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[21 Dec 2007|07:40pm] [ mood | marvelous ] [ music | Tom Petty - Wildflowers ] I forgot to make a post about this. This journal is friends only now, so let me know if you want to be added. To offset the otherwise uselessness of this post, here is a picture of a dog fucking a duck. 2 Whispers| Breathe

"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better."--Samuel Beckett [08 Nov 2007|08:49am] [ mood | uncomfortable ] [ music | Foo Fighters - The Pretender ] I took the GRE for the second time on Tuesday, and the results were nothing short of discouraging. The math portion went badly as expected, but I don't really need to do well on that part. The verbal portion, on the other hand, is a different story. I ended up 20 points shy of the minimum requirement for grad school. That means if I wouldn't have screwed the pooch on one or two less questions, I would've been fine. I could make excuses all day as to why I didn't do well (haven't taken any sort of test in over a year, under heavy stress and anxiety, etc.), but in reality, I'm probably just not smart enough or cut out for grad school. If I can't even get past the stupid entrance exam, how well would I fare doing graduate studies? I floundered around in college for a bit, not knowing what to do with myself, eventually deciding on creative writing because I figured I might as well major in what I like doing the most. I may be a lousy writer, but at least I enjoy doing it. When you pursue any kind of career in the arts, you kind of end up back at square one when you graduate college. I'm not exactly qualified for higher paying and more respectable jobs, so I end up with one that gives me just enough money to pay my bills while I foolishly try to convince myself that writing will get me somewhere. What bums me out about my life is that it's taking me so long to achieve my goals while many of my peers have already achieved theirs and moved on. A friend of mine from high school, Eric, is making six figures working for Wachovia. Others from my graduating class have already become teachers and entrepreneurs and are starting to settle down, get married, have kids, and start the rest of their lives. Here I am, too stupid to make it into graduate school, no family, not even a girlfriend, a dead end job, and a diminishing glimmer of hope that someone out there would actually enjoy my writing enough to pay me for it. My goal is to become a teacher because I know that writing as a career isn't realistic. If I can't even make it into grad school, how the hell am I supposed to get to that goal? I'm going to be 27 in January, and I'm not getting any younger. I'm itching to have a career that would provide me with financial stability and no feeling of embarrasment when someone asks me what I do for a living. As for a family, I really want to find a woman that I can just settle down with, but it seems like everyone that I come across is still in the PARTYGIRLWHOOOO!!!! stage. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'm just not at that point in my life anymore. Besides, I'm not exactly the kind of guy girls clamor for. I'm quiet, shy, sarcastic, overly sensitive, ugly, and vulgar. I'm the guy that girls give a fake phone number to. I'm going to take one more crack at the test in a month or two. If I fail again this time, I've decided to just give up and enlist. Joining the military goes against many of my politics and ideals, but I've really don't have much left in life. Too stupid to make it into grad school, no girlfriend to care about, and a dwindling number of people that can be counted on one hand who care whether I live or die. At least if I joined the military, I'd get a feeling that I've served some sort of purpose in my life. 8 Whispers| Breathe

[04 Nov 2007|11:04am] [ mood | amused ] [ music | Saul Williams - Scared Money ] The temperature in Orlando is finally starting to drop, and the weather has been beautiful for the past couple of days. In fact, it's been so beautiful that women are just letting things air out. Sunday morning breakfast is a ritual that we try to uphold here at the house. If there is more than two people waking up here on a Sunday morning, and no one has to work anytime soon, breakfast is on. Depending on how much money everyone has, it's either a delicious meal down at a diner on Fairbanks, or free orange juice and donuts at the baptist church down the road. This morning was the former. We head out to the diner, the weather is gorgeous, we've got the windows rolled down, sunglasses on, and four empty stomachs to fill. For those of you reading that don't live around here, Winter Park is sort of like the swanky side of town. It's a pretty wealthy area and some of the scenery is a stark contrast to the more white trashy areas of Orlando. We get out of the car and almost immediately we hear the sound of an old woman yelling, "BOYS!" There she was, sitting underneath an old trailer truck cab...a woman, who couldn't be any younger than 60, who was obviously cracked out? How could I tell? Well, she was sitting there with no pants, no underwear, spread eagle with her wrinkly,crack tainted vagina staring back at us. "Give me a dollar," she said. TJ kept walking. Chris said, "Whatever." Mike said, "I'd like to stomp a mudpie into a bitch's coochie at 8 in the morning." I, on the other hand, thought of the wonderful world we live in where an elderly crackhead can air out her pussy in the beautiful weather, and we're so used to shit like this that we just shrug it off. If only I had a dollar to give. 9 Whispers| Breathe

Project Stallone: "Over the Top" [30 Oct 2007|02:59pm] [ mood | bored ] [ music | Tomahawk - Ghost Dance ] Over the Top By Peter John Gardner Ah, Over the Top. I hadn't seen this movie since I was a kid, and all I could remember about it was that it was about arm wrestling and that Stallone turned his hat backwards for that extra little burst of strength before a match. I thought about handing the reigns of Project Stallone over to a friend of mine for his take on the film just to see if someone else could find a fresh prespective on the same old tired themes that I've been knee deep in for the past year. The movie's about ARM WRESTLING at truck stops. There's not much I can work with there. However, when I rewatched the film myself in order to add any notes to the ghost written entry, I found that Over the Top opened up a whole new can of worms that I could explore...my daddy issues. Plot in a nutshell: Stallone plays a truck driver named Lincoln Hawk who just so happens to be an awesome arm wrestler. He has a son that he hasn't seen in ten years that has been in his mother's care, but when the mom begins to fall ill, she sends Hawk to pick up their son from military school to be by her side. The kid still hates his dad for leaving until he sees how great of an arm wrestler he is. Yes, father and son bond over ARM WRESTLING in this movie. Anyway, bad guys from Hawk's past get involved, the kid gets kidnapped, Stallone has to win an ARM WRESTLING tournament to win back his son and his love, and everything becomes hunky dory. My father left me when I was fourteen years old. Growing up, he was both physically and mentally abusive towards my brother and I. The good times with him were few and far between, and my childhood was mostly living in fear of getting the living shit beat out of me for the slightest mistake (Ex: in my house, accidentally breaking the towel rack would earn you a beatdown with said towel rack). When my father left and my parents divorced, I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. I was afraid of him, and now that he was out of the picture, I didn't want him in my life, not until he showed some kind of remorse for the way he treated my brother and I or at least exhibit some kind of personal growth or change. That never happened. Since I was still a minor, the court ordered me into therapy as collateral for not wanting to see my dad. My dad and I communicated through a third party, and I could see that he was as stubborn as ever. He wanted me in his life, but he wouldn't admit or even acknowledge any wrongdoing. He kept sending me cards for Xmas and my birthday, but I didn't respond. At that age, I didn't know how to in an appropriate way. It's been twelve years since I've spoken to him, and the cards stopped coming several years ago. Over the Top, god damn it, made me rethink where I stand with my father right now. I wondered what would happen if I were stuck in a semi truck driving cross country with my dad. Granted, he was never the tough guy, truck driver type, but it's been twelve years. He could be a badass arm wrestler now for all I know. Stallone's character is a flawed individual. Aside from abondoning his son at an early age, he was also a drug pusher back in the day. Still, he is able to re-establish a bond with his son through the power of ARM WRESTLING. Not a perfect father-son bond, but a bond nonetheless. I'm an adult now. I know my dad is a flawed individual, as am I. Perhaps it's time to tie up a loose end from my childhood. The only wrinkle in that plan is that I have absolutely no idea how to get in contact with him, being as how he's a very private person that never has his name listed in the phonebook. Not only that, but there are about 267,797,257,089,234,230,911 John Gardners in the world. It's hard to find the right one. I don't know if bringing him back into my life would be a positive or negative thing, and it's that fear that he's still thickheaded that holds me back from reaching out. Why bother if he's still going to treat me like shit? You never know. At the very least, I could just arm wrestle the fucker if nothing else. 6 Whispers| Breathe

[27 Oct 2007|11:25am] [ mood | exhausted ] [ music | The Afghan Whigs - Retarded ] The State was one of the few good things to come out of MTV during the 90s. It also happens to be one of my favorite sketch comedy shows. Wet Hot American Summer is one of the funniest movies I have ever seen. If you don't find David Hyde Pierce saying, "Fuck my cock" to be funny, then you have no soul. Stella was a damn funny show that unfortunately got cut short after one season because no one watched it. Two of the main components of those projects, Michael Showalter and Michael Ian Black ("I love the 80s!!"), decided to grace Orlando with their presence last night, and I laughed so hard that beer was coming out of my tearducts. I took some pictures for those of you that like to look at pictures of guys standing on a stage holding a microphone. ( Click to see ) 4 Whispers| Breathe

[23 Oct 2007|08:11am] [ mood | hungry ] [ music | Depeche Mode - In Your Room ] Note to self: Always remove cell phone from pants before placing them in washing machine. In other news, it has come to my attention that the elderly women who work at the Walgreens nearby refer to me as "the cute John Lennon guy". SCORE!! 6 Whispers| Breathe

Project Stallone: "Cobra" [18 Oct 2007|01:35pm] [ mood | busy ] [ music | The Who - The Real Me ] Cobra By Peter John Gardner Little known fact that I swear I'm not making up for the sake of this article: one of my dream jobs as a child was a cop. Any kind of law enforcement interested me as a kid whether it is a detective or member of the SWAT team. Bottom line, I wanted to bust some dirt bags and bring peace and justice to society. My friends and I would gather our Super Soaker water guns and have neighborhood gang wars with two teams as the inner city (well, suburban Texas) gangs, while a core group of three or four would be the cops. I always wanted to be on the cops’ team. Another dream job of mine when I was a kid (and I still have the 1st grade essay to prove it) was to be a garbage man. Only because I wanted to ride on the back of the truck every morning. Ambitious young lad I was. Movies like "Cobra" fed into my understanding that being a cop would be an awesome job. The life of a cop was the life of a badass; one that plays by his own rules, carries automatic weapons, tells bad guys awesome lines like, “You’re the disease, and I'm the cure," and fuck Brigitte Nielsen before Flava Flav brought the noise on her. "Cobra" is every 80s action movie cliché you can think of. Stallone is the badass cop (his license plate even reads AWSME 50); Brigitte Nielsen is the damsel in distress that knows too much. There are murders going on around the city. The cops think it's the work of one man; Cobra knows otherwise and takes matters into his own hands. Stallone and Brigitte get busy with the fizzy. Cobra blows shit up with complete disregard for the paperwork and legal issues that would ensue. You know the drill. You've seen this movie before even if you haven't. That being said, the world needs movies like this. It's escapist fare, pure and simple, and there will always be a market for movies like this. Society will always have the people that come home from a shitty day at work or school and be taken into a world where renegade cops are the heroes and car chases and explosions are aplenty. Sometimes a person just isn't in the mood for Bergman or Herzog. We have to celebrate the bad movies for they take us to a place where everything is just a tad cooler, even if it's just for ninety minutes, and that little kid inside of you is tickled by the thought that you could've been a cop that doesn't take shit from anyone, like Cobra. And then you have assholes like me that try to extrapolate these films and find meaning where there is none. Breathe

Project Stallone: "Rocky IV" [14 Oct 2007|10:42am] [ mood | awake ] [ music | Radiohead - 15 Step ] Rocky IV By Peter John Gardner Dear Mr. Sylvester Stallone, Greetings and my most sincere salutations. My name is Peter, and I have been working on a project of sorts that revolves around your career. Perhaps you may have run across it when Googling your name during a break from filming John Rambo. In a nutshell, what I'm doing is watching each of your movies in chronological order, starting with your memorable performance in the porn flick, "The Party at Kitty and Stud's", and trying to derive some sort of meaning from each one in the hopes that I could find some enlightenment and/or purpose in my life. I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. With all due respect, I am not your biggest fan. Other than the Rocky movies and a few others, I find most of your work painful to sit through. I hope that doesn't insult you, but I'm sure that you realize that films like "Rhinestone" are piles of horseshit. The project is a fasting of sorts, or cleansing if you will. I made a pact with myself that if I could get through each movie in your filmography and pull something useful out of it, then I can pretty much do anything. While some entries are stronger than others (a few are obvious rush jobs that I did just to get out of the way so that I could get to a better movie), I think I've done ok with it so far. Now after watching "Rocky IV" the other night in this new context, I am starting to have some serious concerns about your work and mine. You see, almost every one of your films up to this date has had the overall theme of an underdog overcoming the odds. That's fine. You stick to what works best for you. It's not like anybody chastised Hitchcock for making too many suspense films, and I've been trying to ignore that theme and pull something different out of each movie. What concerns me is that I'm starting to see another thread emerging in your work, and it's not making my life any easier as a writer. "Rocky IV" is the middle chapter in a trio of movies that you've done that address the Cold War, and I'm kind of stuck because I wanted to save my comments regarding the Cold War when I got to "Rambo III". The only other thread I can latch onto in this movie is the usual underdog theme, and fuck that. Don't get me wrong. I love "Rocky IV", but not in the same way that I love the first Rocky movie. The first one I can legitimately defend as a quality piece of cinema that deserved every praise and award bestowed on it when it was released. This one, like its predecessor, I enjoy on a pure cheese ball factor. I mean, come on, there's a TALKING ROBOT that hangs around the Balboa home in this movie! There are THREE music video style montages: two training montages and one after Apollo Creed is killed by Ivan Drago where Rocky goes for a drive and has flashbacks that recap the previous three movies for us. Because, you know, people watching the fourth installment in a series of films don't have any idea what went on in the previous films and need a four minute song and montage of clips to remind them. I digress. Back to the Cold War issue. This film has Rocky facing the human embodiment of Mother Russia himself, Ivan Drago. The first shot of the movie is two boxing gloves, one with an American flag and the other with a USSR flag, colliding before the opening credits. Rocky wears American flag boxing trunks while Drago wears red and yellow. I saw that you wrote the script for this movie. Perhaps you've learned a thing or two about making your metaphors a bit more subtle since this movie was made? Much of this movie is just ludicrous and hard to believe. We're shown early in the film that Ivan's steroid pumped arms can punch twice as hard as the strongest boxer can. So, this basically means he can fucking destroy someone with ease, and he does so in the final match against Rocky. Balboa gets fucking wrecked for the first few minutes of the fight. Yet when Rocky lands one friggin' blow across Ivan's face midway through the fight, the tides turn for some unknown reason, and Rocky beats the shit out of him. Uh...how? Earlier in the film, we are shown how much of a badass Ivan is when he goes up against Apollo Creed in another USA vs. USSR metaphoric match. Only that time, Drago not only demolishes Creed, but kills him. Creed, after all his pro-USA chest beating and arrogance, gets snuffed out in the ring. Wait... Blind patriotic flag waving and misguided "AMERICA IS #1" bravado and posturing? Where have I seen this before? Holy shit. So were you making a prediction that the all-American tough guy attitude doesn't always work out as planned? Oh my god! Mr. Stallone, were you making political commentary on the war in Iraq fifteen years before it happened? Can you see things that we don't see, Sly? Or maybe it was just your reaction to President Reagan's idiotic praise of Rambo (remember kids...Bush wasn't our first boneheaded president) in which he obviously missed the point of the character. I'd rather think that you can see the future. That makes me look at "Demolition Man" in a whole new light. With that in mind, I can continue this project with a fresh outlook. Thank you for your time. Sincerely, Peter Gardner Breathe

[13 Oct 2007|07:24pm] [ mood | disappointed ] [ music | Radiohead - Nude ] I was walking out of Tiajuana Flats today when I crossed paths with a family. Their little girl, about 4 or 5 years old, ran up to me and said, "HI!!" "Hello," I replied. The mom jerked the child away by her arm and said, "Shh!! What did I tell you about talking to strangers?" Both parents glared at me and walked away. ... Oh my god. I'm that guy, aren't I? 6 Whispers| Breathe

Project Stallone: "Rambo: First Blood Part II" [07 Oct 2007|10:37am] [ mood | bored ] [ music | Ween - It's Gonna Be Alright ] Rambo: First Blood Part II By Peter John Gardner While this is this the second entry in the series, Rambo: First Blood Part II is the movie everyone thinks of when you think of Rambo, whether you've seen it or not. This movie solidified Rambo's place in pop culture as a muscle bound, sweaty guy with a headband and a ginormous fucking machine gun shooting down all of those bad guys. Even President Ronald Reagan was a fan of the movie when it came out, and after the release of American hostages from Palestinian terrorists in 1985, Ronnie was quoted as saying, "After seeing Rambo last night, I know what to do next time this happens." This gave Americans the horrifying mental image of a shirtless Ronald Reagan, covered in sweat, and gunning down foreigners. Rambo: First Blood Part II is inferior to its predecessor, in my opinion. While First Blood can be viewed as an examination of a veteran suffering from PTSD that is pushed too far; the sequel just takes the physical prowess of the character and places him in a "shoot the bad guys" situation overseas where no one seems to know how to aim their gun properly except for Stallone (otherwise known as 'Stormtrooper Syndrome'). The film starts off with Rambo in a prison camp, paying his dues from the previous movie by banging a sledgehammer against rocks. Rambo's commander from Vietnam finds him here and tells him that there are POWs still in Vietnam and that the American government needs solid proof that they are there. So, who better to send off to find Vietnam POWs than a former POW still suffering from PTSD that nearly blew up an entire fucking town in the previous movie? Never mind sending a specialized, top-secret task force or something. Let's send the loose cannon. At least the film captures the bone headedness of the Reagan administration properly. Long story short, Rambo goes over there, blows stuff up, kills a bunch of commies, and falls in love. Yes. Rambo falls in love in love with a Vietnamese freedom fighter. I had forgotten all about this silly subplot since the last time I watched this movie. I'm going to save the anti-war anti-Reagan commentary for the Rambo III (Rambo fights with the Taliban in that one!). Instead, there's a line that Rambo says a few times throughout the film that kinda stuck with me. Rambo justifies his return to enemy territory as being ok because he's "expendable". The government sees him as such, and Rambo thinks of himself that way. It bothers me when employers see their employees as being "expendable". "So, that guy has been working here for 2 1/2 years? No matter. We need to cut costs for the holidays, and he's making twelve bucks an hour. We'll fire him for the next minor infraction that comes along and hire some schmuck to take his place for eight dollars an hour." I've always felt that even the most dead end jobs should offer some kind of job security. Executives see only dollars and cents, not the bills that the guy mopping the floor has to pay in order to keep his family afloat. It's a shitty point of view, and I can understand that business is business and that businesses are there to make money, not coddle its employees, but still...employees are human beings. They're not just wind up robots that are there to serve a function. There's a human aspect to it all that gets lost as one climbs higher up the corporate ladder. No one should be seen as expendable, especially not soldiers. Employees for companies should feel safe in their jobs knowing that their boss sees them as a person instead of "$12.50 an hour". I want to end this piece with a passage from the novelization of the film. No, I didn't read it; I Googled it, but it'll provide a nice leeway into Rambo III when I get to it. This dialogue ensues after Rambo rescues the POWs who have been stuck in prison camp for the past ten years: "What's it like? In the world?" Rambo hesitated. "Well?" Banks asked. "What's the matter?" "Nothing." Rambo couldn't bring himself to tell them. It would be too much. A sin. "Home? It's just the same," he lied. "The good old U.S. never changed." "Come on, man. It must have." "Sure. In a way, I guess. Ronald Reagan's president." "Ronald . . .? Wait a minute. You don't mean the movie actor." "Yep." Despite his agony, Rambo had to chuckle. "Death Valley Days himself." "Well, holy fuck." "Yeah, I said that many times." And Rambo couldn't bring himself to tell them that Vietnam was about to change its name to Nicaragua. Or that the sound of John Lennon's 'Give Peace a Chance' had changed to the rattle of sabers. And maybe that's why Luke Skywalker's light sword was so popular. The clean depiction of war. If you had your head cut off, you got a new one. In the movies. Yeah, John Wayne, Ronald Reagan, and the movies. No, he couldn't tell them about Nicaragua. It would be too much. Breathe

In case you didn't know... [04 Oct 2007|11:00am] Radiohead made a new album behind our backs. They're putting it up on their website in a few days. You can pay however much you want for it. Really. www.inrainbows.com I paid fifty cents for it. Breathe

[29 Sep 2007|11:43am] [ mood | crappy ] [ music | Pixies - Gouge Away ] * After flipping through an issue of Guitar World today, I've come to the conclusion that there is no way a musician can pose with a guitar without looking like a complete dork. I don't want to sound musically pretentious, but there are just some things a musician shouldn't do. Extra points off if you point at the camera while holding your guitar. I rest my case. * My back is fucked for a while. I saw my chiropractor last week, and you can pretty much see in the x-rays exactly where it's wrecked. I wish I could've kept the x-rays and post them here like when I broke my arm, but I didn't get to keep these ones. Anyway, I have to wear a back brace and special soles for my shoes for about a month or two. Also I swore off any painkillers or muscle relaxers, so if you call me, and I can't hang out because I'm writhing in pain, I'm telling the truth. I feel like an old man. * Recent events have forced me to re-evaluate who my true friends are, even longstanding friendships. I feel like I'm just grasping for something that isn't there anymore. I realize that I have many friends and acquaintances, but I've never gotten close enough to anyone that I've met in Orlando to form a real friendship. As of right now, there is no one in the area that I feel like I can call up at 2:30 in the morning to get coffee at Denny's and just talk. * My brother is engaged, my step-brother is engaged, and my step-sister is in a long term relationship. I'm the last putz in the family to remain single. I've been putting off grad school after two dismal attempts at the GRE which lead me to believe that I'm just too stupid to go any further in my education. Even just saying, "Fuck it," and joining the military out of lack of direction and intellect crossed my mind the other night. Now more than ever do I feel like the fuck-up of the family. 9 Whispers| Breathe

[23 Sep 2007|06:50pm] [ mood | amused ] [ music | Beirut - Nantes ] I bought a leather jacket. I am now officially a badass. 4 Whispers| Breathe

Project Stallone: "Rhinestone" [22 Sep 2007|10:56am] [ mood | sore ] [ music | Iggy Pop - The Passenger ] Rhinestone By Peter John Gardner Although I was born in New York, I have lived in the south for the better part of my life. While I spawned in Long Island, NY and lived there for my first seven years, my family moved to Dallas, TX when my father received a job offer from JCPenney HQs located in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area. After seven years of Texas, my parents divorced, and my mom and I moved to Florida so that we could be closer to my grandparents. I've been living in the south for about 17 years now, yet it's never felt like home to me. Even though I only lived in NY for a few years, it was the NY mindset and culture that I most identified with, seeing as how my family consisted of native New Yorkers and New Englanders. To this day, I still have NY-to--Southern-America culture shock moments. I giggle when I see somebody wearing a cowboy hat, and I still think southern accents sound funny. Rhinestone finds our old friend Sly in a similar boat. He plays a smart-mouthed, obnoxious, simple minded cab driver in New York City. He comes from a stereotypical Italian-American family (they have meatballs for lunch! Every day!) and lives above his father's funeral parlor. One night, when scaring the living shit out of some Japanese tourists in his taxi, he ends up at the Rhinestone club which just so happens to be THE place to go for country western...in New York City. Meanwhile, Club Rhinestone's in-house star Jake (played by Dolly Parton), has a bet going with the club's manager that she can turn the next "normal" person she sees into a country music sensation. Stallone nearly crashes into the front of the club with his taxi, tourists still in tow. And then, my friends, hilarity ensues... The rest of the movie is just one awkward and uncomfortable moment after another as we see Stallone learning not only how to sing country music but the ins and outs of Southern culture as well ("If you want to be a real cowboy, you gotta mix your peas with your mashed potatoes!" says Dolly). Have you ever wanted to see Sylvester Stallone in cowboy attire? You got it. How about Stallone trying to get Dolly Parton to sleep with him? It's here. Stallone singing the most god awful country music you will ever hear? Rent this bad boy. The movie is meant to be a comedy, but it left me feeling more awkward than anything. To its credit, Stallone's character is supposed to be obnoxious, and he handles that well (whether he's consciously doing so or not is another matter entirely). Dolly Parton, as ridiculous looking as she is under about ten pounds of makeup, is actually quite charming in her role. She's basically playing herself, but that's ok. Dolly's personality is basically that Southern-girl-next-door type; everyone knows a girl like Dolly, minus all the makeup. Coming from a family with a prominent Italian-American side, I couldn't help but share Stallone's awkwardness and culture shock throughout this entire movie. I've had many embarrasing moments when hanging out with friends that grew up primarily in the south. For instance, I had no idea what the fuck grits were for most of my life. My family always called the dish polenta. "Wanna go out fer breakfast and git some pancakes and grits?" "Pancakes and wha...?" This gem from an ex-girlfriend's family Thanksgiving dinner also sticks out in my mind: Her uncle: "We're gonna have a barn raising this weekend. You should help out, Pieter (yes, that's how southern people pronounce my name)! Me: "What the hell is a barn raising?" There seems to be such a sharp divide between northeast culture and southern culture in America that when one combines the two, as in Rhinestone, the results aren't exactly comedic. They just feel like a series of really awkward scenes that rely solely on the fish-out-of-water element for laughs. I'm 26 years old, and I've lived in the south for 19 years of my life. I don't really consider myself a New Yorker at heart. I never developed a New York accent (unlike everyone else in my family), my attachment to the state has dissipated over time, and whenever I've gone back to visit family, while I feel more comfortable there than in the South, it still doesn't quite feel like home. I don't really feel like a Southerner either. I don't care for Southern cooking, never got into country, never picked up a Southern accent, never understood the attachment to religion, never understood Southern pride and rebel flags, and I NEVER mix my peas with my mashed potatoes. So, if New York doesn't feel like home, and I don't really fit in Texas or Florida, then where do I belong? This movie only reminded me of the black sheep insecurites that I feel with my friends, co-workers, and my own family. Rhinestone is supposed to be a comedy, but it just made me uncomfortable. While you may not share the same insecurities that I do, the sight of Stallone in cowboy swag line-dancing and singing country songs should be enough to make you squirm. "Wherever you go, there you are." Ok, that's cool and all, but what if where you are just doesn't feel like it's where you're supposed to be? 7 Whispers| Breathe

Project Stallone: "Staying Alive" [15 Sep 2007|09:50am] [ mood | awake ] [ music | Foo Fighters - The Pretender ] Staying Alive By Peter John Gardner I am of the opinion that the makers of this movie intended it to be a masochistic experience for desperate souls that want to end their life. Watching this movie is an exercise of one's own will to live. As I watched this film, I considered suicide a few times, desperately wanting to get out of watching the rest of Staying Alive. This movie is bad. Not just any kind of bad. It's a different kind of bad. This movie wrecked my soul. For Project Stallone, I just follow along Stallone's filmography on imdb.com with Netflix. This movie, while written and directed by Sylvester Stallone, only featured him onscreen in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo. "Whatever," I thought to myself. I've watched a movie with a Sly cameo for the Project before (Lovers and Other Strangers) and ended up actually kind of liking the movie. But not here. This movie's aim is to hurt you. I wouldn't be surprised to find out if this movie was commissioned by the government in order to control overpopulation. "Staying Alive" is an unnecessary sequel to "Saturday Night Fever", which is actually a pretty damn good movie even if you don't like disco. I don't know whose idea it was to bring back Tony Manero for more dancing hijinks, but the aftermath is crystal clear. This movie killed Travolta's status as an A-list star, and his career wouldn't be revived until Quentin Tarantino brought him onboard as Vincent Vega in "Pulp Fiction". Perhaps it was Stallone's idea. A tough talking, streetwise, Italian-American from New York that rises to the top using his own raw talent? Stallone can relate, I'm sure. Dancing around in leotards and thongs for Broadway auditions? If that was Stallone's idea as well, I think we might be starting to see an abundance of underlying homosexuality at this point in his career (for further proof, see Rocky III). I know the notion of a Travolta and Stallone teamup excites all of us, but the results will make you hate yourself. The plot of this movie is a mess of cliche and disjointed scenes that have no relevance to the plot of the movie. It's basically a boy-meets-girl, boy-thinks-he's-hot-shit, girl-ends-up-using-boy, boy-tries-to-win-her-over-with-his-supreme-dance-moves film. It lacks the fun and sass of Saturday Night Fever, as well as a decent soundtrack. Whereas in Saturday Night Fever, most of the songs are recognizable to even the most casual viewer, "Staying Alive" is flooded with dance sequences set to 80's synth pop that sounds like something you'd hear while shopping at TJ Maxx on a Sunday morning. And there are MANY closeups of Travolta's crotch. They are so abundant that I refuse to believe that they weren't deliberately trying to insert as many crotch shots as possible. If you've ever wondered what kind of heat Travolta is packing, then this movie is for you. But it's not the crotch shots that killed this movie for me. The plot is predictable, the dialogue will have you thinking, "Nobody fucking says that", the dance sequences aren't exciting at all, and the acting will make you want to stab yourself in the crotch with a pair of scissors. Nothing in this movie will enlighten anyone. Believe me, I tried to find some kind of lesson in this film, but I've got nothing other than repeating the usual underdog themes that I've discussed for previous Stallone films. That doesn't mean that I didn't get anything out of this experience. After making it through "Staying Alive" with my wrists uncut, I now know that I can withstand anything that life may throw at me. It was a test of endurance and willpower, and I passed. In fact, I feel that anyone that can make it through Staying Alive's 93 minute runtime is a tough cookie. I don't know if making it through this movie has enlightened me in any kind of way; all I can say is that I survived. 1 Whisper| Breathe

[14 Sep 2007|07:59pm] [ mood | bored ] [ music | The Flaming Lips - The W.A.N.D. ] Quotes of the week: Scott: "You're looking very Paul this morning." --- TJ: "Well, that was a pretty cool episo...WAIT! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO HOMEBOY?!" --- Me: "So apparently my boss knows Jim Reed." Abel: "The dick heard around the world." --- Boyer17 : I have an unholy love for prog jazz deaddogseye81: As I do for Bill Murray. Boyer17 : oh, my love for bill m is not unholy Boyer17 : it is very holy Boyer17 : almost dali lama-like... Boyer17 : so he's got that going for him Breathe

[09 Sep 2007|10:59am] [ mood | whiney ] [ music | Explosions In The Sky - The Birth And Death Of The Day ] Dear Santa, I know it's been a while since I've written to you. Around the age of six or seven, I just stopped believing in you. Nothing personal, mind you, but my older brother kinda spoiled things for me at a very young age. So it's been a good twenty years, give or take, and I apologize for that. I'm writing to you now because I've exhausted all of the logical means of acquiring what I need, that being a new back. You see, mine is wrecked. It's been causing great pain for the past week and a half, and I nearly had to leave work yesterday because it was hurting me whenever I made the slightest turn downwards. It's probably due to the boxing lessons and the scoliosis that I was born with. I remember a doctor telling my mom and I that the scoliosis was going to cause problems later in life, and I just kind of laughed it off. Well, here I am now with my foot in my mouth. So, since the natural and conventional ways of fixing my back and making it not hurt anymore don't seem to be working, I'm turning to you, an imaginary figure that I have more faith in than I do for any kind of god (that's a compliment, by the way), hoping that you could make something happen for me. God? He's too unreliable, and I don't think he listens to me nor does he like me very much. As I've said earlier, I haven't written to you in about twenty years, and you know that I don't ask for much come Xmas time from you or any of my family and friends, so maybe you could do just this one favor for me. Consider it an early Xmas present. In return, I'll go volunteer at a homeless shelter or something on Xmas day. Thanks for your consideration. Love, peter P.S. Yes, I ate the cookies that were left out for you in 1987. I'm sorry, I was hungry before bed, and I didn't know any better. Sorry about that. P.S.S. Sorry for constantly referring to you as a "jolly fat fuck". That was uncalled for. 4 Whispers| Breathe

[01 Sep 2007|01:10am] [ mood | recumbent ] [ music | Ryan Adams - Oh My God, Whatever, Etc ] Comment and I'll give you a letter. - You have to list 10 things you love that begin with that letter. - Afterwards, post this in your journal. julieannie gave me m. 1) Matinees 2) Mom 3) Marble rye bread 4) Mini skirts 5) Moon 6) Music 7) Minestrone 8) Masturbation 9) Madonna 10) Madcaps 2 Whispers| Breathe

Project Stallone: "First Blood" [30 Aug 2007|11:04am] [ mood | amused ] [ music | Ours - Meet Me in the Tower ] First Blood By Peter John Gardner I can't think of a single person that I know that doesn't support our troops over in Iraq. Even the staunchest opponents of the war still support our troops. How could you not? It's not like those that are against the war want our brothers and sisters to die horrible deaths over there (as a side note, I really hate it when pro-Iraq war people try to play this card. "You're against the war? That's not supporting our troops!!" Oh, go stick your dick in an electric outlet). Ok, so we all say that we support the troops, but do we support our veterans? How many times have you seen a scraggly looking guy on the side of the road wearing an army jacket, possibly missing a limb, and holding a sign that says something to the effect of, "Vietnam Vet. Will work for food"? Life taught us to support our friends in the military, but it also taught us to not trust hitchhikers. So there's a 50/50 chance that the veteran without an arm leering at you while you anxiously await for the stoplight to turn green could either be a drifter that was never able to adjust back into normal life or an axe murderer waiting to chop off your reproductive organs and steal the twelve bucks in your wallet. First Blood is about drifters like these. It's the first of the Rambo series, but it's not a one man vs. 239,764,567 Russians movie like the sequels turned out to be. John Rambo never really found his place in society when he returned from the Vietnam War, so he spends his days wandering around the country, hitching rides from strangers, and picking up a meal when someone is kind enough to offer one. The movie opens with him finding out that the last soldier in his team/squad/troop/whatever-the-fuck-you-call-it has passed away from cancer brought on upon by Agent Orange. Rambo is sad. One of you graphic-design savvy people should make a Stallone sadface emoticon for me. Rambo makes his way to a small town in the Pacific Northwest to collect his thoughts and possibly find a warm meal. Now, this is a nice town with nice people, and the police here don't take too kindly to "unsightly" drifters such as Rambo, so the sheriff tries to escort Rambo out of town. Rambo is frustrated. He goes back into town in defiance because he just wants some food and a place to sleep for a while. The sheriff catches him again, and this time he takes Ramby Bamby downtown where the other officers have their way with him. I should clarify that. They don't rape him, but they each take turns beating the shit out of him. This triggers some POW flashbacks in Rambo's brain, and he goes APESHIT. Turns out that the drifter that they've been beating up used to be a Green Beret in Vietnam. Oops. After single handedly taking on four officers, Rambologna makes his way out of the police station and into the mountains. Rambo is pissed. The police are even more pissed. And the adventure is on. The rest of the movie is a manhunt carried out by the entire county's sheriff's department, the FBI, and the local National Guard. Unlike the sequels, Rambone never directly kills anyone in this movie. He does set many traps and scares the shit out of anyone that crosses paths with him in the forest. Rambo doesn't take shit from anyone. I wish I knew how to make a story like this relevant to my life and yours. I don't want to write an anti-war piece (I'll save that for Rambo III or Spy Kids 3-D). Is the lesson here to pick up grungy vets on the side of the road because if you push them the wrong way, they might go all one man army against the town? I don't think so. Even though I'm sure that deep down, most of those vets you see are good hearted people that simply can't readjust and have become socially retarded. Yet, for my own safety, I really don't think I'd offer one a ride. If I had a business or something, I might offer a job. I think what I'm getting at is the way we look at these people. We celebrate the vets that have come back from war and successfully reintegrated themselves back into the daily grind of life, yet we fear the ones who haven't. War is a scary thing, and I couldn't imagine not being fucked in the head after seeing some of the things that soldiers see every day. The movie itself seems to be a protest against war, saying, "See what happens when we make killing machines out of these men and then return them to normal life?" So why do we shy away from the ones that need a little extra help? Remember Frodo at the end of Lord of the Rings? Same thing. He couldn't readjust to normal life in the Shire, so he went to Valinor, but we all still loved him, right? Flimsy parallel, I know, but do you see what I'm getting at? Maybe it's just the overall fear of hitchhikers that prevent us from helping out these vets. I'm one of the guilty ones, though. I'll give an extra dollar or two if I'm chatting with a drunk, homeless vet downtown or something, but I'm sure as hell not giving a ride to one of them. I value my testicles. *Footnote: This dvd has some of the most hilariously useless special features I've ever seen. It boasts "groundbreaking military special operations survival mode features" which really just amount to a sniper scope appearing onscreen at different points during the film to let you know important information like what is happening right now. For example, Rambo is trying to make his way through an underground sewer filled with rats. The "survival mode" thingee pops up and tells you that, yes, those are indeed rats. Nothing about what went into making the scene, what kind of rats they might be, did Stallone get his nipples bit by one, etc. Nope. It just tells us that they're rats. Gee, thanks! 1 Whisper| Breathe

[21 Aug 2007|01:30pm] "So hoist up the John B sail See how the mainsail sets Call for the captain ashore Let me go home, Why dont you let me go home? This is the worst trip I've ever been on." 1 Whisper| Breathe

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