Well, I'm back in Anthem and near the Net, so here is my long-awaited third entry, true believers (don't look at me like that. Stan Lee doesn't have that shit copyrighted).
Good things of note:
I finally got around to seeing two films I know I should have seen years ago: Repo Man and Taxi Driver. Both were awesome, although I must say that I have to give the higher grade to Repo Man. Even though Taxi Driver is a stunning film (despite Harvey Keitel's hilariously bad pimp hair), Repo Man has Harry Dean Stanton in its corner. The downside: the extras on the DVD suck harder than a black hole. Funniest bit is when the director and production team were tossing around sequel ideas. The best they could come up with is a Point Blank redo, with Emilio going all bloody vendetta on Repo-ass. Makes absolutely no sense, but I'll have to hand it to them for going for an unorthodox direction (*gets on knees, prays to a God I don't believe in that said sequel will never be made).
I also started reading the first volume in Peter Levenda's Sinister Forces: A Grimoire of American Witchcraft . As conspiracy theory tomes go, its pretty entertaining, and a couple of the texts it mentiones (like Maurice Maeternick's Bluebird play) are enough to make me want to do some exploring of my own. Taking it with a grain of salt, though: its hard to take a writer seriously when he claims to have been kidnapped by expatriate Nazis in Chile and tortured for writing a book. Too Indiana Jones-meets-Batshit Crazy for my taste.
The Bad:
Luckily, the wacko quota at my store hasn't been filled this week (aside from the old lady with a cane who comes in and leaves after an hour of browsing, only to spend 2 hours to call us, claiming she has lost her cane, even though she always leaves the store with the damn cane). No more repeat performances of Joey Shit-A-Brick this week. I did have somebody give me the evil eye when they were going through our collectibles section and noticed that we had four volumes of Henry Ford's The International Jew, as though it were entirely my fault that the books were there in the first place. One: Henry Ford can go fuck himself in the afterlife. Two: we sell the trash because unfortunately, its valubale trash. This happens every once in a while, when someone stumbles upon a book they find offensive (I can still remember when a middle-aged lady got pissy because she saw a copy of Cunt by Inga Musico in the women's studies section) and have to let the world know of their righteously aggravating indignation.
And that's all for right now, folks. Pangs of hunger are setting in, and the kitchen isn't fair away...
Good things of note:
I finally got around to seeing two films I know I should have seen years ago: Repo Man and Taxi Driver. Both were awesome, although I must say that I have to give the higher grade to Repo Man. Even though Taxi Driver is a stunning film (despite Harvey Keitel's hilariously bad pimp hair), Repo Man has Harry Dean Stanton in its corner. The downside: the extras on the DVD suck harder than a black hole. Funniest bit is when the director and production team were tossing around sequel ideas. The best they could come up with is a Point Blank redo, with Emilio going all bloody vendetta on Repo-ass. Makes absolutely no sense, but I'll have to hand it to them for going for an unorthodox direction (*gets on knees, prays to a God I don't believe in that said sequel will never be made).
I also started reading the first volume in Peter Levenda's Sinister Forces: A Grimoire of American Witchcraft . As conspiracy theory tomes go, its pretty entertaining, and a couple of the texts it mentiones (like Maurice Maeternick's Bluebird play) are enough to make me want to do some exploring of my own. Taking it with a grain of salt, though: its hard to take a writer seriously when he claims to have been kidnapped by expatriate Nazis in Chile and tortured for writing a book. Too Indiana Jones-meets-Batshit Crazy for my taste.
The Bad:
Luckily, the wacko quota at my store hasn't been filled this week (aside from the old lady with a cane who comes in and leaves after an hour of browsing, only to spend 2 hours to call us, claiming she has lost her cane, even though she always leaves the store with the damn cane). No more repeat performances of Joey Shit-A-Brick this week. I did have somebody give me the evil eye when they were going through our collectibles section and noticed that we had four volumes of Henry Ford's The International Jew, as though it were entirely my fault that the books were there in the first place. One: Henry Ford can go fuck himself in the afterlife. Two: we sell the trash because unfortunately, its valubale trash. This happens every once in a while, when someone stumbles upon a book they find offensive (I can still remember when a middle-aged lady got pissy because she saw a copy of Cunt by Inga Musico in the women's studies section) and have to let the world know of their righteously aggravating indignation.
And that's all for right now, folks. Pangs of hunger are setting in, and the kitchen isn't fair away...