Archive for the Rants Category

Day Of The Dead

Posted in General, News, Rants on August 23, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

So then, last night around two or three in the morning I got real nauseous and woke up with the strong urge to vomit. I managed to make it from my bedside to my bathroom without making a mess, but I spent the next half hour puking away.

Why?

Not too sure.

I ate some delicious Chef Boyardee  Beefaroni a few hours before bed – a late dinner because I ate a large, late lunch. I enjoyed the heck out of it. With oodles and oodles of parmesan cheese? Forget about it?! It makes for a quick, excellent meal. Still, it did not sit so well. Is my stomach as much of a snob as I am? Maybe so.


(I don’t care what’s in it! It’s delicious!)

Anyway, I took a whole sick day to sleep it off, but man, I wish I didn’t. Sleeping all day has got me feeling mighty worn out. I wish I would have stuck it out. Tired after an honest day’s work feels great. Sitting around, waiting for my beddy-bye time to circle back around sucks the life right out of me. Here’s to hard work and a busy brain! I can’t wait to get back to it!

See you tomorrow, Loyal Reader. I promise you productivity.

See! This guy loves it too!

Death Tube

Posted in General, News, Rants on August 21, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

Tomorrow, I get to take the day off work, but it’s no cause for celebration because instead of lounging about and enjoying my freedom, I have to go to the hospital and get an MRI done for an upcoming orthopedic appointment. This cancer stuff has messed up my right hip pretty badly (currently, I walk around with crutches) and I am hoping to get things fixed up so I can move it, move it.

Now, there are plenty of imaging methods at the modern doctor’s disposal. I’ve had CT scans, and PET scans, and good, old, localized X-rays. Each of these aforementioned techniques are effective and (mostly) non-evasive and I don’t really mind a single one. Sometimes when I get a CT scan, they have to inject me with iodine and that’s kind of uncomfortable, but the machine itself, with its large circular, tire-like cavity, and open, scanning aperture, is completely non-threatening. You simply lay down as that tire-style crescent hovers, zaps you, then retreats. No harm, no foul. The doctors get a good look at my gooey insides and I am left virtually unshaken.


(No, it’s not Star Wars, it’s a nice, open CT scanner.)

The blasted MRI (which stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging) is a totally different story. The technology powering the hulking beast is pushing forty years and given the compact, future skills of the CT, I feel it’s high time they retire the ancient behemoth.

The thing is, lots of working doctors prefer MRI images to CTs or PET scans, because they know how to read them. They’ve been doing it for years and the garbled pictures (which look like garbage to the civilian eye) make sense to them. They know what to look for. New tech (or, rather, new tech for an old doctor stuck in their ways) is always confusing, but with a little effort often proves superior.

So it goes with imaging technology. I’ve met tons of doctors since the cancer hit and lots of them are old dogs not interested in new tricks. They’d rather send me to an infernal machine that (literally) takes up a whole building and requires fifteen to twenty minutes to process an image as opposed to the fast, efficient machines running the latest technology.


(This is a little newer than the MRI machines I’m accustomed to, but it’s still damned claustrophobic up in those glowing lights.)

That the MRI machine truly occupies an entire building doesn’t bug me. It’s kind of kitschy in an old, 70s, super-computer way. It’s the coffin like confinement that gets my goat. I’m generally good with all of this uncomfortable hospital crap. IVs, blood work, needles, jabs, draws, etc… I’m cool. I grin and bear it and move on. We do what we must to survive. The MRI on the other hand, freaks me out like no other. Despite the machine’s crazy size, its single entry point barely accommodates a lone, sliding table and the nervous human strapped to it. Talk about claustrophobia. They squeeze you in place and you are immediately surrounded on all sides by gargantuan, hissing, buzzing panels of plastic.

I have to close my eyes and take deep grounding breaths to keep it together. Before you begin they ask you questions about metal (since the machine operates off of a huge magnet, it’s capable of ripping metal augments from your body!) and basic things like, “Are you claustrophobic?” I made a point to answer, “Yes,” hoping they’d drug me or something, but then they don’t do a thing about it! They quickly check a little box, and raise their eyebrows, and usher you on in to the constricting death tube.

Hello?

Why even ask if you aren’t going to do something to help?

I even bugged the tech and asked as much. He shrugged and told me to breathe in and breathe out. Thanks, pal. Appreciate the advice.


(Brain scan!)

Oh well, I suppose it’s best to just not think about. Twenty, thirty minutes, arms tightly by my side, legs straight, feet stiff, mind on the verge of a freak out…

I hate it, but whatever. I can handle it.

See you, tomorrow, Loyal Reader.

Hail Crom, It’s Conan The Bore-barian In 3D!

Posted in Movies, Rants on August 21, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

Ugh. I gotta get another movie in me stat (my wife and I are thinking HOBO WITH A SHOTGUN on Netflix). We just got back from Marcus Nispel’s CONAN THE BARBARIAN and man, I think its 28% Tomatometer score is way too high. This film was freaking painful. I was actually sitting there aching, waiting for Conan to dispatch the idiot bad guys and bring on those consolatory closing credits.


(Will the real barbarian please stand up!)

Where to begin? How about with some artistic integrity! I want movies that try. I root for those. They get a 28% on the Tomatometer and I give them a chance. They usually win me over. There’s usually something worthwhile buried within the uneven filmmaking. Even summer’s lazy RomComs, Steve Carell’s stupid CRAZY, STUPID LOVE, or the Timberlake / Kunis unsexy, sex epic, FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS (FWB if you roll like that), show more ambition. And that’s saying a lot considering that each of those movies don’t even have swords, or sorcery, or mountains of skulls to boost their cool quotient. By Crom, movies with swords, sorcery, and mountains of skulls, should be superior to CSL or FWB, on general principle. These are strange times, Loyal Reader. I mean, how can they screw up something as cool as CONAN?

How is it that a pair of pedestrian, summer comedies have more bite and flavor than the big Cimmerian and his bone crushing sword technique?

I feel faint. My world feels off center. I’m not only disappointed in the film – I’m ticked off. Conan is one of the coolest intellectual properties ever conceived. With minimal effort, this should have been a fun B movie. Instead, horrible writing, inane, ho-hum villains, ugly cinematography, and shoddy direction destroy the project from the inside out.


(Hey ladies! Look, it’s Conan as a beach bum in his off-season! By Crom, what have we done?)

Jason Moma glowers on cue, but the poor guy is given nothing but a single, mono-syllabic sentence here and there. He looks the part, but the Conan I so enjoy reading about, the muscled, mischievous thief with charm, smarts and a sense of humor is nowhere to be found. Even worse, the baddies, an evil father and his almost, more evil daughter (Stephen Lang, who kicked mucho butt as AVATAR’S military psycho bad guy, Rose McGowan, who is never really good in any thing), have absolutely no edge. Their characters were made to chew scenery. I expected some hammy, over-acting. That’s what’s so awesome about sword and sorcery epics – the crazy villains. These wet blankets growl and giggle and affect nefarious malignancy (I suppose), but they never inspire fear or disgust or delicious, villanous glee. They suck the life right out of an already lifeless endeavor.

Lastly, though I could go on and on about how much this movie sucks, I have no idea what director Nispel was thinking. He did a nice job with THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE (2003) remake. In making that movie (an impossible feat considering the original is one of the finest horror films ever made), Nispel built suspense and fostered a nice, consistent, fog of dread. CONAN isn’t a horror movie, but it’s the type of thing that screams for atmosphere. Nispel seemed like the guy to do it justice, but his new film is so poorly made and so…well…toneless, I can’t believe it was made by the same guy.

There are several action scenes where Conan fights some threat or another while his primary target, a captain, or chief thug, or whatever, watches on growling and drooling and cheering. Nispel cuts from Conan swinging his sword at some tentacled monstrosity to the chief bad guy’s reaction shot (more of that growling, drooling, or cheering) and then back. And then he does it again, and again, and again. It’s so ridiculous (and so surprisingly amateurish) that I rolled my eyes, and shook my head, and lost complete faith.


(Great poster. Terrible movie.)

Alas, it’s over. I’m home. My senses are safe. The debacle is behind me. I need to watch the original CONAN THE BARBARIAN (1982) or maybe even the so bad, it’s good, CONAN THE DESTROYER (1984), to wash the putrid taste out of my mouth. Better yet, I need to sit down with some Robert E. Howard and read away the pain. Come on movie folk! We need a Hyborian world worthy of our imaginations.

The Rise And Fall Of Michael Louis Calvillo

Posted in General, Rants on August 17, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

Yes, Loyal Reader, I am being dramatic. The title of this post says it all. I don’t know what’s eating me, but I’m in a rare mood. Everything is all good. I’ve actually figured out the meaning of life (which is simple: to be in love), but still, I’m frustrated.

I hate talking about personal stuff on a blog or my Facebook, but I’m working hard at this 365 day personal goal and I suppose I can’t type that many diary entries without getting too close. Still, I don’t have enough faith in this public forum to go on about certain things that are off limits for humility’s sake (anything deeper than movies, books, music, writing, nice and safe sentiments, will be kept private and sure between me and my wife and my family). Still, if it’s all the same to you, I feel like venting…


(I almost trust you. Almost)

…about chemotherapy!


(Yikes! That’s one acerbic cartoon!)

Again, I don’t like to get too intimate, but, well, I have cancer. I’ve talked about it super briefly in the past, but I’ve never really broken it down. I’ve done it plenty of times in real conversation. Friends and family and sometimes even strangers have asked questions about the disease and I’ve talked myself blue about fusing bones, and aching muscles, and the multitude of suckiness that goes along with the whole process. I’m not shy or withdrawn about it. Writing about it seems kind of weird though. It makes it more permanent and somehow more real than it is when we yell or mumble or whisper about it.

So then, a quick health lesson. Chemotherapy is a treatment for cancer that has done wonders for mortality rates. But, it’s a freaking bear on the system. I’m lucky because I’m 37 and young and strong as steel. Anyway, cancer demon cells feast on healthy cells and destroy tissue and muscles and even bone. Chemo is basically poison that’s pumped into the body to kill cancerous cells. It works, killing the cells, and keeping progression at bay. If it works really well, it’ll wipe out the cancer and bring about remission. The thing is, in addition to destroying the malignant cells, it bombards the body with a slew of negative side effects.


(Microbiology looks a lot like outer space)

Sometimes everything tingles, sometimes everything hurts, sometimes I get so tired I can’t hold my head up, sometimes I stay in bed until three or four in the afternoon (when not working). The actual procedure, plugging an IV into a port (that was installed surgically – it looks funky and weird beneath my skin) as if I were a character in a David Cronenberg film, lasts about six hours. The nurses tranfuse the chemo in three separate cycles. At the end of the day they plug a little box into my port. It continues pumping the chemo for the next two days then I go back to the hospital and they unhook the pump.

After chemo, my wife bravely injects me with a drug called Neupogen by stabbing the backs of my arms with a pre-loaded syringe. Cringe. Worse, the drug really squeezes the hurt out of my muscles and bones. I feel sore kind of like the way I’d feel after spending a full day at the beach boogie boarding in rough waters. It’s no fun. I usually have to endure five to seven days of shots depending on what the doctor orders.


(No matter how many times they stick me, I’ll never get used to needles.)

A week and half later, I have to get blood work done to make sure I am good for more chemo. If all is well, I go through the process over again. If my platelets are low, I get another week off then I go back and try again.

So that’s that, Loyal Reader. I hope you found my break down somewhat enlightening. Share the info with someone who doesn’t know what chemotherapy is all about.

I feel better. Less…anxious. I’d like to think I’m Superman strong, but there are times when I feel about two feet tall (no offense little people). Then, there are times when I feel like the hardest mofo on the planet. I guess I’m balanced. This writing thing helps keep the scales from tipping.

Maybe something a little more cheery tomorrow?

Good night and good luck.

Blog Star

Posted in General, Movies, News, Rants, Television on August 7, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

Perez Hilton, slide your big butt over…MLC is in the house!

(no offense, Mr. Hilton, I just thought that was a funny opener.)

A news agency (of sorts – visit thecomicscomic.com and see for yourself) pulled a quote from my blog review of the Katt Williams show at the Ontario, Ca, Improv on Friday night (Claws Out). This isn’t cause for too much excitement, but as a struggling writer it’s nice to see my words in print wherever they may be.

Big ups to The Comic’s Comic for recognizing good stuff when they see it! 😉


(True that.)

That’s not much of a blog now is it?

I know, I know, but it’s Sunday and I’ve been working hard on a promotional Michael Louis Calvillo Must Be Destroyed! magnet (available at a horror writer’s convention near you), and I’m ready to shut off my brain for some BIG BROTHER, and then a little CURB.

365 posts.

Nonstop.

I shall prevail.

Should you doubt me, never fear. There’s big stuff on the horizon. More on my WORM series (The WORM Deconstructed Part I, Part II). FINAL DESTINATION 5, RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES, and CONAN are on my movie radar. Oh, and I’m getting back to work and I’ll have some war stories soon enough.

365 posts.

Stay with me, things are bound to get good.

Until tomorrow, Loyal Reader.

Claws Out

Posted in News, Rants, Raves on August 6, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

Saw the Katt man last night…

Whoa! I’m not sure what the hell was going on.

The Man came out dressed in rodeo-militant-raver wear complete with spike studded captain’s hat and green lights attached to the front bill. A bull’s head skeleton, those old western kind, adorned his mic stand. And when he spoke, it was as if his spirit had been through the meat-grinder. He was beat down, Loyal Reader.

There were funny bits, sure, there were smart-psycho genius funny jokes, but his morose cadence and Presence with a capital ‘P’ were lethargic at best. The otherwise hyper, motormouth was pausing between bits while the crowd fell into awkward silences. One Chicano man freaked out after about an hour of the odd, scatological weirdness. He was so irritated he threw up his arms and screamed, “THIS SHOW SUCKS!” on his way out the door.

Williams instantly came to life, cussing out the heckler, baiting him, threatening to drop kick him right there on the stage. The place felt alive for a few electric minutes, but then Katt went into more of that slow drawl, drawing out stranger and stranger bits. Punch lines came at odd intervals. More people got up and left (this happened at a clip of about one or two couples every fifteen to twenty minutes).


(A picture is worth a thousand words.)

My party was getting antsy (and we’re generally a pretty patient bunch). But the vibe in the room never improved. It soured and that was that. We ended up leaving after about two hours, frustrated that we didn’t get what we thought we were going to. There were some brilliant bits sprinkled throughout the set. Katt Williams, as nutso as he seems, is still an endearing figure. Throughout the set he kept referencing his wealth and then bringing up crap like how Dave Chappelle walked away from 50 million because the Devil Media Outlet he worked for was only giving him 10% of five hundred million dollars. Because he walked away, the Media Outlet made it look like he was smoking crack. They asked the public, how can you walk away from 50 million dollars! They insinuated that you’d have to be on crack to pass on 50 million bucks!

Nobody really understood the financial chaos going on. Nobody listened to the details, they just figured Dave went crazy. The Media Outlet was screwing him over. All of this paired with the onset of mega-fame? Fuggedaboutit. The poor dude just needed to get away. This is all fine and good and interesting even, I’m glad Katt cleared it up, but the material wasn’t necessarily funny. It made me feel like Katt was the one in need of a relaxing getaway.


(Avoid the sanitarium at all costs! Stay sane!)

The comic delivered his material with such a quiet scorn that everything felt sharp and kind of uneasy. He kept putting himself down, shaking his head and letting us know how unfunny he was. He reasoned that if Dave Chappelle was Number One, and Dave Chappelle doesn’t even work, then why should Katt? If the funniest guy in the world wasn’t functioning, why should Katt? I understand what he was trying to say, but it still seems kind of illogical. You’re you, not Chappelle! You don’t have to share his pain. Besides who cares how much you empathize with Chappelle (who I love just as much)? I want some fun jokes, dammit!


(Uncomfortable comedy)

The jokes came, but they came implanted deep inside confessional grenades that kept exploding in routines about his “over-structured” childhood as a Jehovah’s Witness or Conspiracy Theorist paranoia about Muslims, and celebrity assassinations, and Bible stories. The man even attacked evolution, claiming it didn’t exist because the dinosaurs never adapted. Hmmm. Can anyone say cataclysm? There are some things you just can’t adapt to.

The off night resulted in some interesting moments. I still think Katt is an incredible comedian, deserving of all the money, and awards, and honors, he has earned (and can’t seem to stop talking about), but he seems to be going through some burnt out phase where touring is wearing him down. Maybe he was just tired. I think it goes deeper. I think Celebrity is making him sick. Money is losing its luster. His life is probably ready to evolve into a new phase (believe that).

I have faith Katt will get his mind right. He’s super smart. Set pieces on The Rodeo and Muddin’ and White People and Prison and Life in General, were as deep and inspired as they were funny. His rant on cancer was killer (I suppose I’m a little biased here). He’s definitely one of the special ones, I just think he ‘s in dire need of a rest. As rich as he boasts to be he can afford it. So please, Mr. Katt Williams, fly away. Lounge on a tropical beach. Love your blessed life. Speed talk your way back into our good graces!

A path to glory…

The Last Hurrah…

Posted in General, Rants, Raves on August 5, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

So it begins. Tonight kicks off the last weekend before school starts and I go back to working the day job. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be much of a big deal. It happens every year. Teaching has its perks – we help kids, enjoy nice holiday breaks, get off work early (2:30pm, oh yeah!), and then, of course, the Big Kahuna, we get two looong months of summer vacation. Except this year I’ve been off work since last December.

That’s right, I haven’t earned an honest day’s pay (other than from my writing) for almost nine months.

I don’t like to get into it on my blog (or much anywhere else for that matter), but I’ve had some health problems (it’s cancer – if you absolutely need to know the details you can message me personally and I’ll bore you to death with grim crap) and my doctor wouldn’t let me get back in the classroom.


(Staying home is no party.)

Fortunately (after a bit of begging and pleading), I’ve been given the green light. But now, the closer I get, the more I doubt and love my decision to return to work. Staying home is no picnic. It wears on you faster than you might imagine. Sleeping in every single day may sound like a beautiful dream, but when the world continues on without you, you start to miss the little things. Getting up and being somewhere because you have to be, because your livelihood, and the livelihood of your family is dependent upon it, is a powerful, gratifying thing. It kicks sloth’s lazy ass up and down the street.

I’ve been feeling pretty damned useless sleeping in till noon, then surfing the web, then playing video games, while my family gets up, and gets ready, and gets out there, to do what’s required of them. It’s nice to be required.

Still, as excited as I am to become a requirement again, I’m not looking forward to the return of alarm clocks. Though necessary, especially when I need to be up and ready by six in the morning, I loathe their insidious beeping, annoying squawking, soul destroying buzz. I’m definitely gonna miss waking naturally. I’m gonna miss falling back to sleep for as long as I want.


(Die! Die! Die!)

But alas, time marches on, diseases let up (thank the heavens), kids grow into high schoolers, teachers get back at it, and the world goes round and round.

Well then, I’m ready to enjoy the weekend. My wife and I (plus good friends) are off to see Katt Williams (My Favorite Little Pimp) and eek every drop of fun out of our last few days that we can. I hope you do the same. ’till tomorrow, Loyal Reader.

Watching Sunday’s BIG BROTHER On Tuesday!

Posted in Rants, Raves, Television on August 2, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

The damn DVR is nearing capacity! It’s not happy at 83 percent and neither am I. But then I’m tired and would rather get to bed early with a book to ease me off to dreamland (the wife agrees).

But, if we don’t watch Sunday’s BIG BROTHER (that definitive BB post is coming soon…) by tonight, we won’t be ready for tomorrow’s (or Thursday’s) telecast. We will never get back on track!


(And I’m watching BIG BROTHER!)

This is surely the stupidest problem in the world. Right?

Except you gotta believe me when I exclaim, “I love me some BIG BROTHER!!!”

It reminds me of Shakespeare’s corpse strewn RICHARD III with all of its Machiavellian motives and backstabbing drama. Okay, okay, as promised, more on the great BB later…

For now, I gotta play catch-up (HELL’S KITCHEN, MASTERCHEF, and even an episode of the usual, immediate watch, CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM, are impatiently waiting their turn in the digital queue).

…But The Keys Were Already In The Ignition?!!!

Posted in Rants, Raves, Television on August 1, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

OMG!

Look at that – this wacky, sad show actually has me screaming like a school girl. But trust me, Loyal Reader, it really is that good. Well…for now. I’m sure it’ll lose its luster faster than a thug trying to ditch the cops down a dark alleyway, but at the moment it’s my new passion.


(Oh yeah, it’s real. Why aren’t you watching?)

A student of mine (much like the perps in the show) told me about it last year. For some reason, the concept refused to stick. Bait Car. I mean, I got it, I get it. Bait Car. Simple. But all of the parameters didn’t line up. It didn’t make much sense. Leave a car in an economically stressed neighborhood and wait for someone to steal it. Once they do the devious deed, the cops swoop in and justice is served. But why would a thief choose this particular car to steal? Isn’t this some form of entrapment?

I asked my student a few questions, but, like all teenagers he babbled round and round and the only clarification I got on how the show actually worked was…well…that self explanatory title.

“It’s Bait Car, Mr. Calvillo.”

“Yeah, but why do they steal the car? How do they set it up?”

“They just steal it. It’s Bait Car.”

I promptly forgot about it and went on with life. Fast forward to a couple of days ago. I was surfing through a batch of severely neglected channels (cable is completely ridiculous, Loyal Reader – we get like thousands of channels – thousands!) and stumbled upon TRU TV and their original program, BAIT CAR.


(I have yet to see a warning sign on the show.)

OMG! (again). BAIT CAR is just what it sounds like. The cops leave a car in a bad neighborhood and thugs do indeed steal it. The details I was looking for are unimportant – it’s all about the moment of truth when the perp is busted and hauled away – but here’s how things work anyway.

The police rig a plain Jane car with hidden cameras, microphones, and some sort of On-Star / Lo-Jack type tracking device that allows the law to disable the car and lock its doors at will.

Undercover officers then leave the car alongside a curb and even stage a mock domestic dispute before departing in another vehicle should any would be thieves be around to witness their impromptu bit of street theater. Here’s where my brain kept hiccuping on concept. I mean, why steal this particular car? All my student had to say was, “Oh, they leave the driver’s side window half down and the keys dangling in the ignition.” Duh.

Now here is where I start to feel all kinds of bad. These ghetto neighborhoods are filled with bored, aimless, young men who have nothing better to do than hang out on the streets and get into trouble. It’s a HUGE societal problem, one that raises question about race, and equality, and social class, and even makes me believe conspiracy theorists when they accuse the CIA of introducing crack-cocaine into non-white, minority (at the time) neighborhoods. Alas, this is an argument for another post. Same with that pesky issue of entrapment. It doesn’t seem entirely fair. Still, stealing is stealing and…

Anyway, back to the joys of the show…

Ignoring those pangs of Big Picture morality, Bait Car becomes crazy entertaining. In some episodes, the car is literally overrun with packs of young thugs. They crowd round the car and holler for the lucky fool in the front seat to, “Pop the trunk!” Meanwhile, an Undercover hides within covert view of the car and gets it all on videotape.

We see one, then two, then three, interested parties pace around the bait car, then all of sudden ten strong rush in and try to steal what they can. “Yo, pop the trunk, yo!”

The trunk never pops. In time, one brave soul ignores the red flags, starts the car up, and attempts to hide it in an alley (“Park it in the alley!” is the second most used request after, “Pop the trunk!”). Once in motion, the police monitor the car’s movements until they feel it’s the right time to move in.

And this is where the sick magic happens. The hapless criminal and his equally hapless accomplices are stuck in an inoperable car with doors that refuse to open. Score one for technology. Johnny Law has his day. Finito.

But you’ve already seen plenty of episodes of COPS and this sounds just like COPS, so why bother watching?

I’m not exactly sure what makes BAIT CAR any better, but I’ve been learning that petty criminals and / or the type of thug that actually moves into steal bait cars (plenty of seasoned criminals walk on by, warning their friends, simply muttering, “Bait car, yo.”) are of the Three Stooges, Jack-Ass, Mr. Bean variety. They’re pratfall stupid, brazen, and goofily earnest in their bumbling naivety. They’re lovable thieves (if there is such a thing) who stutter and stammer that they are only moving the car for a friend or are doing some sort of civil duty by driving the car somewhere safe. They fast talk. They plead innocence. They cry. Lots of them are baby-faced kids between the ages of thirteen and twenty-three. Some of them probably don’t even belong in jail (yet they probably do).


(Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’.)

Oh Bait Car, I don’t know how you manage to make car thieves seem so sad and sympathetic, but I like that you do. COPS is way too ugly for my tastes. Entrapping desperate, hopeless criminals makes them seem a whole lot less dangerous. Looks like I prefer my True Crime Reality Television with a splash of humility.

There are a bunch of videos on Bait Cars (Tru TV’s – which I can’t get to work on wordpress – and other tidbits / news items from millions of sources). Search ’em out if you demand some instant gratification…

 

 

In The Mood For Cheese

Posted in General, Movies, Rants, Raves on August 1, 2011 by Michael Louis Calvillo

CRAZY STUPID LOVE is just that. It’s Crazy because it features unbelievable characters doing unbelievable things. It’s Stupid because coincidence, chance, and an extreme suspension of disbelief are required to follow many of the major plot points. Yet, it’s worth watching thanks to good, old Love.

A romantic comedy such as this really only needs to do two things to succeed. It needs to make us laugh (hence the comedy part of the equation) and it needs to raise a few flutters of aw-shucksy warmth. As crazy, stupid, earnest, as the film may be, it still does exactly what it sets out to do.


(This man will save your otherwise ridiculous film)

Mood probably has something to do with it. Sitting there with my bestest girl, holding hands, happy to be out of the house for an airy bit of fluff made things all the more pleasant. I”m forgiving a whole lot here, Loyal Reader.

Well hey, Steve Carell and his toothy charisma help. His dead-on timing makes the whole production go down a lot easier than had he not been the lead. There’s lots of screwy, situational comedy – unfortunately the twists and turns are as pedestrian and ho-hum as your typical television sitcom – but then, there are sweet moments, and genuinely funny bits, and I found myself smiling more than not.

Sometimes cheese satisfies in a way substance can’t.