Monday, September 27, 2004

Spanish is Expensive--Redux!

I have commented previously about how expensive the Spanish language can be, and, my friends, it is no truer than now. I just spent $185 on books for one class that I'm required to take because my major is film. It's a good thing there's a logical reason I have to take Spanish, or else I'd be really upset. Man, that girl in my class better turn out to be really cute and, for the $185, I better be getting some out of the ordeal.

I saw The Forgotten over the weekend but I don't remember what it was about. HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEEEHEEEHEEEHEEE! Man, that's probably the funniest thing I've ever written and I was the author of the hit children's book Penis Vagina Hump Balls. Honestly though, the movie was okay because Julianne Moore is a good actress, but the plot got so shitty so fast, like a Port-a-Pottie at a laxative convention. I'm not going to ruin it for you because they do a good enough job ruining it themselves, but it starts off promising, but then goes for the easy plot cop-out instead of making it more interesting.

The Forgotten, though, was like goddamn Citizen Kane compared to what could easily go down as one of the worst movies of the (relatively) new millenium. The movie I'm talking about, of course, is Wicker Park. First, don't feel too badly for me, I didn't have to pay for it. I'm pretty sure that Josh Hartnett just tries his hardest to make the worst movies that can be made--he's like the acting version of John Tesh. Just by being in a movie, he automatically makes it suck exponentially more. But Josh Hartnett couldn't make this the worst movie ever by himself. He instilled the help of another guy who has the keen ability of the Hartnett--Matthew Lillard. These two men together are like the Siegfried and Roy of shit. They magically make horrible movies appear as though out of thin air (and, coincidentally, with the help of adorable white tigers). If you want actual explanations of why it sucked, fine. Josh Hartnett and Matthew Lillard aside, the director tried way too hard to make it so artsy. His music choice sucked. There was an actual musical cue to let the viewer know that "true love" was being experienced and it was some weird-sounding Enya song (guess that was redundant) or something. If I ever, in my cold, dead heart, experienced true love, I definitely wouldn't hear Enya; it'd probably be something like "Baby Got Back" or "Face Down, Ass Up" by Beethoven I believe.

I'm done. I have to go pick lettuce for nine hours to pay for my Spanish books. Not only do they not accept American money to buy Spanish books, but they only accept payment in the way of their people. It was either pick lettuce or steal car radios.

Interesting thought of the day:
Mayonnaise is like heroine. It's fine in small amounts, but if you get too much of it that's been in the sun for a few hours, you'll die.


whore said...

hey kurthead. have fun spanish-ing ard!

Anonymous said...

oh kirt douglas. you do amuse me. but, why are you not in LA my fair maiden? why? it is so lonely without you, sir. me and jessica and john and paulie miss you. come forth and save our kingdom.