Country Music and Hip-Hop Are the Same

Country music is America’s music. It provides the soundtrack to patriotism, innocent music that every parent hopes that their child listens to. Instead of, say, rap. Rap/hip-hop is the music of sex, drugs, and crime – a dangerous influence to the youth. These are the common perceptions in our society. Musically, country is smooth, fluid; rap is choppy, hard-hitting. Theoretically, there could be no two types of music more different. One is order, the other chaos. Because of this, there are hardly any fans of both country and hip-hop. If you listen to one, there’s no way that you could like the other, right? I recently crossed that line, and started listening to country while continuing to listen to hip-hop. And, I discovered something groundbreaking: Thematically, the majority of rap and country are the same.

It started when I was listening to “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk,” by Trace Adkins (wasn’t badonkadonk a term that rappers used instead of booty in like, 1998?). This song, like many a rap song, was inspired by the tremendous rear end of an attractive young woman. “Lord have mercy,” Adkins ponders, “how’s she even get them britches on?” One particular line made my ears perk, in which he sings “We hate to see her go, but we love to watch her leave.” This is word for word the same line that rap superstar Lil Wayne uses in the single “Bedrock.” The country song was released in 2005, prior to the rap song, and Lil Wayne has long claimed to be a fan of all types of music. This could be the first example of a rapper “biting” a country singer, ver-batim.

Exploring the themes of most country songs on the radio, there are two that standout: Women and alcohol. And the same goes for hip-hop. Of course, representatives of each genre use different terminology to convey their messages. Rappers “pop bottles” and “f*ck b*tches,” while country singers “sip some Jack” and “get laid.” In his hit song “Toes,” Zac Brown sings that he is “Gonna lay in the hot sun and roll a big fat one.” On the hip-hop charts is a song titled “Roll Up.” Most songs that comes onto Country 105 bear a striking resemblance to those on Power 106. Of course, there are exceptions, but the percentage of country songs that are thematically similar to rap songs, based on these two radio stations, is well over fifty percent.

What does this mean? Don’t broadly stereotype music that you haven’t actually listened to. Once you get past the terminology, it is all pretty much the same.

“Apes” Gets the Job Done, and Not Much More

With every summer comes a new group of high-budget movies with only one objective: To entertain. The Rise of the Planet of the Apes accomplishes this thoroughly, and not much else. For the just-under-two-hour duration of the film, Apes captures the audience, but – like most summer blockbusters – it is ultimately forgettable.

Full disclosure: I am in no way a fan of the “Planet of the Apes” series. I’m not sure if those exist. I went to the theatre with absolutely no information on the saga, other than that the apes will eventually take over the earth. Because of this, I expected the apes to play the villains. From the opening sequence, I knew that it would be the other way around: Like Avatar, the human race is villainized, and the abused apes’ quest for freedom is where audience sympathy lies. Unfortunately, the apes’ plight often seemed like a quest for revenge and not freedom. The couple behind me kept applauding when the apes, for example, took down a police helicopter that was shooting at them. The ignorance of this irritated me. Sure, the apes were abused, but the cop was just doing his job (rather bravely might I add), and I’m sure that if there were hundreds of super intelligent apes wreaking havoc throughout the city we would want to end the chaos immediately. What I’m getting at, is that although the objective was clearly for the audience to feel for the apes – which was certainly accomplished early in the film – there were many times near the end when I couldn’t help but observe the situation from the perspective of a civilian caught up in this extravagant mess. The production staff went out of their way to show that the apes only killed a few of humans, sparing the majority of those which they encountered. This felt like a cheap last minute editing job, intended to cause the audience to feel justified in rooting for the apes to beat the humans.

The acting in the film left little to be desired, but certainly will not win any awards. The only noticeably lackluster performances come from James Franco’s love interest, who is only in the film for a few brief scenes, and the asshole ape caretaker, who inexplicably chose a career taking care of apes, which he clearly hates. The main relationship of the story is that of Franco and Cesar, his super-intelligent monkey, who is like his son, and eventually is the leader of the monkeys. The CGI is top quality, as you would expect in a big-budget flick. There are a few over-exagerated CGI facial expressions that are minor annoyances, but for the most part the apes’ appearance and expressions are solid. However, this movie should have been in 3D. No question about it. The last forty-five minutes is a ridiculous action sequence, featuring an ape riding a horse, amongst other things, and it would have been far more engrossing with the newest technology. I can think of no reason, other than penny pinching, that the producers did not make this a 3D film. Plot-wise there are a few bits that are head scratchers (how did the apes multiply to such vast numbers?), but the way that the apes become super-intelligent is surprisingly explained in a very reasonable way. The film is paced well and is just the right amount of time. From start to finish, I was intrigued by Apes, and am glad that I saw it, even though I surely won’t remember it a month from now.

Grade: B- Nothing short of entertaining, but in no way groundbreaking. If you miss it in theaters, it will make for a great hotel-room rental in a couple of months.

Kanye West/Jay-Z: “Watch the Throne” Review

“Ain’t that like Lebron James?/Ain’t that just like D. Wade?” Kanye West and Jay-Z forming a two-man supergroup is reminiscent of the two athletes that they compare themselves to in this lyric from their new album, “Watch the Throne.” Like the superstar athletes, both Kanye and Jay are more popular now than they have ever been before, true household names. Both duos are urban icons, black ambassadors in music and sports respectively. And, like Wade and James, the new combination of Kanye and Jay comes with absurdly high expectations. These expectations are met on many of the individual songs, which feature stellar production from Kanye and other A-list producers. However, as a whole, the album is not an instant classic, like Kanye’s Fantasy or Jay’sBlueprint.

That is not to say that this is a mediocre hip-hop album. In fact, it is one of the better hip-hop albums in the last few years. These two artists have proved in the past that they are capable of transcending the genre, mixing soul, r&b, electronica, rock, etc. They accomplish this again here, even utilizing dub-step in “Who Gon Stop Me.” But, unfortunately, the duo rarely strays from rhyming about women and wealth. In this regard, the artists have digressed. Like two competitive brothers at a family reunion, it is as though Jay and Kanye are trying to one-up each other with their boasts of success. Melancholy tracks from previous albums like Kanye’s “Blame Game (Fantasy)” and Jay’s “Song Cry (Blueprint)” are essential in creating a masterpiece. These songs show the artist in a vulnerable state, which listeners can relate to. Ye and Jay, lyrically, almost seem to put an emotional wall up on this album, distancing themselves from listeners. Even songs like “New Day,” which in theory are about deep subject matter, come off as just another avenue for repetitive boasting. True, the boast rap is the essence of hip hop, and Jay-Z has been doing it forever. But for artists of this caliber we expect more. Kanye in particular includes a number of sensitive songs on every album. In fact, you could argue that he has released more vulnerable solo tracks than any other popular rapper, and it is no coincidence that he has received such critical acclaim. This is by far his most boastful album to date, and his least diverse album lyrically. We get it, Ye, drive a Maybach and sleep with models. Now please go back to writing lyrics that matter.

That being said, this album is as well produced as any of the classics, if not better. Kanye West at least co-produced just about every song on the album, with heavyweights The Neptunes, Swizz Beats, and the RZA stepping in for production on a few tracks. They are all on point; not one beat is a miss. The album is well paced and diverse musically, with just the right amount of r&b hooks. The first track on the album, “No Church in the Wild,” is a brilliant opening song, with a perfectly timed chorus by up-and-comer Frank Ocean. The second track, “Lift Off,” is in my opinion the worst, even though it will probably be a hit (I think to enjoy a song with Beyonce you must lack the Y chromosome). “Murder to Excellence” is in fact two songs, “Murder” and “Excellence,” produced by two different producers but merging seamlessly, creating a beautiful juxtaposition. Classic material. “Ni**as in Paris” is the type of quirky boast rap that is actually somewhat refreshing. I could say something good about every song. It is not often that a modern hip-hop album features sixteen beats that are hits and zero that are misses, but “Watch the Throne” accomplishes this. Truly unmatched production.

If any other two artists put this album out, I would say that they were on to something spectacular. However, Jay-Z and Kanye have proved that they are capable of more lyrically. As I listen to the album multiple times over, two things stand out. First, wow, these beats are amazing, and at times ground-breaking. Second, the words of some of the songs sound damn near the same. Still, this is an essential buy for any fan of hip-hop or any fan of Kanye West (I know a lot of you Kanye fans aren’t really hip-hop fans). The album sets a new bar for hip-hop production, while unfortunately sometimes settling for the same ol’ boast raps that were played out in 2007.

Grade: A Call me crazy, but I expected an A+. Still, this is the most well produced album that I can remember ever hearing. Some of the boasts sound like you heard the same lyrics two songs ago, but you will be so busy listening to the flawless beats that you will hardly notice.

My Taste in Television is Really Messed Up

I admit it. I have terrible taste in television. Perhaps it began when I was a boy of about ten and became desperately hooked on the Fox Wednesday night one-two punch of Melrose Place and 90210. Or, maybe it was my former adolescent desire to one day be on “The Real World,” as though it was a career choice. Whatever the cause, I have succumbed to the trash reality television that has steadily been taking over airwaves for years now. I embrace this shortcoming, and indulge in these shows, which are likely carcinogenic to the brain. Here are the shows I watch and why:

The Bachelorette/Bachelor: This is a given, reality television’s reigning champ. It has the highest production value of any of the reality shows, and that helps convince viewers that what is happening is not absolutely depraved. Which is incorrect. A group of men living in a house together, becoming friends with each other, and desperately falling for the same person, whom they barely know, and only want to win over to prove that they are superior to their competition, is downright absurd. Somehow the producers manage to make this seem classy. The last time I watched The Bachelorette, there were three men remaining. As What’s-Her-Name was waiting for her second date – having woke up THAT morning with the guy from yesterday, and planning to do it all over again the next day – it struck me that I was watching complete filth. If she did that in real life, she would be correctly labeled a slut. The people on this show are desperate for fame, however short lived, and no amount of snazzy production can convince me otherwise.

Bad Girls Club: These bitches are crazy. This has long been my favorite reality show. Why? It cuts to the chase. If I watch, say, Real Housewives, I have to wait an entire season for the last episode, in which the women finally engage in fisticuffs and/or severe verbal assaults. In the Bad Girls Club, I only have to wait until the end of the commercial break. Sure, I do feel slightly guilty for supporting these abominable young women, but hey, I’m laughing at them, not with them. Just because I choose to watch somebody or something doesn’t mean I’m a fan. Right…?

Famous Food: This up and comer is my favorite show at the moment. First of all, if Danielle Staub is on, I’m watching it. She turns any show into a Botoxed rendition of the Bad Girls Club. But this rag-tag group of celebrities really have no chemistry whatsoever – which is perfect for good television. After all, the last thing I want is them to open a successful restaurant. I want fights, dammit! And the two “urban” gentlemen from Three-Six Mafia really add a nice bit of comic relief, as well as tension, because you know that at some point they are going to snap and start flipping tables and throwing chairs (I saw it on the previews…).

Celebrity Rehab: This show has really gone downhill, because for some reason that goody two-shoes Dr. Drew is actually trying to help the celebrity patients. Enough of that, Drew! Let them quarrel, relapse, and act insane! They are here for our entertainment, that is why we watch television after all. The best episode is always the first one because it shows videos of the celebrities getting really, really, like REALLY messed up. And that’s fun. Then the show sputters along the rest of the season, usually with one or two crazy breakdowns that may or may not be worth the wait.

Teen Mom: This show has no redeeming values whatsoever. I think I just forgot to program TiVo to stop recording. I’m not sure. Seriously, it’s just a very, very bad show. Nothing really happens. I should stop watching.

Jersey Shore: I haven’t seen this show in a long time because I am no longer willing to support these people. That’s is one television less. Let’s take a stand people!

When I watch reality television, I am rooting for every single person to fail over and over again. I want to see blood, sweat, tears, and ripped extensions. The way I see it is that, when you sign up for one of these shows, you are becoming an entertainer. Nothing more. I hope the best for these people in their private lives (except Danielle Staub), but I hope for utter on-air devastation and catastrophe. Look, if I want to walk away with a new perspective on life, I’ll read a novel. When I watch TV, I just want to laugh and relax. I’m not retarded, to the best of my knowledge, I promise. Nonetheless, these shows amuse me and dammit, it’s my right to infest my brain with whatever the hell I want to.

Sea World Surprises

It’s 7:30 am on a Saturday, and everyone is still asleep, dreaming of another forthcoming summer weekend in paradise. Except me. I’m in the shower, because I have to drive to San Diego. Why? To go to Sea World. I thought this wasn’t supposed to happen until I had a couple of little pre-adolescent mongrels running around the house. I slam a five hour energy and get behind the wheel for a three hour drive, commencing to curse under my breath all the way to this strange and depraved amusement park.

I arrive and it is just as I expected. Disneyland with no magic (I love Disneyland). Knotts Berry Farm with no blueberry jam (or whatever they base their amusement park on). Six Flags with none of the crazy roller coasters they are famous for (and none of the Mexican knife fights they are infamous for). Just a bunch of artificial sea life and lunatic kids running around. I check out an exhibit on turtles which is as boring as, well….turtles. I look at a polar bear who is sleeping with his back turned about one hundred yards away; this is what I should be doing right now. I observe a gaggle of kids feeding a barking group of sea lions, and I observe a group of adults feeding a barking gaggle of toddlers. So far, to me, Sea World is just the aquatic section at the zoo, but with longer lines and higher prices. Looking at my watch, I see that the Sea Lion Show around the corner is about to start. May as well see what this has to offer.

Sea Lion Show: I am obviously pessimistic. It doesn’t help when some middle aged clown named “Biff” comes out and entertains the crowd for the first thirty minutes. I thought this was a Sea Lion Show, not a struggling actor exhibit. But then, everything changes. The stars of the show, Seamore (get it?!) and Clyde – two massive sea lions – scoot out and start doing all sorts of silly shit. I love it! They pretend to talk! Dance! Juggle! It’s nuts! The families flanking every side of me keep giving me glances; I can’t stop laughing. When O.P. the Otter runs out on stage and is found to be the culprit in a murder investigation that the sea lions are solving, I absolutely lose it. I’m not making this up. Forget about Broadway, Seamore and Clyde are the finest entertainers in America.

With a newfound passion for sea life, Sea World has transformed before my very eyes. Suddenly, the once-boring turtles seem on the brink of busting out a visor and a deck of cards and playing blackjack. The sleeping polar bear could, at any moment, whip out a fez and a tiny bicycle and start riding it around his habitat. And you know those penguins are up to something silly. I look at the show roster – there is a pet show in fifteen minutes. I head there now, shoving my way through the sea of little people.

Animal Pet Show: I’m positive that I’m going to love this, considering that I am an extreme fan of dogs and sometimes cats if they are hilarious enough. Once again, this show sends me into a noticeable uproar. When Billy, the spotted retriever, has to clean up before a date, throwing away cans and a pizza box, I lose it. He’s a dog, he doesn’t order pizza or go on dates!!! When he makes dinner – a bone – and sets the table, giving a rose to Samantha the little Westie dog, it is truly heartwarming. Sure, you can get a dog to do anything, but the stuff that these dogs do with absolutely no trainers on stage is absurd. However, the highlight of the show comes from a cat. On the stage is a horizontal rope about fifty feet off the ground and fifty feet long. Cats have been dexterously running over it since I sat down. But this cat, like a ninja, crawls along the rope, hanging upside down. It slowly makes it about ten feet, and I must say, it is not looking good for this poor black cat. It stops and slowly looks at the crowd, and I imagine that he is full of scorn, looking at us humans cheering, laughing, eating popcorn while he struggles to do some inane task for our enjoyment. I am gasping for breath due to laughter. Though not pretty, the cat makes it across finally, and the crowd goes wild, as if these animals are learned in the human ritual of applause.

If I hurry, I can check out another show:

Cirque de la Mer: I know you can train humans. I don’t give a shit about this.

Now, it’s time for the show that put Sea World on the map. Of course the famous Killer Whale Show (but that doesn’t sound friendly, so let’s just name every one of them Shamu).

Shamu Show: This is truly stupefying. It is mind boggling: a wonder of the world, like Stonehenge, or gay people. These animals weigh multiple tons and somehow they are trained to do backflips on command, splash the crowd, put their head over the railing, and basically do anything their massive bodies are capable of on command. I was taken aback by the tremendous quantities of fish they eat: Sea World has got to be the number one fish buyer in the US. These things are treated to a bucket of fish after every trick they do. I love watching this even though it is not nearly as hilarious as the previous two shows, but it would be a lie to say it’s not heartwarming. Something about these giants, who genuinely seem to be friendly despite the name of their species, touches everybody in the audience. However, the music is not helping. It sounds like something out of South Park, corny on purpose. “You can see, that you and me/ We are all just one!” Look, I came to see some whales do tricks, not gather a whole new perspective on humanity. Thanks though. On a side note, somebody please develop a reality television show about training these things.

The sun is going down now, and I’ve had my share of Sea World. Never did I think that I would have enjoyed the antics of trained animals so much, nor did I believe that animals could be so expertly trained. It is clear that the trainers and the animals have a best-friend bond, which is touching (and also makes you wonder what the trainers were like in high school). What started out as a miserable Saturday turned out to be a day that I will never forget. If times get tough and I am down, I will picture that black cat, fifty feet above the ground, hanging by a rope and looking at the audience thinking, “do I really have to do this for you people?” and everything will be okay.

Why I Will Never Go Back to Mexico

I woke up in a fancy, yet somewhat dingy hotel in Cabo san Lucas, Mexico, with a strange reluctance to begin the obligatory boozefest that is the daily life of a college student on Spring Break vacation. However, this was quickly taken care of with a couple of cheese enchiladas and margaritas. My group – four guys around the age of twenty – attacked the once pristine beach, which was now jam packed with eager college students from the US taking advantage of their proud parents during Spring Break. If the beach had a maximum occupancy it surely would have been exceeded on this day. Intermingled with the sweaty college crowds, the opportunistic local inhabitants roamed the beach, hoping to make a profit in some way or another. Some sold booze, others hats. Some sold churros, others marijuana. Some just stole shit. The more industrial locals had set up a variety of ocean activities, such as banana boating, tubing, and jet-skiing. I somehow decided that jet-skiing would fit in perfectly in my day of adolescent indulgence. This would turn out to be a tremendous error.

So, like mosquitos landing on bug zappers, I approached the jet-ski rental hut. It was a humble stand, with six rentals available. Forty-five minutes, thirty-five dollars. Sounds like a bargain to me. The Mexican gentleman explained the rules: Stay away from the boats, don’t go out too far, blah blah blah. I nodded and finished off my Corona. As I fired up the small engine , the only thing on my mind was how great of an idea this was. After all, while in no way practical, jet-skis are one of the most awesome things in the universe (duh). This would be a nice interlude, a brief break from roasting on the beach for hours on end. I took it out slowly until I was about one hundred yards away from the shore, past the swimming area and small boats lined up in a row. Now, I squeezed the throttle in my right hand, and was off.

Yes! Electric adrenaline rushed through my body. Euphoria. I raced out and around the larger boats, following the wake for a more thrilling ride. I got a few feet off of the water a couple of times, and did a couple of harsh turns that left me floating in my life vest. Though I was probably only going about forty miles per hour, it felt like a hundred. No thoughts entered my brain at this time; I was consumed by the rush. Looking down at my watch, I had only five minutes left. How could this be? It seemed like I had just started. I decided that I would go out with a bang.

Looking towards the beach, towards all of the partygoers, I could hear music that was barely audible over the excited sounds of drunken and disorderly conduct. There was a gap between the small boats and the larger ones, just outside of the designated swim zone, and the gap was about the width of five jet-skis. I decided I would shoot it. I caught the attention of one of my friends on the shore, and he got the attention of a few more people. The next thing I knew there was a group of people watching me. No turning back now. Full speed ahead, I hit the gap. No problem! All eyes on me! Faster! Yaaa!…

Crash.

That did not just happen. Dysphoria. I had crashed my jet-ski into the side of a small, empty fishing boat. With my tail between my legs, I climbed back on the jet-ski and slowly brought it back to its enraged owner. I tried hard not to look at the shore, utterly humiliated at this unfortunate turn of events. The loud crash was surely witnessed by everyone on the coast. The jet-ski was badly damaged, and the owner demanded I pay a hefty price or face the Policia, whom everybody fears. I had no choice but to pay whatever fee that the jet-ski owner came up with.

The only good news was that I didn’t have to buy myself a drink the rest of the evening because all my friends felt so bad. I also got a free custom henna tattoo of, you guessed it, a jet-ski crashing into a boat. After all, on the bright side, I still had four days left in Cabo, a place I had been dying to visit since I was eighteen. Little did I know that when I woke up, I would have what is to this day the worst stomach virus I have ever experienced. It was like Montazumas Revenge and alcohol poisoning simultaneously. Couple this with the extreme money-hangover that comes with wasting a couple thousand dollars on a stupid jet-ski and you have a physically and mentally devastated young man.This day on the jet-ski  and the night that followed would end up being the last time that I ventured out of the hotel room for more than an hour on this trip, until it was finally time to go home. Spring Break in Cabo had defeated me.

Mexico is a fantastic place and if you haven’t been, I encourage you to go down there and live it up. I, however, will not be returning.

Pasadena Purgatory

Ever since I was a child, I have never been fond of Pasadena. I believe that it is the only part of Los Angeles County that has nothing unique to offer. It is no coincidence that all of my friends who grew up in Pasadena now live in another part of LA County, and nobody that I know has willingly moved there. Today, I had to take my car in to be serviced in Pasadena. In the two and a half hours of time I had to kill, I wandered around Colorado Boulevard, one of the main streets, searching for some sort of identity. I found none.

Pasadena is Santa Monica without the promenade; Venice Beach without the boardwalk; Downtown without the skyscrapers; Hollywood without the movies; Malibu without the mansions; South Bay without the beach.

The Angelinos wandering this area, populated mostly by restaurants and stores, seem as though they belong to a different LA ecology. It is as though these folks have reluctantly assumed the identity of where they hope to live, as opposed to here. Of course, there are plenty of upstanding people in Pasadena who live there happily and desire nothing more than to raise their family in this safe and sound Limbo. I have an Aunt and Uncle that live there, and wouldn’t change a thing. But, for unmarried men and women in their late twenties and early thirties, this is simply no place to be. Steer clear of this faux city.

        

But hey, at least there’s a Church of Scientology and a Gentlemanly Hat Shop.

The 7 Types of Shoppers at Target

In my hometown, Manhattan Beach, California, and the adjacent communities, there is no doubt that Target is the most popular place to shop. On any day and at any time the parking lot is inexplicably full, hundreds of people coming to get their consumer fix at this purveyor of modern American culture. I have long noticed that there always seem to be the same people lining the aisle at this West Coast Walmart:

1) Overzealous Families: A Target trip would not be complete without the panic of nearly ramming your shopping cart into the tiny body of a toddler chasing his siblings through the aisle, while his mother slouches on her cart, slowly moving it forward while talking on her cell phone. This is always the most noticeable class of Target shopper, not only because they take up so much space, but because they are there for so long. It is an all day event. These families treat a trip to Target like a trip to Disneyland: First they go to Tommorowland to look at electronics, then maybe see some toys in Frontierland, buy a few Disney sweatshirts in the clothing section, and on the way out grab some fresh produce in Adventureland. And let’s not forget lunch at the notorious Target food court that can’t be bad for you, because it comes with grapes! The families make the core group of shoppers that Target so desperately wants to appease with their advertising campaign, which is apparently doing a fantastic job.

2) Delinquent Teenagers: From what I understand, in most of the states across the US teens conjugate at the mall. Pitifully, it becomes the place to “see and be seen.” Here, they meet at Target. Only it is not your normal teens; it is the bottom feeders with nowhere else to go. These acne-ridden degenerates usually come in pairs of two, and are often equipped with a hood even though there is clearly no wind, rain, or snow. Like “Mallrats,” these Targetrats are not browsing or shopping for anything, just crawling through the aisles and talking to each other under their breath. It is not uncommon for both members of the party to be wearing one headphone, limiting their conversation and indicating that they at least are capable of some solid decision making. Rest assured, if you ever leave Target and find your car keyed, one of these Slurpee-sucking mongrels was the culprit.

3) Reluctant Old Gentlemen: Target is indeed a convenient place to shop. This is why grandpa visits a store that sells t-shirts which read “I Heart Summer Flings.” These men walk through the aisles shaking their head at the state of the nation, looking in vein for the few items on their short shopping list. They are too proud to ask the employees for assistance. It is no wonder that old men are known for being grumpy.  If you have a grandpa, please do not let him go to Target alone. What we have become, culturally, is not something that he needs to be exposed to. Although nowadays we don’t think twice about selling sexually oriented t-shirts to ten year olds, it could very well be the demise of your war-veteran grandpa. In his eyes, he risked his life to save the US culture – and to him, Target is proof that it died anyway.

4) Lunch Break Addicts: She didn’t plan on coming to Target today, during her lunch break. In fact, she already had plans to eat with a co-worker. But, somewhere in her third hour of “work” a chemical change took place in her brain. As she browsed store after store online, she decided she needed the real fix, the instant gratification of shopping at Target. Ordering items online and waiting a couple of days would no longer do, could lead to withdrawal symptoms. And after all, she did need a new welcome mat for the summer, and hey, a Lean Cuisine from the freezer section has less calories then lunch at CPK, right? The Target junkie finds it easy to justify her problem, and is convinced that this will be her last time, at least for this month. It never is. Note that on weekends this group of shoppers substitutes business-casual attire with gym attire.

5) Tarjay Fashonistas: Put on some makeup, heels, and jewelry, we’re going to Target, baby! You can hear these women clip-clopping down the Home Goods aisle from a hundred yards away. They have a day without their husband or child and are hoping to relive the good ol’ days when they were single and carefree. These women are begging for looks from any male passerby, which will make them feel sexy again and let them know that they still “got it.” A trip to Target is an excuse to get out of the house. They often meet with a friend at Starbucks first, and meander down the aisles with their coffee as though it is a cocktail and they are at a swanky nightclub. Once they get home, it’s back to sweatpants and diaper-changing.

6) Possible Derelicts: These men and women are noticeable at once by their more eccentric qualities. The frizzy grey hair, the unmatched clothes, the noticeable odor, the bewildered facial expression. The look on their face is them thinking, “How the fuck did I end up here?” Still, after standing near the entryway for a few moments, they grab a cart and follow suit, pushing it through the aisles and imitating what everybody else is doing. I have never seen this class at checkout; I imagine that they push their full cart up near the cash registers, then make a run for it, empty handed, out the exit and down the street. If you have ever been to a store like Target and seen the numerous full, unmanned shopping carts littering the aisles, this is the explanation. Derelicts come and spend an hour or two pretending to shop like normal citizens, then decide the gig is up and book it as fast as they can out the door. I’ve seen security footage – it’s not pretty.

7) Significant Others: Women love Target. Often times, their significant other is dragged along with them. Once inside, these men reluctantly usher themselves to the electronics section, killing an absurd amount of time checking out semi-new technology that they have no intention of buying, while the wife/girlfriend roams the entirety of the store. The electronics section at Target is like child care for unfortunate husbands and boyfriends. Men take turns on the Madden PS3 setup, mingle with other men, maybe make a friend for future playdates. They make the most out of it. But once the woman comes back, like a little boy who misses Mommy, the wide-eyed man comes running, ready to get the fuck out of Target for good. Or at least until next Saturday.

            

How to Make the MLB All Star Game Fun (gambling)

It’s not easy. Every year these couple of months are rough on us sports fans. Meaningless midseason MLB games and Women’s Soccer (!) are all we have to fill the void before college football begins. That being said, the MLB All Star Game at 5pm this afternoon is one of the few events that garners any excitement for me. The main reason is this game that I developed a few years ago. Here are the rules:

• -Each player (2 – but you could try 4) takes turn drafting from the roster of both the NL/AL teams. The goal is to have your squad rack up the highest offensive statistics, so pitchers do not matter except in determining who the batters will face.
• -Score 1 point for walk, RBI, scoring run, or stolen base.
• -Score 2 points for a single.
• -Score 4 points for a double.
• -Score 7 points for a triple.
• -Score 10 points for a home run.
• -Score 50 points for a grand slam.
• -Points are cumulative: Thus, if I have one player on third and another at bat, and my batter gets a double, I will receive 4 points for the double, 1 point for the RBI, and 1 point because my guy on third scored. Then if the man who hit the double steals third, that is another point.
• -I play a dollar a point, but you could also play straight up (most points win), or if you are a hot shot 5$-10$ a point. The largest deficit I’ve seen in my few years of playing is about 75 points so you can’t get hurt too bad.
• Finally, remember that you do not need to watch every play for this scoring system. Player stats include all of the categories in which points are scored and can be viewed up to the minute online.

Give it a shot and tell me this isn’t the best sporting event since Bron-Bron lost to a German dude. Also, please let me know any point system tweaks, I’m always eager to update the system for next year.

Good luck!

“Horrible Bosses” is a Worthwhile Film

At the end of Horrible Bosses, the credits roll over outtakes of the cast humorously flubbing their lines and cracking up during memorable moments. Early in the film, Jason Sudeikis delivers a line in which he says “I think that’s a saying. Yeah it is, it’s from a movie.” Then, in the final outtake, he reenacts this scene but afterwards arrogantly looks at the camera and says, “It is now.” No, it is not. While Bosses is a highly entertaining and very well paced film, it is not quite up to the high standard of quotable comedy films, such as Anchorman (every line), Billy Madison (“Stop looking at me swan!”), Borat (“Very niiice”), etc. Still, while not being a must-see comedy, it makes for a very enjoyable trip to the movies.

From the first scene, it is clear that this movie does not take its self very seriously, as it shouldn’t. Each of the three friends, who partner up to murder each other’s bosses, narrate their opening scene in which they interact with said boss, and the screen has large white text to indicate their respective  category of “horrible boss.” Bosses jumps between the three main characters for the first part of the movie and shows them individually in their work environment, before they all get together and it becomes a buddy-flick. This works very well. I was eager to see more of each boss, but by only showing me bits and pieces initially, I stayed very interested. It was a brilliant idea to have the three bosses played by established film actors, while the three protagonists are budding film stars currently more known for the small screen. Even though the bosses have much less camera time than the protagonist, their presence looms over all the scenes, and as an audience we anticipate the next time we will see one of them.

No complaints as far as the acting goes. Kevin Spacey predictably steals the show as the boss who is just a downright asshole. I have a soft spot for Charlie Day’s style of humor, as an avid Always Sunny in Philadelphia fan seeing his first cinema appearance, I was happy to see that he does not stray too far from the acting style I am used to. Jason Sudeikis’ character was a cliche but a necessary one, in line with the plot. In a buddy-flick like this, it is always necessary to feel like the actors had fun making it, and this is apparent here. Even as the plot was unfolding, the film managed to produce consistent hearty laughs, with a couple minor roars. Further, as far as plot was concerned, the way that the action all plays out was very clever – I never saw the way that the end occurred coming, yet it made sense. Fortunately, in Bosses, there are never any moments when characters slow the movie down by having emotional reactions that would likely come with their situation. Although this would make for a slightly more realistic film, it would slow down a movie that is perfectly paced at a pretty high speed.

Reflecting the movie that I saw last night, I can’t think of any particular quotes (other than the one that Sudeikis tried to ram down viewers throats at the end of the outtakes – good luck with that) or any particular scenes that really stand out. But by the time the end of Horrible Bosses came around I had no clue how long I had been in the theatre or what time it was: I was completely attuned to the movie, as I should be. Bosses is a very solid film that never tries to be anything it’s not. However, it never takes any serious comedic risks, which are necessary for a comedy to be must-see material (but can also lead to a flop). If summer movies are simply supposed to entertain, then this is the perfect movie to grab a group of friends and go check out.

B+: Not to be missed if you are a comedy fan, and probably shouldn’t be missed if you have a sense of humor and like movies (which I hope you all do).