Album Of The Week: Third/Portishead

In case you don't know me (damn you stalker! Just go away so I don't have to write that everytime I start a blog!), I love music. Hell, I'm minoring in music composition, and life without music just kinda sucks. So I think I'll start an "Album Of The Week" thing. And the first entry is Third from one of my favorite nineties bands, Portishead.

Since most of you kids are too young to remember (and so am I, but that didn't stop me from researching the group and listening to their albums), Portishead was a trip-hop group started in the early nineties to much acclaim with their first album, Dummy. Needless to say, Dummy is one of my favorite nineties albums, due to its brooding production and Beth Fucking Orton. Her voice should be studied by vocal teachers across the globe to understand emotional context and subtle markings in the voice.

So now, after about 11 years since their last album (which was only average in my opinion), comes Third. In what I think is the first great comeback in God knows how long, Portishead just keeps on going as if the nineties were coming back (they will dammit) and as if nothing really changed since their last outing. Just note that saying that is near damn impossible for Portishead. So I will just say is that they haven't lost their touch.

I won't go into a review or anything, but I will say that 10/11 songs on the album are amazing and really make the album great. The only song I have a problem with is their first single "Machine Gun". It sounds like they were trying to cobble up some club-funk song that would allow them to reach a larger audience, but it just doesn't fit. To me, Portishead represents organic trip-hop, not the cheesy shit you hear in commercials. And "Machine Gun" is just that. While not a horrible song, it just kinda disappointed me. Other than that, the album is great and you should pick it up!

SUPPORT THE MUSIC INDUSTRY BY LEGALLY DOWNLOADING AND BUYING ALBUMS. MUSICIANS ARE A DYING BREED!!!!

Two Things: I Hate Friends & Grotesque

Today's post is going to be a little heated. It's actually something that's been truly bothering me and it really makes me feel as if there is no hope for humanity.


If you don't know me (stalker!), I'm about 5'4-5'5, depending on the day. Yeah, not so tall. Not so average. But I refuse to say whatever word you are currently thinking, because that would be falling into what I want to describe a little later.

Anyways, in my last period class today, which happens to be concert choir, one of my "friends" decided to shout out something that I found very offensive. Now, mind you, I get made fun of all the time. I don't know why. I follow the "golden rule" and I never go out of my way to hurt anyone. But today, it was the straw that broke the back. Mainly because it was from a "friend" who I've told about my issues with my body image.

But to those who bully and like to find the flaws in people, I'd like to explain a psychological process that goes into the mind of the victim, just in case you care (but you probably don't). You see, each individual has their own personified look at themselves, whether they think they are suave, whether they are skinny, etc. Of course, they know they do not look like this. This is called residual self image, where a person thinks they are projecting a certain image unto others, hence leading to questions such as "what am I wearing today?" or "do I look fat?". These victims, who usually never see it coming, always think they are projecting a certain image from looking into the mirror and when they are contested, they tend to feel doubt within their own perception of themselves. The bully didn't just "poke fun", but just recklessly destroyed this residual self image of the person.

Now residual self image is something that should be taken very seriously, considering those who have a somewhat shattered residual self image will have massive emotional damage.

Apparently, whenever I tell someone that, they laugh.

Thanks to bullies consistenly beating down my residual self-image, I am now diagnosed with OCD. While it is now mild (it used to be very extreme), I still seem to obtain the effects with BDM or Body dysmorphic disorder. It is taken very seriously in the psychological world, since it leads to anorexia, bulimia, self-mutilation, etc. And so now, thanks to years of constant torment, I am now diagnosed with BDM.

And I've told friends, so that people would know not to make fun of me. But of course, humanity does not work like this. Humanity is filled with filth and instigation and wishes to torment others for the sake of torment. Sure, I know that some bully since they are self-loathing as well, but that gives no right to someone to take it out on others. Instead, they should reach out to those who feel tormented as well.

But no. You see, those who wish to make others feel ashamed aren't enlightened with a great residual self-image either. With that, they can point out the flaws of others easily and use it for their own gain. They use Machiavellian techniques to conquer the social ladder in a radical destruction of human emotion. It's disgusting.

So, this is dedicated to those who just love pointing out the flaws of others and who judge incessantly, for while I am not incredibly religious, I believe the following:

Only the creator of any creation may judge that creation. If the creation ever tries to assemble him or herself as the creator, then the original creator will walk away, insulted that a stupid, incessant creation has the right to torment his own creator, who supplies him with life and happiness.

Case in point, I wrote a poem about my body dysmorphic disorder for Humanities. I'm technically not suppose to show it, but I really despise that class, so here it is:

Grotesque:
I am grotesque
Rejection whispers that to me every so often
A man in a freak show behind steel bars
Noticing the people tear him apart
I am not human.

I am a mass of flesh
Disgusting,
Stomach expanding,
You fucking glutton
She is not blind to your sin,

The vinegar-spoiled scent of vomit,
Rushing, destroying my throat,
A cleansing,
Better than I've ever been.
Stop.
Stop me,
The disease is coming out,
But it is still coating my obese organs.
The smell rots the bathroom
And you're still going nowhere.

I am dying,
Killing me softly not with a song,
But a mirror
All the flab and blandness and mediocrity
fills up the refracted screen.
Love handles, distended stomach, the lard on your face,
What the hell is wrong with you?
You're a failure,
Get back to work!

My rib's are sticking out
Crevices, finally the day I see crevices
But you're still disgusting
A malnourished face
Just so the girl of your dreams can wake up
And stop dreaming.
Skinny ankles with a cadaver attached
As I collapse, the men white seek refuge
Am I attractive yet?
Am I a rock star?
Do I have to miss dinner again?
Am I going to be the celebrity,
that you fantasize about yet?
Will the Judas mirror stop betraying me, just for once?
No?
Well,
Til the day that you accept me honestly,
Til the day I am no longer the fat man and the little boy,
That haunt me,
Til the day I am Adonis, til I am perfection sent from God,
I am Grotesque.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall Review

Since this movie for me signaled the start of the "Awesome 2008 Happy Fun Time Blockbuster Movie Year", I decided to include this in my reviews, even though I saw this film a week ago.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Starring: Jason Segal, Kristen Bell, Russell Brand, Mila Kunis, Paul Rudd, Jonah Hill, Bill Hader and Jack McBrayer

There is only one name that can truly say they are ruling Hollywood right now. Are you ready for it?

Judd Apatow.

The man can now attain legendary status as a producer and writer with his new opus "Forgetting Sarah Marshall". This is a man who can touch a chubby slob like Seth Rogen and have him become the hot new comedic assett in Hollywood. He turned Steve Carrell into a full-blown comedic legend. And now he's ready to pass the torch to Jason Segal, a stalwart on Apatow's Freaks and Geeks and Undeclared (both hilarious shows that I recommend you watch on DVD).

Forgetting Sarah Marshall doesn't exactly find us forgetting about Sarah, but relishing her and following her to Hawaii. You see, it seemed so simple for Peter Bretter (Jason Segal) with his celebutante girlfriend (Kristen Bell), as he was able to live a nuance-free life writing music for his girlfriend's television show and eating "the freshest cereal". But once she dumps him, he becomes a totally isolated and confused giant of depression. Crying during sex, crying while watching tv, what is a man to do?

After talking with his stepbrother, Pete decides to vacay in Hawaii where he can hopefully relax and get his mind off of a girl who just seems to pop up everywhere. And lo and behold, she pops up in Hawaii, with a new, rockstar boyfriend (Russell Brand), no less. It just seems like the mother of all comedic situations.

But see, this isn't good enough for Mr. Apatow or Segal, who wrote the screenplay. Rather than simply make this a story of getting the girl back, Bretter does what any righteous guy would do: cry and self-loathe. It's the vulnerability that makes Bretter a true to life character and he isn't afraid to bare all (literally). And the movie becomes not a story of vengeance, but a story of self-realization and healing. It's a feel-good movie for guys.

But it's not just Apatow's or Segal's show here. Oh no, we see an ascendance of comedic gold here with Russell Brand's sly interpretation of Aldous Snow, Sarah's new boy-toy. His cold, yet faux-Brit warm personality commands every line that comes out of his mouth. His total snobbery against Jonah Hill's candid fanboy is the stuff you'd expect from such an arrogant prick, yet he laces it with Fagin-like morals. It's just....fuck...it's amazing to watch. And while many Brits complain that he is truly an annoyance across the pond, I can see him being a real presence in the way that Eddie Izzard and Ricky Gervais have made here in America.

To counter the man-pain that is exhibited by Segal, we get sideplots galore, where we see the comedy in connections. Jack McBrayer, in his virgin charm, is Darald, a newlywed who tries to figure out the "myth of his wife's clitoris". Paul Rudd, always welcome in any form of media, plays the stoner surf instructor Kunu and just lets the good times roll. And Mila Kunis plays Rachel, Bretter's new love interest in Hawaii, and it's great watching how they both play off of their insecurity and vitality throughout the movie.

I guess the movie could do without Bill Hader's character and his wife playing with their stupid green screen or whatever, but this movie stands next to Superbad, Knocked Up and The Forty-Year Old Virgin as new millenial comedy classics. Sure, it doesn't talk about sex, or getting pregnant, or the end of an era, but it's simple, and that's what makes the heart of it's movie. Oh, and Segal's penis makes it, too. Twice.

TJ's Film Grade: A-

Harold & Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay Review

As you will see, I have a huge love for cinema. So everytime I see a movie, I intend to review it. I'll just be using your everday grading system. And coincidentally, I saw Harold & Kumar yesterday, so here it is:

Harold & Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay

Starring: John Cho, Kal Penn, Rob Corrdry, Neil Patrick Harris, Roger Bart & Daneel Harris

Comedic sequels always seem to follow a formula that never really work today: try to increase the gross out factor at every instance. While Harold & Kumar II does do this, the movie does it so that it doesn't seem like it is forcing it, but more of that in order for the movie to carry on, it needs to.

The plot of the movie is pretty damn wacky, as you'll see Roll-D and Kumar try to explain to their friends: Originally going to Amsterdam so that Harold can chase the girl of his dreams, Kumar brings a "smokeless bong" on board the plane. Because of his ethnicity, most people believe he has a bomb on board. Soon enough, Harold and Kumar are deported to Gitmo to have some "cockmeat sandwiches". They break out, of course, where the plot of the film then changes to Kumar trying to salvage his relationship with his ex-girlfriend, who is getting married to an asshole who has political ties. On the way, Harold and Kumar go to a "bottom-less" party, meet a yuppie redneck couple with an inbred child, run from black people and of course, meet up with the one and only Neil Patrick Harris in the movie's funniest moments.

Rather than spoil the humor of the movie, I will just repeat what I said before: it's all gross-out humor, but the kind of gross-out humor that seems realistic, in a way. But the thing that made the first Harold and Kumar such a laugh out loud success was it's absurdity, not it's gross-out factor. And while the absurd is definitely there, it's dumbed down absurdity. You'll see this with Rob Corrdry characters, a loony government agent who uses racial discrimination to interrogate and who consistently beats down on poor Roger Bart's characer in the name of America. While the socio-political satire is there, it isn't very well done and at times, just becomes stale.

While it does take the whole socio-political subplot to the end, the movie keeps the laughs coming and actually takes the climax of the satire all the way to the president himself. That scene, where Kumar and Harold meet with Dubya himself, is the climax of the film, and does something that I can't think of any movie doing: painting him in a positive light. You actually feel bad for the president as he relates his problems with Kumar, how he wants to "carry on the family legacy" and says that "he's the president, and he doesn't even trust the government." It's perfect satire with character.

All in all, the movie is slightly less humorous than the first one, but it does have it's funny moments. It's funny that stupid frat guys can sit through the movie and laugh, and usually I'll torment the film endlessly for how stupid it is. But this film knows what stupid is, and tries it's damnedest to stray away from that. So while I'll probably give bad reviews to You Don't Mess With The Zohan and Meet Dave (ugh, Eddie Murphy, why?), this is the only consistently funny gross out comedy that you will see this year.

Yet Forgetting Sarah Marshall still can keep it's claim as the funniest comedy of the year, this film is special. It's the stoner flick that everyone will laugh at and you won't feel stupid for it.

TJ's Film Grade: B

Now that I've done my first film review, look out for next week where I will review Iron Man and I might write my all-too positive review for Forgetting Sarah Marshall on here as well.

NYU: A New Frontier

As I've mentioned to many people in the past 4 months, I will be going to NYU next year to study the most overrated and overlooked profession in the world: acting.

I am incredibly excited about this, mainly since I've been looking forward to go to college since freshman year of high school. I mean, c'mon, hanging out every night with friends, taking classes you actually want to take, independence, what is there not to like?

And at NYU, I get to do all of this in New York. Centered between Union Square and Greenwich Village, it's where history meets culture in my eyes. After visiting the campus, I see that it really mixes old-school campuses and the city really well. For instance, if you want to just relax, you can lay down in Washington Square Park. If you want to be entertained, there are a shitload of music clubs in the Village. Just the sheer amount of stuff there is overwhelming and I realized that after visiting the campus.

Plus the fact that there are great people that go there. There's a reason why they only select 1 in 5 people that apply there. There are people who are highly acclaimed in what they do who teach there. It's the ultimate version of college, in my opinion.

So, as I get ready for graduation from high school, I'm not afraid of next year. In fact, I'm just too excited. I want to just register for my classes now and just get ready for orientation. But, I'm stuck in limbo for now.

Welcome To My Stupid Blog.

Well, it seems as though this is it. The collapse of my total abstinence of any millenial trends that will subside within 5 to 10 years. Oh well, I've already given in to Starbucks and my cell phone. Blogging seemed like the next step.

But why now, TJ? You've been alive for a pretty substantial amount of time, why start a blog now? Well, Virginia, after about 10 listens to "Pinch Me" by the Barenaked Ladies, I can't help but realize that I have a shitload of thoughts in my head, both good and bad. This blog is where it can all meet in the middle.

I also am pompous enough to think that my taste in everything is better than most people, so I guess I'm here to guide people into thinking like me, in the most blunt terms. That is technically what a blog is: a huge, propoganda filled wall of arrogance and intimacy (see that, juxtaposition?).

But I'm also here to reminisce. In case you are a stalker and you don't know me, here are some facts about me: I'm an artist in my own mind (actor, singer, the works), and I'm a senior in high school. Next year, I'll be heading off to NYU to study drama. I still don't have a girlfriend, so if you like my garden path sentences and my taste in movies, I'm totally up for anything.

So this is the first post. Don't know what else to say. I mean, I have a lot to say, considering I started a fucking blog, but what do I start with?

Well, I guess the first thing that I'll start with is a post about a project I'm coming up with.

Ever since I saw "Road Trip" in, like, 6th grade, I always thought "Wow, if those douchebags can go on one, why can't I?!" Road trips to me represent the pinnacle of freedom without freedom, in my opinion. You can go anywhere you want, wherever you want. Unfortunately, with the burden of gas prices, the road trip is effectively dead. And no, a road trip is not a road trip if you use a plane (fucking cheaters).

So I've been wanting to road trip for a long time. And not to get drunk in every city or to sleep with some prostitute and wake up the next day regretting. I've lived in America my entire life, and yet I've only been in the Northeast. With all the technological advancements in the new millenium, you'd think I'd be able to venture to fucking California. Which is exactly what I intend to do. Anyone (if you know me that is, you stalker) is welcome to come along.

Just the beauty of America (yes, there is some of that still) gets me really motivated. The beaches of California, the deserts of Arizona, the Mormons of Utah. Hell, there is a shitload of stuff to do here, and I've been totally blind to it. People can complain about how our government sucks or whatever, but the land that we live on is really underrated. Miles of open terrain to just race pass that we have overlooked for other bullshit that I don't even feel like mentioning. So the mystery of the rest of the country really gets to me.

But I can't do it alone. And no one seems to really have the adventure or the money to do it. Hence, I am nostalgic.