Need A Time Waster?

Hey kids! Do you like trivia? Do you like movie trivia? Do you like movie trivia that has blatant product placement?

Of course, the answer to all the questions is yes, even if the product placement is unnecessary and pretty stupid. If you can get past that however, this is a pretty "sweet" trivia picture, where you have to guess movie titles from the visual clues.

I had a pun in that last sentence, and you'll see why it's moderately funny.

http://us.mms.com/us/dark/

Have fun! I'm still playing, but I got 30/50 in 17 minutes (granted, I'm trying to do work at the same time). Let me know what your scores are!

Hint: All the movies are of the same genre, for the most part.

*UPDATE: 40/50 in 22 minutes.

**UPDATE: 50/50 in 43:18. (and yes, for a couple I did a little research. The last one I needed, when I got it, boy did I feel like a dumbard).

If you need any answers, I'd be happy to help!

The Weekend: Quick And Dirty Version

To be quite honest, I really don't like these "diary" posts. Really, who gives two shits what I did, where I did it and with whom? Most likely nobody, and that's somewhat depressing. However, it's been a week since I amazed and humoured you with blaxploitation, and as of right now, I'm somewhat wired, so here's a new post! Shiny!

Friday:

Friday was a long and exhausting day, but one filled with incredible awesomeness that I will remember forever, mostly because I wasn't drinking. It's like riding a train for a week, just to reach the person you love, and when you get to your destination, they still love you, even though it was probably easier to take a plane, but you're kind of cheap. The only downside to Friday's memories is that I must remember them only in my mind, because the idiot in me didn't get any pictures. I hate that guy.


The SA of MacEwan hosted a welcome back-type concert featuring The Trews and Pilot Speed (formerly Pilate). Now, since these are Canadian bands, they require the SA to shuttle them to and from the airport, hotel and venue. Now what cool guy volunteered to do this? Me, baby, me. I just wanted to be a part of the event, much like I did at the U of A. So that's what I got to do: I picked up both bands from the airport, and shuttled them to the school and hotel. I also got to run around backstage, host a little bit on stage and chat a whole bunch with both bands. Overall, I can say that the boys in The Trews and Pilot Speed are a cargo plane full of awesome, and I have newfound respect for both bands (pick up their respective CDs now! They're actually really good! I'm not just saying that because we're best friends now!).

Saturday:

Ah, there's nothing like a little jaunt to the country. Lacombe, Alberta. Population: Enough to look like a civilized community. Bar scene: Non-existent, except for a scattered few pubs and hotel "bars" (not really bars, but closet spaces with stools - oh, and dirty). My buddy Greg G. lives out in Lacombe by his own free will, and has always bemoaned the fact that his Edmonton/Calgary/Wherever friends haven't visited his new home or sampled some of the local hospitality. It finally all came together on Saturday.

There were only four brave souls that day, but we experienced a town on the grow! Lacombe is buzzing with activity and stuff. Exhibit A: The Lacombe Corn Maze. I've never been to a corn maze, mostly because I am somewhat afraid that Jack Nicholson will chase after me with an axe while I'm there. I pressed the gents to accept the corn maze's taunt of "come get lost in the maze", or something unoriginal like that. I think a taunt of "The Lacombe Corn Maze: 46 People Did Not Make It Out Alive Last Year" is a better slogan, but I suppose it would freak out the families. Anyways, here's some pics.

The evening would prove to be most eventful, due to the fact that we were all fairly into the sauce, and that's probably an understatement (it always is). With Greg as our intrepid host, we set out to visit the very best, the very finest in bars that Lacombe has to offer. What we found were the finest in greasy, dirty, trashy bars that only a small town can deliver.

We began with pre-drinking at Greg's place which involved drinking games (my favourite was the game involving "Mega Man II", and having to drink each time Mega Man got hit), and some "Co-Op Gold" Lager (as bad as it sounds). After becoming soundly inebriated, we phoned a cab, and was greeted by an ancient driver who piloted a wagon with no dashboard lights. "How do you know what speed you're going?", we asked. "I know what speed I'm going", was the reply. Awesome! Our first destination was Boston Pizza, which was thankfully quite normal. After that, my memory is quite hazy, but I'll give you the gist:
- Most bars had incredibly old and ugly could-be cougars, which Greg hit on, and we laughed.
- Most bars were in hotels, and not good ones, either.
- Some bars had buckets in plain view to catch falling water dripping from the ceiliing.
- All bars had a variety of snacks, most overdue their expiry date.
- A surprisingly number of bars had a "help yourself" popcorn machine, and all had a sign by it saying "use the scoop, not your hands". Sweet!
- Scott's has a desire to bite everyone (runs in the family), but his biting had an unforseen result. Some guy thought Scott was kissing me, and he sent a girl by our table to give me his number on a napkin. I feel sorry for the guy. He's probably the only gay guy in Lacombe, hopefully sees another, but gets shot down. It's just sad, really.
- Some pictures are located here!

Another victory for the Weekend Crew. Tune in again for more wacky adventures!

Movie Of The Day: Black Belt Jones

The year is 1974, and the "blaxploitation" film genre is in full force. What began with "Watermelon Man" in 1970, the genre exploded on to the American cinema scene with films like "Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song", "Shaft", "Superfly", "Blackula", "Black Caesar", "Foxy Brown" and a host of others. Blaxploitation was the first genre to focus on African-American directors and actors, and the first to have truly funky and soul-based soundtracks. Despite some criticisms from civil liberties groups at the time, this genre is now considered to be ground-breaking and instrumental in furthering the development of African-Americans in the film industry.

Black Belt Jones combines ballet-like martial arts choreography, hilarious dialogue (some unintentionally funny, I'm sure), and the most ass-kickingest, funkiest soundtrack of the era.

In Los Angeles, The Mafia learns that a new civic center will be built, and they buy all of the land for the site of the building—all except for one place: a karate school owned by Pop Byrd (Scatman Crothers). They arrange to have Pinky (Malik Carter) come by to force Pop to sell his land, but he is killed by them. It's up to the karate school's students to get the hero, Black Belt Jones (Jim Kelly), for help. Sydney (Gloria Hendry), the daughter of the late Pop Byrd, won't sell the building. Because both of them are marial arts experts, they join forces to "clobber the mob".



The opening credits, which features a score by Dennis Coffey, pretty much sums up this film - awesome! So awesome that it was once put on an awesome scale, but the scale broke, simply because the scale was meant for mortal films. This film is immortal. Kung-fu in a baby blue velour suit? Damn right. Heads through windows? Absolutely! The film doesn't even think about stopping there. The fight scenes are legendary, filled with incredible acrobatics, and super-realistic sounds! I'm sure that if I were to punch a man in the face, it would sound like a circus ringmaster cracking a whip. Those punches and kicks are just that powerful and just as goosebump-inducing as you want them to be.

Jim Kelly, who plays the title role, was a hot commodity. He had just been seen in Bruce Lee's epic Enter The Dragon, and he shows what incredible prowess he posesses. In the scene below, BBJ deals out some serious justice to Pinky's mob. The key to winning a fight is the element of surprise, and Pinky gets it every three seconds. Also, Batman makes a guest appearance.



Black Belt Jones was also one of the first blaxploitation films to openly endorse certain companies and organizations, as seen in this clip. Exciting!



Hey hey! Now I feel like getting some McDonald's! It may be 1974, but you can bet that all the brothers were lovin' it. This next scene will show a few truths about a chase. One, out of 15 guys, only one will have a gun, and he will miss when he shoots. Two, you can steal anything from people if you have a clever opener. Three, that you don't need underwear to be in a chase, and throwing it at your pursuers really pisses them off. Four, that painters will believe anything, and will be willing to buy more paint after they've wasted some.



Black Belt Jones is the secret to having a great time at the movies, with a loved one, or in your parents basement. Just remember this film if you're ever having a fight in a car wash. You'll be thankful.

The Moustache: Why You're Powerless Against It

Lately, I've been thinking about facial hair, and whether or not I should make a spirited attempt at growing some. I have already mastered the art of not shaving, but that only puts me on par with every homeless person out there, including the women - gross. I've never had a full-on, honest-to-God moustache, or anything that someone would find the least bit respectable.

I have a bit of a problem with bald spots, notably in two large circles on either side of my chin. This sort of fucks up any handlebar action, and it depresses me. I once had a chin-only goatee, but it was pretty disgusting. Even I hated it, but I thought that if I kept it for just long enough, then the bald spots would see the error of their ways and get with the program. No dice. Thanks bald spots, I had to look like a douchebag for a whole summer. That didn't help with the ladies at all, who either took one look at it and ran, or tried to pull it off in an attempt to get me to snap out of my state of douchebaggery, much like touching Indiana Jones with fire in Temple Of Doom.

In order to find the perfect moustache for me, I have collected images of a select few, noted for their emission of pure animal ferocity, or their seemingly endless drippings of unbridled male power, or the fact that if the moustache ever cut loose from the face, it would no doubt take over a small country.

Rance Mulliniks

If God played 3rd base (and even shortstop from time to time), he'd be Rance, and he'd have one of the best 'staches in the bigs. Rance's handle emulates pure power draining from his soul, and out his nose. His power is running over his lips, and any woman who graces that pucker will feel only the raw emotion that a utility player-turned-colour commentator can emit. Also, I think his glasses are pretty cool. Since I'm retired from baseball though, I don't think this one's for me.


John Oates

Mr. Oates (pictured here with a less talented woman), has a moustache that every woman wants to nuzzle against, and every man wants to make a photocopy of, and place in their bathroom as a guide. He's got that expression that drives the girls wild, and their "kiss is on his lips". John knows what a "rich girl" wants, and knows what a "maneater" needs. Curly hair. Everywhere. I don't play any instruments, so I don't think I'll be sporting this one.


Ravishing Rick Rude (aka Richard Rood)

Rick Rude's moustache power was so overwhelming and overpowering, that most women could be heard to describe it as "a rude awakening...of sex!" Rick's combination of permed mullet and super soup-strainer seems to project just the right amount of masculinity, and the oiled-up body doesn't seem to hurt anyone. Oh, but Rick's passed-on, so I guess it did hurt a little. I would go for this, but I don't have any oil other than olive oil, and that would just be weird. Plus, I think those pants are actually a body tattoo.

Carl Weathers

I suppose if I find myself boxing a little bit, or maybe if the CIA's got me pushing up too many pencils, and I need to battle a super alien in a tropical setting, I would definitely need this moustache. This moustache made Carl Weathers into the man. THE MAN. This guy was Action Jackson, for fuck's sake. And he was on Street Justice. He's carried a gun, but he also had real backup: his moustache. Carl Weathers keeps it real, so the only way to copy his moustache is to race him on the beach, wearing short shorts. I don't do that, so no go on this one.

Powers Boothe.

Powers Fucking Boothe. This is it. This is the one.

Powers Boothe could easily stare you to death, if he wishes it, and he'd do it with such unbridled electricity, you'd almost believe that you've been stared down by an angel. A growling, sneering angel. He is the ultimate authority on the moustache. His moustache weighs an incredible 47 pounds, and all of those pounds have been deep-fried in awesome. That moustache could level a mountain, or make sweet love to a woman, depending on what song woke him up in the morning. I only wish I could have a moustache as efficient. This moustache gets the job done, and makes fun of you for being lazy. And you were sick that day! Incredible.

So there you have it. Powers Boothe's moustache puts everyone else to the pits of shame and despair, except for Rick Rude's, but only because he's dead (but I have a feeling that even his buried moustache is feeling kind of low).

If you have a moustache suggestion, please let me know! Maybe this sweetheart? Or this tiger-like powerhouse?

Montréal Survivra.

As if you haven't been through enough, now your students have to face their fears again. Three times in 17 years is three times too many. Fear not, you will persevere. Stay strong Dawson, stay strong Montreal. You will survive.

Hot, Wet And Dripping With Legalese

Somehow I can see this happening in the future, and I don't like it. Mostly because I don't want to get sued, and I'll probably get sued everytime. In the heat of the moment, who hasn't touched upon Article 20? Sometimes it just happens.

Vanity Fair Uncovers Babynapping Ring

It's the newest secret Hollywood craze, right up there with the Beach Sand Diet, and dressing up like a homeless person and washing car windows at intersections, claiming it's research for a film (that's your story, right Whoopie Goldberg?).

It's Babynapping, and it's sweeping the plastic nation. Celebrity couples, in the belief that a child will lend some credibility to their "of the moment" relationships, or perhaps get them the Mom or Dad role in the latest Frankie Muniz film, are roaming the Hollywood hills and the neon streets of New York in a frantic search for the perfect baby. After approaching the respective parent or parents of the child, they offer to pay a reasonable amount for the little sprout for the use of it for a year or so. When the parents refuse (naturally), then the celebrity couple goes to work. With the paparazzi close by, one of the power duo will create a diversion by simply walking away from his or her companion, thus giving the media scrum the idea that the relationship is over because of some issue (cheating/too much distance/not enough distance/one's an alien, etc.).

Once the press are scrambling to relay this shocking development to their respective rags, the other celeb will snatch the baby and transfer it to one of their bodyguards, thus perpetrating a perfect "which cup is the ball under?" manoeuver. This process has been working to perfection lately, creating a bumper crop of celebrity couples with newborns.

However, Vanity Fair, a magazine nobody reads, except for that issue with Demi Moore naked on the cover, has recently uncovered this heinous crime of celebrity excess. In their recent issue, their crack team of photojournalists and lackeys who get coffee snagged a photo of Tom Cruise stuffing a young baby into his jacket. The picture also shows Katie Holmes smiling deviously at the day's catch, and clinging close to Tom's jacket, which is likely made of Scientology-brainwashed cows and broken dreams.

They've also made an attempt at disguising the child, with a baby toupee of some sort. It seems they've taken this fake commercial literally:



Of course, when you take a fake commercial literally, you're a retard. Luckily for the baby, it was returned to its proper parents, now assured of a normal life free of pre-teen drug binges and permanent sunglass wearing. Tom and Katie have been freed on bail, and are loose once again. If you see Tom and Katie in your neighborhood, hide your children and educate them on the dangers of becoming a "celebrity child of the moment".

Like A Kid In A Candy Store

Here at MacEwan, it's the first day of school. For me, it's the first day of constantly thinking about baseball everytime I walk through the halls, simply to avoid any unwanted trouser protuberances.

MacEwan is a 70% female campus. I'm a heterosexual male. It's times like these that I'm actually satisfied with my singledom, because quite frankly, I like the odds.

Now if anyone asks, for the rest of the month I'm 21, alright? No need to divulge the fact that when I started my first year of university, some of these girls were starting grade 5. I mean, seriously, grade fucking 5? That's down right scary to think about, so I won't think about it. All I can think about is the next few weeks, where each and every young girl brings out the sexy, until they lose all interest in looking good, and retreat back into sweatpants, hoodies and cover up all that is awesome.

But that's a long time from now. Until then, I will try to keep focused on my job, and not on all the scattered ass around here. To be fair though, that's probably not going to happen. I've already stocked up my pockets with business cards, and directions to my office. Also, I'm a race car driver.

Am I A Dick?

No, seriously. You can tell me.

Hey, here's your chance to waste some time at whatever hot, noisy job you work at and let me know what describes me the best. Not only is this a pure, egotisical excerise to boost my own moral, but it also lets me know who hates me the most.

Just check out this link, and follow the instructions, then leave your name. I'm sure that only my mother will do this, so I give her thanks in advance. Thanks mom! You're the best.

The Interactive Johari Window, Tyler Edition.

Try to be honest, or at least try to try. C'mon! You have nothing to lose! Placate my ego, people. Placate away.