel, I know, and many holes can and probably will be poked, but when you just think about stuff, this kind of thing happens. Maybe I'll do more of these, maybe my brain will explode. Find out next time on (big, deep announcers voice) KINDA HAZY BLOOOOOGGGG!

Disclaimer: The views expressed above should not be dwelt on by any sane-thinking person. They are the ramblings of a possible psychopath and are being investigated by the relevant authorities. A very good day to you, Sir's and Madam's, until we meet again.

Don't stop believing...

I don't really like talking about religion or beliefs. In my experience either everyone agrees and the conversation goes nowhere, or no one agrees and everyone gets angry because someone else dares to question their beliefs. The subject of religion is just too incendiary for my liking. My point is don't expect many posts of this kind.

I come from a religious family. I was raised with the church as a large part of my background; indeed, my grandfather and step-grandmother were officers (ministers) in the Salvation Army, I have aunts and uncles and various peripheral family members who are also ministers, basically my family are all 'Army' going back at least two generations. Church on Sunday has been a part of my routine since before I can remember. I joined both the youth brass band (YP Band) and adult choral group (Songsters) at Romford Salvation Army. Even when we holiday with my step-grandmother in Christchurch, Bournemouth we attend the Salvation Army Sunday morning service at the local hall.

But I am not a Christian. This is not to say that I do all of the above things under protest, nor am I forced to do them. I have made many friends at the Army; unsurprising, most Christians are very kind, welcoming people. I love playing the cornet (small, more classical version of a trumpet) and singing in the Songsters (I'm a bass (the really deep voice guys)) and enjoy my work as part of the team who record and release CD's of the morning meetings to those unable to attend the actual service. It's not that I think Christianity as a whole, or religion as a whole for that matter, is completely wrong. I have seen much of the good work it can do.

I don't know what I would call myself. Of course, I know the groups; Theist, Agnostic, Atheist, but I can't conclusively put myself in any single one of them. I'm certainly not enough of a believer to be theist, but I'm not completely sure that some kind of god does not exist. You'd think that would make me agnostic, but too me that implies some vested interest in whether there is a god.

Simply put, I do not care whether there is a god.

That sounds bad, I know, and I don't mean in an arrogant way. What I mean when I say I don't care is that I'm not really bothered. At this moment in time, I don't live my life based on a staunch belief in either science or religion. While I trust science, I'm not on the lookout for the next big discovery. And while I sometimes cry out or pray when I'm desperate, as Robert Langdon says in Angels & Demons (a decent movie) "Faith is a gift I have yet to receive."

But I still have my doubts. Sometimes I feel like I should care, like the answers to these questions should be more important to me than they are. Am I being immature, not caring whether a god exists? Will my life lack direction until I 'pick a side'? Am I simply an agnostic in childish denial? I try not to worry too much. People seem to have so many worries in their life these days that I don't like to add to them by vocalising my problems or doubts. But very occasionally, I do wonder. So, if anyone has actually made it this far past all my rambling, I would like to pose to you some questions.

Is it okay for me not to care whether there is a god?

Am I doing myself a disservice from a lifestyle point of view?

Is there a word for someone who doesn't care whether there is a god?

How do I get my whites so pristine?
(Don't worry about that last one, I know the secret)

So there you have it. As I said, I don't really like bringing up religion as a discussion topic, it creates a lot of friction. But now I have this forum available I feel like I may as well use it for something which could further enrich my life. Just as a side note, I am happy with my life. These questions aren't keeping me awake at night (I don't sleep much anyway) and I'm not secretly tortured by them. As seems to be a theme, I kinda don't care. But take that as you will.

I'd appreciate your thoughts, on this and anything else. As always if you'd like me to do a post on a particular subject, feel free to request it, or if you have any tips to make this a better blog, I'd very much appreciate those. Finally, a very good day to you, Sir's and Madam's, until we meet again.

New Dogs, Old Tricks...

WARNING: Minor spoilers in this one. Although, if you have any interest in film and haven't seen the film in question then you may need to re-evaluate some of your life choices. Onward!

I love movies. Apart a few absolute nightmares, even the the bad ones have their own charm. And don't get me started on the behind-the-scenes features. If your movie's DVD comes with director/cast commentary and a fairly decent length 'Making of' documentary, take my money Sir, I am sold. A few one-on-one interviews with the main cast couldn't hurt either.

Obviously, with such an obsession over the in's and out's of the film world, and friends who shared at least some of that interest, I thought and talked about movies quite a bit. And so, dearest reader, sitting there with your pipe and reading glasses (or monocle, I'm not prejudiced), today I let you in on one of my favourite (and nerdiest) pastimes, recasting. The act of taking a previously made film, and replacing the principal actors with modern day equivalents.

This is not the same as remaking the film, since in my experience a remake can, for better or worse, take an almost completely different turn on the subject matter. The plot and style of the film would, as far as possible, remain exactly the same. The only difference would be the actors listed on IMDb. So, without further ado, the film I will be recasting for your pleasure (or derision)...

Reservoir Dogs

The first wave of Mr Tarantino's stylized wand remains one of my favourite movies. Speaking of dear Quentin, I'll be allowing him his acting credit as 'Mr. Brown', and will only be recasting the five 'main' parts. That is the parts of 'Mr. White', 'Mr. Orange', 'Mr. Blonde', 'Mr Pink' and ''Nice Guy' Eddie Cabot'. Not that the other characters are not worth recasting, but they unfortunately do not get enough screen time, in my estimation, to fully know their character. I did briefly consider John Goodman as Joe Cabot, but I worry that A) He is too laid back to capture the gruff authority that Lawrence Tierney exuded, and B) That I am only casting him because he's awesome and hilarious. Also, as I said, I don't feel we get enough of the Joe Cabot character to make a proper decision on who could play him. Anyway, without further ado, recasting Reservoir Dogs...

Mr. White - Kevin Spacey

In a movie where everyone is a liar or a criminal, Mr White is as close to a moral backbone as this movie will get. He is, in essence, the hero of Reservoir Dogs. He stresses the importance of doing a job the right way, of being 'a professional'. He struggles with a need to help a kid he's grown close to, but avoid the law that pursues them. He also holds a large majority of the films screentime, confirming his place as one of the films main subjects.
 While Kevin Spacey is not the first actor that comes to mind when you think of a 'hero', he has the ability to play both sides of the emotional coin. He can be the calm, collected thinker in control of the situation, and also the pissed-off bad ass looking for answers as to why things didn't go like they were supposed to. 21 showed both his capacity for the nurturing father figure and the slick smart-guy, knowing what's what and constantly on his guard. He also has the screen presence to hold the audience's attention as one of the focal points of the movie.

Other's considered: Bryan Cranston, Johnny Depp, Bradley Cooper

Mr Orange - Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Mr. Orange may be the 'rat' in the end, but in terms of the film as a whole, he represents innocence and naivety. He's clearly nervous about going undercover, and at one point has to convince himself he's up to the job. When he gets shot, he is clearly terrified. Of course, as an undercover cop, he also has an underlying sense of not being natural, either not committing 100% to whatever the crew are doing, or over compensating. And when the time comes, he needs that killer instinct to get the job done

 Joseph Gordon-Levitt displayed the kind of innocence and naivety necessary to heartbreaking proportions on Mysterious Skin. He also has the added bonus of never really ageing. Look at that face. Now realise it's almost 33 years old. God damn. His more recent films (Looper etc.) have shown his more serious side, but also that he can play a character who in the end, makes most of his decisions based in what is right and just.

Other's considered: Casey Affleck, a shaven Jake Gyllenhall, Daniel Radcliffe

 Mr Blonde - Bradley Cooper

Simply put, Mr. Blonde is an arsehole. To put it another way, he's a cocky prick. It's this attribute that makes you forget for portions of Reservoir Dogs that he is a crazy psycho killer. Of course, a certain infamous scene brings that fact right back into your mind. But the fact remains, Mr. Blonde isn't just your everyday nutter with a knife and lighter fluid. He has a certain dickish charm that means you're entertained by him , but you don't ever really want to get to know him.

By no means am I suggesting Bradley Cooper is a prick. He seems a very genial fellow, the kind you'd have a beer or go to Vegas with. But his turn in Wedding Crashers proved he can play a character the audience is never going to get onside with. He has the size and physical presence to convincingly be a threat even to his fellow criminals, but the 'Hollywood good-looks' face that put you at ease a little. His hairier scenes in films like Limitless, The Place Beyond the Pines and Silver Linings Playbook suggest that he is capable of ramping up the intensity for Mr. Blonde's more psychotic moments.

Other's considered: Michael Shannon, Josh Holloway, Mark Ruffalo

Mr Pink - Giovanni Ribisi

Mr. Pink is another 'hero' of the movie, in the twisted criminally moral way that he is focused on the job and is in fact the only one to actually get away from the jewellery store with any of the diamonds. He is however, a snivelling weasel of a character, cocky when he's got the upper hand but liable to crawl under ramps when things get hairy. He is the classic lower-level criminal. That being said, the character is fairly important, especially his discussions with Mr. White about where the robbery went wrong and whether or not there was indeed a 'rat'.

I'll admit it. This is a little bit based on my personal love of everything Ribisi, but we'll get into that another time. He can do small, slimy and creepy while at the same time being a major presence on screen. In terms of when Mr. Pink is panicking and ranting and raving to Mr. White, look to his work in the morphine scene in Saving Private Ryan. Even some of his odd, unnerving work in Ted would not look amiss if coming from the Mr. Pink character. Overall, he can both carry a scene, and be an integral and fascinating part of an ensemble.

Other's considered: Sam Rockwell, James Franco, Aaron Paul

'Nice Guy' Eddie Cabot - Jonah Hill

Eddie Cabot is an odd character plot-wise. He seems like he's in charge, but his father is the one who plans and organises the whole robbery. Yet he doesn't take part in the robbery itself. All we see is him hanging around with the guys and then turning up to clear up the mess. He's like a middle man, but in a situation where a middle man is not necessary. In the end, Eddie is pretty much just a daddy's boy, hanging around his father's business, desperate to be involved and prove himself to his dad. 

While we have yet to see whether Jonah Hill can be mobster-tough, his character in Superbad is just a few years behind Eddie. Whereas the Superbad character would pick on a big kid then jump behind a bigger kid, by the time he was Eddie he would be jumping behind his father. Jonah's unique brand of awkward confidence would fit perfectly with the Eddie character, trying to control and keep up with real criminals, like the boss that no one really respects. He also has just enough obnoxiousness to hit the annoying whine in the voice that adds to the daddy's boy character. Oh, and he kinda looks like Chris Penn...

Other's considered: Mark Wahlberg, Cillian Murphy, Joaquin Pheonix

So there you have it. I have a feeling many will disagree with at least some of my choices, and in that case I urge you to leave a comment with what you think of my choices, and what choices you would make. Different people take different things away from a movie, that's one of the best things about film. Also leave a comment on any other movies you'd like to see recast. 

Time for a few personal pleas. I'm still fairly new to this, so any comments on how I could improve my blogging skills would be appreciated. Any ideas for topics you'd like to hear my opinion on also whack in a comment. What you've up to, how your day was, if you've been injured at work where it wasn't your fault, bang a comment. Also, don't be obnoxious about it but if you think anyone else would enjoy reading what I write, feel free to share it with them. I would love you for a while at least.

So that's that. I had fun, but then I'm a weird nerd. A very good day to you, Sirs and Madams, until we meet again.

Take a look, It's in the book...

In my last post I stated that I did not know what I wanted to do, or be, in the future times. I should, however, clarify that when I said that I did not mean that I had no idea what I wanted to do in those future times. I do have several options, various ideas spawned at different ages about how my life was going to play out. Some of them are more realistic than others. The first occupation I desired, back when I was a young lad of 4 or 5, was to be Thomas the Tank Engine. I'm not sure how I would have achieved this, that part wasn't important. I was too preoccupied with not pissing of the Fat Controller. One wrong move and he'd turn you into an oven on wheels. Nobody wants to live like that.

By the age of 6 I had moved on to more serious prospects, deciding my future would be built around becoming a tiger. An executive position in Siberia, that was my ultimate goal I think, something in PR. Improving relation with the lions mostly. It's their fault, the lazy fucks, with their big hair and movie franchises. Bastards. Anyway, that dream was quickly forgotten, to be replaced by the hope that I would one day get a job as a robot. Possibly with a sideline in dragons or unicorns or something. At that age you like to keep your options open.

Eventually I decided, as many people do, that childhood dreams must be quashed to make way for more socially acceptable career choices. Which brings me (by way of the metaphorical ferry) to the subject of this post. Among the many files in my brain is one that reads 'Possible Careers You Could Actually Do and Maybe Be Good At'. In that file, surrounded by more glamourous idea's involving fame, fortune and fiscal freedom, is one marked 'Book Shop'. Yup, you read that right. In a world where the desirable careers involve making lots of money or making a meaningful contribution to the world (or, once in a blue moon, both), a part of me just wants to sell books.

I don't mean just getting a job in the local Waterstones, either. I want to be that quaint little book shop that you find just wandering around town, the one with the old fashioned simple painted sign, Victorian decor and that unique book smell. That last one sounds a bit weird, but if you're a literature lover then you know what I'm talking about. Part of this desire I'm sure comes from my love of early 2000's sitcom Black Books, written by and starring comedian Dylan Moran, although I hope I'd run the shop a little more competently than Bernard Black did.

Would I survive in the modern economy? Probably not for very long, especially with the growing popularity of e-books, Kindle's and the like, but in the fantasy of my mind that doesn't matter. I've always found that little, independent bookshops have a certain romance and mysticism about them. The kind of old books, of original editions that Waterstones, WH Smiths or any other store chain probably wouldn't dream of stocking live in these Alladin's Cave's of Literature, and you probably won't have to deal with some gaudy, new-edition cover.

I also like the idea of the freedom that come with being self-employed and owning your own shop. While I highly doubt I have the market nous or savvy to run a huge business, I'm pretty sure I could handle one shop. Making decisions on which books or authors to stock, buying and selling books with local customers, becoming part of a community that appreciates your services and supports you. It may also have something to do with the issues with certain types of authority that I seemed to have inherited from my father, but that is neither here nor there.

Finally, (and this is a rather selfish reason) I would be surrounded by every book I could ever want. Say maybe business slows a little. It's a small hypothetical town, and the hypothetical town's people don't buy books all day, there's bound to be some down-time. If only I had something to read to pass the time, right? Seriously, fellow book-lovers, imagine walking into Waterstones and being able to pick any book of the shelf and read it basically for free. Hey, it's a perk of the job. Of course, the more time I spend reading would mean less time selling books and less money made, so it's a double-edged sword. Regardless, that's a world I want to live in.

So there you have it. That's one of my dreams for the future. It's not much, but I'd be having a good time. Leave a comment with any careers you wanted to pursue at one point, however ridiculous. I'm not really in a position to judge. Also, recommend any other subjects you'd like me to cover in a future post. I've got an opinion on most things, however ignorant and arrogant an opinion it may be.

Thanks for reading, and a very good and highly pleasurable day to you, Sir's and Madam's.

End of the world as we know it, and I feel fine...

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SOME POSSIBLE SPOILERS LATE ON. IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ANY OF THE FILMS MENTIONED, DO THAT FIRST.

(Although, really you should have seen them by now. We live in an age of instant access, what are you playing at? You make me sick. Not really. Love you. Anyway...)

I love post-apocalyptia. There, I said it.

While the idea of an event, or series of events which would lead to the devastation of a landscape (or the entire world) is horrifying to say the least, there's something about that world that both fascinates and and appeals to me, in the same morbid way that people enjoy the gore and horror of any classic slasher from Hostel to Saw, or even the creepiness of the 'PG' Coraline.

Seriously, who ever decided the age rating for Coraline, what the hell? While it's awesome that they're making kids movie's with a little more substance and flair than the usual fluff served up, that movie is creepy as balls. I haven't read the book, so I'm not sure whether this is more to do with Neil Gaiman's original story or Henry Selick's direction, although apparently Gaiman approved of the final product. Still, I'm almost certain at least 45% of the movie's creepiness comes from the stop-motion animation. There's something about that kind of character motion, riding the fine line between robotic and humanistic, that puts me slightly on edge; even when I'm watching Wallace and Gromit. Won't be forgetting that particular penguin anytime soon.

I'm getting away from myself. Let's get back to the wonderland that is the post-apocalypse, and why I just can't get enough.

To be honest, I'm not sure exactly why. Part of it I'm sure is the various post-apocalyptic works I have been exposed to. As of this moment, Fallout 3 remains my favourite video game. It has it's critics, but I really enjoyed The Book of Eli. And even with it's much maligned 'fast zombie's', I've yet to enjoy a zombie film more than I did 28 Days Later. But what within these makes their post-apoc world so enjoyable?

First of all, freedom. Maybe it's just because part of me wanted to be an explorer á la Indiana Jones, but the idea that I could go anywhere, wander to my hearts content. Say what you want about the destabalisation of civilisation, it certainly opens doors for you. For example, in Fallout 3 I can wander across a radiation-ravaged Washington, D.C. until I come to a factory that, before said ravaging, built robots. I can enter that factory and, providing I survive the remaining automaton's in the factories desolate hall's and corridor's, scavenge whatever I require to survive. Now whether the appeal of that is more down to laser battles with robots or the freedom to roam where I please is up for debate, but the latter is definitely a factor.

With that destabilisation of civilisation also comes the complete absence of health & safety. Forget the whole apocalypse thing for a minute; just imagine a world without the multi-layered cotton wool of health & safety. That's a world I want to live in, providing I survive the initial apocalypse of course.

My second post-apocalypse pro comes from a creative standpoint. I should preface this point by stating that one thing I would like to do with my life is write fiction (I say 'one of' because I don't really know exactly what I want to do, but more on that another time). A major part of writing any fictional tale is the setting. While I'll admit it's easier to pick a pre-existing area and set your story there, personally I prefer to build my own world's and fill them with characters, Sim's style. That may be more of a comment on my laziness and reluctance in researching for stories than on the virtues of the post-apocalyptic landscape but you know what? Shut up, Admiral Snippy of the SS Judgemental, your glares aren't welcome here.

Anyway, the point still stands. Once everything from the Old World has crumbled, the wasteland that's left is pretty much a blank canvas. Maybe a few structures from the previous civilisation are still knocking about, but whether anyone remembers what they were originally for is again, up to the creator. This is an important part of The Book of Eli, where pretty much all of America has been flattened into dust, but Carnegie has founded and controls a town based on old watering sources he remembers from the old days. It never states exactly where in America this town is, but in terms of plot it doesn't really matter, because after the apocalypse it may as well be the only town left.

Carnegie's control of his town links rather nicely into my third reason for loving post-apocalyptia, and that is that it can serve as the catalyst for as unbiased an examination of the human condition as there may be. Carnegie wishes to gain the book Eli carries, a Bible, so that he can use it's message to take complete control of the citizens of his town. However, in his desperation to have the book, he ultimately sacrifices both his health and control of the town, losing everything. This desperation is a theme throughout many post-apocalyptic works. Often, groups of humans resort to cannibalism to combat the lack of food. Only when everything is lost do we find out how low we will sink to survive.

In 28 Days Later, the male soldiers, having been without female companionship since possibly before the outbreak of infection, lose all sense of honour and decency when faced with female survivors, commenting on humanities basic needs. Meanwhile, the main female survivor, who is portrayed throughout the whole film as a ruthless survivalist who would abandon fellow survivors 'in a heartbeat' if they fell behind, suddenly begins to show mothering instincts when faced with a young teenager girl who has recently lost her father. This is a comment on human instincts, with the post-apocalyptic setting serving as a catalyst for that characteristic appearing.

Of course, there are many different kinds of apocalyptic disaster. If one is going to happen, my money's on all the weather-based disasters hitting at once. Tsunami's, earthquake's, tornado's and everything in between. Nuclear destruction, while likely, is all too obvious to actually happen and unfortunately a widespread zombie outbreak just isn't feasible at the moment.

Anyway, that's why I love the many world's of the post-apocalypse. I'm a little sorry this post was so long, but I hope you enjoyed reading it, even if it took several days. Leave any comments you want; how I could improve my blog-writing, whether you love or hate post-apocalyptia, what you had for lunch today, anything that you think of, leave a comment.

A very good day to you, beloved Sir's and Madam's.

So this is a thing...

I don't know much about blogging. Being internet-literate, you hear about these online giants who write long intelligent articles about a particular subject. This won't be one of those blogs (apologies) but on the off chance you enjoy reading about the shenanigans and happenstance's of a young man in a confusing world, then you may have stumbled upon just the right combination of letters.

For example, I may regale you with the tale of the time I was wander home from a friends house of an evening, and had an interesting encounter with an altogether too knowing fox.

Seriously, while animals definitely aren't human-smart, they know more than we give them credit for. My cat, for example, will mess with me on a daily basis and he's only been in existence for four months. Love him to bits though. It makes you realise how much other people's pets suck when you get one of your own. Fuck you, neighbour's cat. You don't own my garden, and your cat turds are no longer welcome.

BTW, I should probably warn you, there will be tangents. For the same reasons that this blog won't have a regular post date, I also will struggle to focus on a particular subject for more than a paragraph or two. But fear not, it all comes back around in the end.

"So what will this blog be about?" he asked himself, realising the audience were growing restless at his incessant babbling. I'll write about anything interesting that happens (not much), anything I have fairly strong opinions on (a little bit more, but still not a great amount), and any and all of my interests, including (but not limited to) films, TV, books, music, actors, football (the British kind), video games, the internet and pro wrestling.

That's right, I'm one of those weirdo's you unearth occasionally who still enjoy's the spectacle of pro wrestling beyond their formative years, the nerdy freaks who faithfully keep up with the shows each week.

We're a rare breed, but not as rare as you might think. Drop the right names into a conversation and a closet pro wrestling fan or too may just make themselves known to you. It could be anyone. They're kinda like the Illuminati, except far more likely to actually exist.

Anyway, I've started rambling again so I'll bring this to a close. That's me, hopefully I've interested you enough to maybe come back again whenever the next post goes up. And while that has no official date attached to it, (it could be tomorrow, the day after or even not until next week) it will definitely be up some time, and hopefully contain some interesting discussion of my, and maybe your interest. I'll try not to disappear between posts for months on end, but I'm afraid I have to disappear now.

A very good day to you, ladies and gents, until we meet again.