...and then I skipped August

So I was watching Factotum the other night. Good movie; Matt Dillion as the Chuck Bukowski alter ego Henry Chinaski, Lili Taylor, Marisa Tomei. Funny and interesting, even if Dillion seemed to be doing his best Mr. Blonde imitation. But the Chinaski character said an interesting thing at one point; basically, it was that he had all these words inside of him, that had to come out; it wasn't a choice, it was a necessity, like he'd explode if he didn't let them out. I'd read that before, wherever Bukowski wrote it first, and it really resonated with me. Probably not why'd you think, though. What occurred to me is that I generally feel the exact opposite of that sentiment. Most of the stuff I really care about is impossible to put down in words. Often I'll sit down to write and will just feel sort of this sucking void, and every word I try to get down sucks a little more out of me. Maybe it's like those stories about aboriginals who are scared to death of having their pictures taken, because it takes a bit of their soul and solidifies and traps it. I dunno. But I do know that, for the most part, words do a sort of disservice to my strongest sentiments. Imagine those times you've shared an extremely deep and spiritual experience with someone; could be as simple as a sunset, or as complicated as simultaneous orgasm. Have you tried to talk about it, and just had nothing to say? And then looked into their eyes, and known that nothing had to be said, that nothing could be said, that it was pointless to even try?

Anyways. Maybe this is just an extended excuse for why it's been so long since my last entry.

But yeah, Factotum. Fine movie. I've seen a lot of good movies recently; I can't actually recall one I've watched in the past few months that's been a disappointment, with the notable exception of The Simpsons. I know, I blogged about it awhile back and was generally positive, but in hindsight it kinda pisses me off. The first 20 minutes or so is good and funny. Solid like the show has been the past few seasons, certainly not as good as its heyday but still some decent laughs. But the last hour plus pretty much sucked. You can see James L. "Spanglish" Brooks's fingerprints all over it. Very maudlin and saccharine. Not all that funny either.

But Superbad? Holy crap, that movie's funnier than dick! And I just watched The Bourne Ultimatum, which was really really good too. The lines that I think define each movie:

Superbad: "well Jules, the funny thing about my back is that it's located on my cock!"

B.U.: "Sir, he drove off the roof..."

Both earned solid 4s on NetFlix. My biggest bitch about NetFlix has always been the lack of ½ star choices when rating movies; there is a big, big difference between 2.5 and 3 stars, just as there is a big difference between 4 and 4.5 stars. Well, that was my biggest beef about NetFlix. Now it's this stupid "community" thing. I log on one day and discover that all my "friends" have been replaced with a "community," which encompasses basically everyone and their dumbass dogs. I mean really; why the FUCK do I care about what Joe Dickballs in Topeka, who shares a 45% movie match with me (almost definitely based on the movies I watched while stoned or drunk or both), has to say about Wild Hogs??? Here's a clue, NetFlix... FUCK OFF!!! EAT A BOWL OF DICKS!!!! AND ONCE YOU'VE POLISHED OFF THAT BOWL OF DICKS, GIVE ME MY GODDAMN FRIENDS BACK!!!!

Actually, I'm going to throw it to my brother for this one. And I quote (from an email he sent me): "'Friends' was changed to 'community'. I don't like it as much - it has all this info I don't want. Including some guy's list of 'French classiques,' which includes three movies by Louis Bunuel, who is Spanish."

So there you go. Joe Dickballs loves French movies made by Spanish directors. I think we call all sleep easier tonight, eh?