I wish I had a story for you. A story of hardship, triumph, and learning. A story that justifies my prolonged absence better than the three words “hard drive failure” and the further five words “but I have no money”.
Cause honestly, it’d make it a lot easier to segue into this review. This week is actually kind of a big one. This is the movie that rocketed Asylum Films, unwelcome, into the homes of millions of innocent and unsuspecting viewers like a Russian asteroid.
So I spent 20 dollars on on-sale boxes of Valentine’s Day candy and hoped the sugar rush would get me through at least most of this movie.
I want to start off a bit differently here.
These past few weeks, a whole lot of change found me all at the same time. I’ve been dealing with it the best I can, but change is difficult, and it’s more difficult when a whole lot changes at once.
Things I was used to and took for granted flitted away like scraps of confetti on the wind, leaving behind sweet memories, bitter uncertainty, and true fear. And all you can do is put a record on and hope you’re strong, you’re mature, you’ve learned from every single one of these twenty three years you’ve spent here.
But hope only goes so far, because hope necessarily comes from a place of desperation. You hope for something because something has been taken away.
And when I failed to find that strength, I found out how truly fortunate I was. I’m so incredibly lucky to be in a city of millions, surrounded by people who love me and whom I love.
This is a long-winded way of saying thanks.
Thanks, Kaitlyn, for suffering through that goddamned movie with me.
Back in action, baby.
It’s fall, guys. Like it or not. It’s raining, the leaves are turning, and every morning is underscored by the subtle percussion of dress shoes sweeping over and crunching leaves. The wind rustles the trees, making a sound like paper against a fan. It’s beautiful, peaceful, and active all at once, somehow.
But my favorite part of fall is all the chainsaws.
Okay, yeah. I know. I’ve been gone for a while. You know, some of us have lives.
We have jobs. We have responsibilities. Friends and family members that count on us to be there for them. People we need to be responsible for. People we need to provide for. We have invested time into our careers and our exploits so that when we look back in a few years, we can see marked improvement in our lives, we can see change, we can see growth. We commit ourselves to trying new things, learning, and stepping outside our comfort zones.
But I don’t do any of that, so I guess I don’t have an excuse. Sorry.
Like it or not, it’s September, and summer is officially over. It won’t be long until the leaves start falling gently to the ground, making a satisfying crunch as they pass underfoot, until shorts and flip-flops are replaced with scarves and jackets, until warm weather is replaced by a rolling, pleasant coolness for the next few months. It’s all very beautiful. Personally I love the fall. But not for any of those asshole reasons.
I love the fall because nobody can make me feel bad about my life and my choices for spending all day inside watching reruns of Knight Rider when it’s 50 degrees and rainy outside.
That said, I will miss summer, especially when Chicago becomes an uninhabitable, icy wasteland in a month or so. So here’s to summer. Let’s watch a shark movie.
Around this time a year ago, I went on a journey, a journey of friendship, self-discovery, and also Steven Seagal.
It’s about time I do it again, with a little help from some asshole named Dave who has this delusion that he’s a dude named Pierre Menard that nobody has never heard of.
But he’s pretty cool, and he fills out my bar trivia team.
So we saw The Expendables 2 together and wrote about it. At least after we stopped giggling like schoolgirls at the fact that Arnold Schwarzenegger is back.
This week, we’re doing something different. Again.
To the types among you that watch shows like Portlandia and Comedy Bang! Bang!- first of all, take a good long look at yourself in the mirror and try to convince yourself in vain that you’re not a terrible person and that your friends appreciate what you contribute to the relationships you build. Like you do every evening before bed. Then drink until you forget how awful you are. Like you do every evening before bed.
Second of all, you may have seen commercials for IFC’s new(ish) show Bullet in the Face.
So that’s what we’re doing this week.
Thank you for bearing with me while I was on vacation. I had a great time in the woods fighting bears and building log cabins while watching the Olympics and drinking scotch.
Today, I got to celebrate my return to Chicago by watching another Roger Corman movie.
Feels like home.
Shitty, boring, terrible home.
This is kind of a big day in Beers and B-movies history. Today, I review, for the first time, a Roger Corman flick.
I can safely say that without his contributions to cinema, I wouldn’t be doing this blog today. This dude is one of the original producers of awful b-movies.
So, thank you, Mr. Corman. You can also go eat a dick.
This one is a keeper.
I just…I can’t even. Hit the jump already.