The Christian Pankow's evil twin brother blog is officially up and running.
Every new post from here will also be put up over there, but you can count on those posts being a bit dirtier and potentially. The real difference is that any new posts that are excessively offensive/not public0oriented will solely be kept over there.
I've also decided to have a bit of fun aesthetically contrasting that blog from this one. I'm actually pretty sure that one ended up looking way fucking cooler. It plays on more of a dark theme, to go with the darker content.
The last huge difference, The ANTICHRISTian Pankow will limited to invitation reading only. Don't worry though, you don't have to be special to get an invite. All you need to do is let me know you want an invite, give me your Gmail address (if it's not Gmail, you can only be a 30-day guess, so just sign up for a Gmail, it's quick and painless), and I'll add you to the reader list a.s.a.p.
I hope you enjoy both sites as much as I'll enjoy tearing that place up.
P.S. I'm not actually the AntiChrist. (Just kidding, I am)
THE ANTICHRISTIAN PANKOW
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Beauty is in the Eye of the B+ Holder
Beauty is a moral imperative, but morality is not a beauty imperative.
Funny how things work in our shallow, aesthetically consumed world. We push people to be thinner, leaner, blonder, taller, tanner, younger, and skankier all at the expense of putting intelligence and education on the back burner. Yet, when someone goes that extra mile, to be the prim and proper poster child of our morally tainted vision of beauty, we relentlessly tear them from toned, waxed limb from toned, waxed limb.
During Miss Teen USA 2007, Aimee Teegarden proposed an obscenely simple question to Miss Teen South Carolina, who proceeded to stumble over her words and give an infamous nonsensical half-answer that would be immortalized in internet video sharing history. She was criticized and belittled tirelessly.
When I saw the video, however, I wasn't shocked nor did I question her validity as a civilized person who eats with a fork and can tie her own shoes. Instead, I found myself thinking, "I thought this was a beauty contest?"
Since when do beauty and intelligence go hand in hand, much less coexist? Frankly, I think it's fucking selfish to be beautiful and intelligent. No one should be that well-rounded, it's a danger and threat to all of us one-sided people. It doesn't even make sense, really. People work at becoming intelligent because they don't have the looks to carry them through life, and beautiful people can kick back because they do have the looks to carry them.
Being smart and good-looking is like being funny and nice, or athletic and white. It's just unnatural. You need to grow a pair of balls and just pick whichever one attribute you think will work out best in the long run (good-looking, funny, white).
It's just asinine to expect these girls to be talented and have reasonable answers to simple questions, it's not what they're there for and it doesn't correlate to the demands of their daily lives. They're supposed to stand crooked on the stage in a scantily clad bathing suit with their hands on their hips, chest pressed out, and showcasing the biggest fake smile they can conjure.
It's not like we pull that kind of shit in other competitions. No one asks professional gamers to lose their virginities; no one asks Philip Seymour Hoffman to stop looking like a fat, rosy-cheeked guinea pig when he wins acting awards; and we don't even ask Jimmy Kimmel to be attractive, talented, or intelligent to have his own TV show.
I am willing to compromise though, I'm not unreasonable. If they really want to have a three-dimensional contest, make the tasks relevant to these girls' strengths. See who can most effectively manipulate the average men who long fuck them but never will, or have them answer questions based on what sexual act of bribery is just enough to get them out of trouble and not too much to get them in more trouble.
Just don't ask them to sing or ask questions about the education system, much less memorize the words to a song or to do their math homework. It's bullshit.
Alright, I have a beginning and middle. But I'm so tired and irritated, that at this point, I've have forgotten how to fucking write. I have no clue how to end this post, and frankly, I don't even care anymore, so..
I'm done.
P.S. Fuck off, I'm too lazy to think of something witty right now.
Edit: Margo told me to end it impressively so...
Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend, but inside of a dog, it's too dark to read. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. The best place to hide a tree is in a forest. The longest word in the dictionary is smiles, because there's a mile between the 's's. This is two kirbies dueling: (>")> ~<("<). Why is this a heart: <3, but this isn't 2?
There, I hope you're impressed.
Funny how things work in our shallow, aesthetically consumed world. We push people to be thinner, leaner, blonder, taller, tanner, younger, and skankier all at the expense of putting intelligence and education on the back burner. Yet, when someone goes that extra mile, to be the prim and proper poster child of our morally tainted vision of beauty, we relentlessly tear them from toned, waxed limb from toned, waxed limb.
During Miss Teen USA 2007, Aimee Teegarden proposed an obscenely simple question to Miss Teen South Carolina, who proceeded to stumble over her words and give an infamous nonsensical half-answer that would be immortalized in internet video sharing history. She was criticized and belittled tirelessly.
When I saw the video, however, I wasn't shocked nor did I question her validity as a civilized person who eats with a fork and can tie her own shoes. Instead, I found myself thinking, "I thought this was a beauty contest?"
Since when do beauty and intelligence go hand in hand, much less coexist? Frankly, I think it's fucking selfish to be beautiful and intelligent. No one should be that well-rounded, it's a danger and threat to all of us one-sided people. It doesn't even make sense, really. People work at becoming intelligent because they don't have the looks to carry them through life, and beautiful people can kick back because they do have the looks to carry them.
Being smart and good-looking is like being funny and nice, or athletic and white. It's just unnatural. You need to grow a pair of balls and just pick whichever one attribute you think will work out best in the long run (good-looking, funny, white).
It's just asinine to expect these girls to be talented and have reasonable answers to simple questions, it's not what they're there for and it doesn't correlate to the demands of their daily lives. They're supposed to stand crooked on the stage in a scantily clad bathing suit with their hands on their hips, chest pressed out, and showcasing the biggest fake smile they can conjure.
It's not like we pull that kind of shit in other competitions. No one asks professional gamers to lose their virginities; no one asks Philip Seymour Hoffman to stop looking like a fat, rosy-cheeked guinea pig when he wins acting awards; and we don't even ask Jimmy Kimmel to be attractive, talented, or intelligent to have his own TV show.
I am willing to compromise though, I'm not unreasonable. If they really want to have a three-dimensional contest, make the tasks relevant to these girls' strengths. See who can most effectively manipulate the average men who long fuck them but never will, or have them answer questions based on what sexual act of bribery is just enough to get them out of trouble and not too much to get them in more trouble.
Just don't ask them to sing or ask questions about the education system, much less memorize the words to a song or to do their math homework. It's bullshit.
Alright, I have a beginning and middle. But I'm so tired and irritated, that at this point, I've have forgotten how to fucking write. I have no clue how to end this post, and frankly, I don't even care anymore, so..
I'm done.
P.S. Fuck off, I'm too lazy to think of something witty right now.
Edit: Margo told me to end it impressively so...
Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend, but inside of a dog, it's too dark to read. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. The best place to hide a tree is in a forest. The longest word in the dictionary is smiles, because there's a mile between the 's's. This is two kirbies dueling: (>")> ~<("<). Why is this a heart: <3, but this isn't 2?
There, I hope you're impressed.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Memories like Bullets
I'm extremely tired and intimidated by the thought of myself writing anything long and legitimate right now. Although, I feel like I really want to express myself and get some words down, and more importantly update by blog that has just been treading water for days.
I've decided I'm going to take the easy way out and just write down some bulleted thoughts that are running through my mind.
- I'm still surprised and taken aback every time I see Aaron's (a longtime friend of mine) band, Witness the Atrocity. They are just super legit. They are rapidly gaining momentum and continue to get better at what they do. Aaron has ridiculous pipes that he's figuring out how to use, and a blatant rise in confidence has done gangbusters for his energy and stage presence. He's getting real brutal.
- Tony's (best friend) band, Purge This City, has come a long way as well. I think they'll always look back to their addition by subtraction as their launching point. I'm proud to see them recording, booking shows, and networking effectively. I'd just love to see them add some dimension and creativity to their mantra.
- Ever since me and Phoenix broke up (in the spring, after a 1+ year relationship), I never thought I could find someone to fill her shoes. But somehow, I've managed to meet a girl who has blown me away. From my perspective, we fit together perfectly, and she completes my venn-diagram, if you will. She isn't offended or turned off by my over-the-line sense of humor, she makes me feel comfortable and desire to be myself, she understands and is intrigued by me, she calms me down and makes me want to behave as a better person, and most importantly she makes me happy and excited. I don't know if we'll ever work out, or if anything will ever come of it, but at least if it doesn't, I know there is in fact at least one other girl out there who is right for me, and people can make me happy. She has given me hope if nothing else.
- I feel like their is a direct correlation between the length of my hair and how many times I get called 'bro' in a day.
- Despite the lack of beautifully woven subplots ala the book and the complete disregard for the concept of building up to the climax, HP6 was an extremely decent movie. It was hysterical, the special effects intrigued me, and the cinematography was spot on. It was easily the best HP movie to date, and would even work as a stand alone film. My most prominent desire was for the ending to be more embellished, with stronger focus on believable acting being a close second. I'm optimistic about the final two.
- Airplanes have roofs, if they didn't, they wouldn't be airplanes.
- On the night of prom, a murder occurred. Only Stacey's blood was found, but she was neither the killer nor the victim. Outside of her, no one else was involved. What happened?
- At night, State Street gets real sketchy. Between the drunks and the homeless I felt a bit uncomfortable walking behind two attractive young women who appeared to have some wealth.
- I don't know what it is about me, but I have an unprecedented talent for picking out girls' outfits while shopping. It may be my keen eye for color or a wealth of knowledge for how certain cuts would correspond with certain bodies. But either way, I'm still not gay.
P.S. I hate myself a little more for writing in that format.
-
I've decided I'm going to take the easy way out and just write down some bulleted thoughts that are running through my mind.
- I'm still surprised and taken aback every time I see Aaron's (a longtime friend of mine) band, Witness the Atrocity. They are just super legit. They are rapidly gaining momentum and continue to get better at what they do. Aaron has ridiculous pipes that he's figuring out how to use, and a blatant rise in confidence has done gangbusters for his energy and stage presence. He's getting real brutal.
- Tony's (best friend) band, Purge This City, has come a long way as well. I think they'll always look back to their addition by subtraction as their launching point. I'm proud to see them recording, booking shows, and networking effectively. I'd just love to see them add some dimension and creativity to their mantra.
- Ever since me and Phoenix broke up (in the spring, after a 1+ year relationship), I never thought I could find someone to fill her shoes. But somehow, I've managed to meet a girl who has blown me away. From my perspective, we fit together perfectly, and she completes my venn-diagram, if you will. She isn't offended or turned off by my over-the-line sense of humor, she makes me feel comfortable and desire to be myself, she understands and is intrigued by me, she calms me down and makes me want to behave as a better person, and most importantly she makes me happy and excited. I don't know if we'll ever work out, or if anything will ever come of it, but at least if it doesn't, I know there is in fact at least one other girl out there who is right for me, and people can make me happy. She has given me hope if nothing else.
- I feel like their is a direct correlation between the length of my hair and how many times I get called 'bro' in a day.
- Despite the lack of beautifully woven subplots ala the book and the complete disregard for the concept of building up to the climax, HP6 was an extremely decent movie. It was hysterical, the special effects intrigued me, and the cinematography was spot on. It was easily the best HP movie to date, and would even work as a stand alone film. My most prominent desire was for the ending to be more embellished, with stronger focus on believable acting being a close second. I'm optimistic about the final two.
- Airplanes have roofs, if they didn't, they wouldn't be airplanes.
- On the night of prom, a murder occurred. Only Stacey's blood was found, but she was neither the killer nor the victim. Outside of her, no one else was involved. What happened?
- At night, State Street gets real sketchy. Between the drunks and the homeless I felt a bit uncomfortable walking behind two attractive young women who appeared to have some wealth.
- I don't know what it is about me, but I have an unprecedented talent for picking out girls' outfits while shopping. It may be my keen eye for color or a wealth of knowledge for how certain cuts would correspond with certain bodies. But either way, I'm still not gay.
P.S. I hate myself a little more for writing in that format.
-
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Mannequin Shenanigans
In a world of painted faces and fake smiles, it's easy to blend into your fake surroundings.
This, however, is of no use to me. Where it may brings others success, it only leads me into frustration. I'm forced to hone and exhaust my judgement skills in order to sift through the shit and find a handful of "real" people. I don't like no-faced, nor two-faced people, I have no use or admiration for them.
Fortunately, for the sake of self-love, I am brave enough to be myself. People won't and don't like it, but that's alright. I don't expect anyone to unwillingly deal with me.
I'm brash, crass, arrogant, opinionated, outspoken, critical, skeptical, jaded, anal, thoughtful, romantic, compassionate, intelligent, correct more often than not, competitive, liked, loved, disliked, and hated.
Honestly, I'm fine with all of those adjectives, because collectively they comprise who I am. And generally, I'm content with who I am. I attract people who I'd like to be in my life and repel those whom I'm disinterested in. A perfect recipe for me.
What I refuse to accept or respect, however, are those who dislike me without ever giving me a fair chance. I have hordes of people who dislike me, but have never met me, and hordes of people who use to like me until rumors, lies, and half-truths infected them from the minds of my skeptics. I don't enjoy people holdings misconceptions or false-expectations of me, it makes me dissapointed and uncomfortable.
I'd prefer for every person I meet to come into my world with a clean slate and shiny facade.
P.S. Now that I'm done being vulnerable for a moment, fuck off.
This, however, is of no use to me. Where it may brings others success, it only leads me into frustration. I'm forced to hone and exhaust my judgement skills in order to sift through the shit and find a handful of "real" people. I don't like no-faced, nor two-faced people, I have no use or admiration for them.
Fortunately, for the sake of self-love, I am brave enough to be myself. People won't and don't like it, but that's alright. I don't expect anyone to unwillingly deal with me.
I'm brash, crass, arrogant, opinionated, outspoken, critical, skeptical, jaded, anal, thoughtful, romantic, compassionate, intelligent, correct more often than not, competitive, liked, loved, disliked, and hated.
Honestly, I'm fine with all of those adjectives, because collectively they comprise who I am. And generally, I'm content with who I am. I attract people who I'd like to be in my life and repel those whom I'm disinterested in. A perfect recipe for me.
What I refuse to accept or respect, however, are those who dislike me without ever giving me a fair chance. I have hordes of people who dislike me, but have never met me, and hordes of people who use to like me until rumors, lies, and half-truths infected them from the minds of my skeptics. I don't enjoy people holdings misconceptions or false-expectations of me, it makes me dissapointed and uncomfortable.
I'd prefer for every person I meet to come into my world with a clean slate and shiny facade.
P.S. Now that I'm done being vulnerable for a moment, fuck off.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Cozy, Jaded Hate-Box
I've been getting a lot of this lately, "Christian, your blog is very entertaining and the writing is exceptional, but I just feel like it's too angry."
And as the great people-person that I am, I'd love to write about something happy to fill your little bellies with butterflies and put that twinkle back into your eye. Just don't get used to it, because it's very rare that I'm comfortable tapping my toe out of my cozy, jaded hate-box. This is just for you.
Something happy...something happy...
I've got something.
It puts a huge toothy-grin on my face to hear that cancer is doing its goddamn job. For so long it has been a spoiled little twat, that just wants more and more by the day. It's primary M.O. has been consuming the lives of the innocent, destroying precious racks of tits, and making perfectly attractive women creepy and bald looking.
About the only good it has done has hilariously left quite a few public figures uni-balled and shedded the gingers of their ugly red fire-hair.
But now, It has finally happened.
I'm jubilant to be able to say that the cocksucker who took the reigns of North Korea and ass-fucked it into submission merely three days after my birth has been bitten by the karma bug. If anyone deserves the pain and life-threatening affects of pancreatic cancer, it's Kim Jong Il. This fucking chink is so evil that he is devoid of all color, his mother never even loved him, and his dad died to get away from him. If the Omen's Damien and Excorcist's Regan had a baby, Kim Jong Il would steal its lunch money and kick dirt in its face every day before school.
Here's hoping to him having a slow and painful death that warps his mind. I hope the morphine drip to make his skin itch so hard that he tears his skin off. I hope his hair all falls out from the chemo and he looks like fucking yippy chinese crested.
I hope he wishes and prays for death every day, but Death slyly continues to skirt the issue so he doesn't have to spend an eternity with KJI breathing down his bony-neck.
I hope that floated your boat, tripped your trigger, yanked your dick, or whatever meaningless cliche you prefer.
P.S. Lollipops, rainbows, unicorns, and fairies.
And as the great people-person that I am, I'd love to write about something happy to fill your little bellies with butterflies and put that twinkle back into your eye. Just don't get used to it, because it's very rare that I'm comfortable tapping my toe out of my cozy, jaded hate-box. This is just for you.
Something happy...something happy...
I've got something.
It puts a huge toothy-grin on my face to hear that cancer is doing its goddamn job. For so long it has been a spoiled little twat, that just wants more and more by the day. It's primary M.O. has been consuming the lives of the innocent, destroying precious racks of tits, and making perfectly attractive women creepy and bald looking.
About the only good it has done has hilariously left quite a few public figures uni-balled and shedded the gingers of their ugly red fire-hair.
But now, It has finally happened.
I'm jubilant to be able to say that the cocksucker who took the reigns of North Korea and ass-fucked it into submission merely three days after my birth has been bitten by the karma bug. If anyone deserves the pain and life-threatening affects of pancreatic cancer, it's Kim Jong Il. This fucking chink is so evil that he is devoid of all color, his mother never even loved him, and his dad died to get away from him. If the Omen's Damien and Excorcist's Regan had a baby, Kim Jong Il would steal its lunch money and kick dirt in its face every day before school.
Here's hoping to him having a slow and painful death that warps his mind. I hope the morphine drip to make his skin itch so hard that he tears his skin off. I hope his hair all falls out from the chemo and he looks like fucking yippy chinese crested.
I hope he wishes and prays for death every day, but Death slyly continues to skirt the issue so he doesn't have to spend an eternity with KJI breathing down his bony-neck.
I hope that floated your boat, tripped your trigger, yanked your dick, or whatever meaningless cliche you prefer.
P.S. Lollipops, rainbows, unicorns, and fairies.
Friday, July 10, 2009
23 + 23 = 46
December 21, 2012 = 12, 21, 2012.
Warning. This is terrifying.
If you multiply the two singular numbers in '12' you get 2 (1 * 2 = 2) and then add the two singular numbers in '21' you get 3 (2 + 1 = 3), the results of these two equations are 2 & 3 or simply 23. As we all know from the movie The Number 23, the number 23 is the most evil number known to man.
To take it a step further, if you add the first two singular numbers in '2012' you get 2 (2 + 0 = 2) and if you add the last two singular numbers you get 3 (1 + 2 = 3), the results of these two equations are 2 & 3 or simply 23. Yeah, you fucking read that right! It's the fucking most evil number ever, again.
With the culmination of two seperate 23's, this date is double-fucking-evil.
But wait, it gets even more evil. Add the two 23's together and you get 46 (23 + 23 = 46). Then, divide 4 by 6 and you get...666 (4/6 = .666)!!! Holy fucking evil bad devil shit!
I'm not fucking done yet, nuh uh. Instead of adding those 23's together, just divide each's singular numbers (2/3 and 2/3), guess what you fucking get again...666! Two of those motherfuckers, double evil bad devil shit!
We're still not fucking done, guys. Add those 666's together and you get 1332 (666 + 666 = 1332). Why is 1332 significant? I'll tell you why...If you add the first two singular numbers together and multiply the last two singular numbers together you get 4 & 6 (1 + 3 = 4; 3 * 2 = 6). Divide these final two singular numbers together and...
YOU GET THE ULTIMATELY EVIL GINORMOUS NAZI ZOMBIE WEREWOLF DEVIL DEMON STEP-MOTHER JEWISH 666! THE MOST EVIL OF ALL 666'S.
I have to admit, I began this blog with the intention of mercilessly belittling this recently popular theory. I had a whole tangent lined up about how it fit somewhere between the '9/11 Inside Job' and 'God' theories, how the theory makes no sense because it's actually the 13th time the Mayan Calendar has rolled over, how some people actually interpret the day as a positive shift in our planet, how all apocolyptic theories are pure psychobabble bullshit, and about how the Mayans couldn't even live in real houses or drive cars much-less predict the end of the world.
But I'm afraid I've unexpectedly persuaded myself to become a believer. The numbers just don't fucking lie, there's just so much evidence there. How could it not be true?
We're all fucked.
P.S. Don't forget to wish me an early Golden Birthday on December 20th, 2012. I'm afraid my party might be cancelled.
Warning. This is terrifying.
If you multiply the two singular numbers in '12' you get 2 (1 * 2 = 2) and then add the two singular numbers in '21' you get 3 (2 + 1 = 3), the results of these two equations are 2 & 3 or simply 23. As we all know from the movie The Number 23, the number 23 is the most evil number known to man.
To take it a step further, if you add the first two singular numbers in '2012' you get 2 (2 + 0 = 2) and if you add the last two singular numbers you get 3 (1 + 2 = 3), the results of these two equations are 2 & 3 or simply 23. Yeah, you fucking read that right! It's the fucking most evil number ever, again.
With the culmination of two seperate 23's, this date is double-fucking-evil.
But wait, it gets even more evil. Add the two 23's together and you get 46 (23 + 23 = 46). Then, divide 4 by 6 and you get...666 (4/6 = .666)!!! Holy fucking evil bad devil shit!
I'm not fucking done yet, nuh uh. Instead of adding those 23's together, just divide each's singular numbers (2/3 and 2/3), guess what you fucking get again...666! Two of those motherfuckers, double evil bad devil shit!
We're still not fucking done, guys. Add those 666's together and you get 1332 (666 + 666 = 1332). Why is 1332 significant? I'll tell you why...If you add the first two singular numbers together and multiply the last two singular numbers together you get 4 & 6 (1 + 3 = 4; 3 * 2 = 6). Divide these final two singular numbers together and...
YOU GET THE ULTIMATELY EVIL GINORMOUS NAZI ZOMBIE WEREWOLF DEVIL DEMON STEP-MOTHER JEWISH 666! THE MOST EVIL OF ALL 666'S.
I have to admit, I began this blog with the intention of mercilessly belittling this recently popular theory. I had a whole tangent lined up about how it fit somewhere between the '9/11 Inside Job' and 'God' theories, how the theory makes no sense because it's actually the 13th time the Mayan Calendar has rolled over, how some people actually interpret the day as a positive shift in our planet, how all apocolyptic theories are pure psychobabble bullshit, and about how the Mayans couldn't even live in real houses or drive cars much-less predict the end of the world.
But I'm afraid I've unexpectedly persuaded myself to become a believer. The numbers just don't fucking lie, there's just so much evidence there. How could it not be true?
We're all fucked.
P.S. Don't forget to wish me an early Golden Birthday on December 20th, 2012. I'm afraid my party might be cancelled.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Public Enemy #1? Subpar Movies
Plot overview: The Feds try to take down notorious American gangsters John Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson and Pretty Boy Floyd during a booming crime wave in the 1930s.
My bubble of positive expectations had been inflating since I discovered this movie was in production some 11 or so months ago. As the hype built and people around me had been giving me positive feedback, I struggled with my patience.
Public Enemies fits its name quite conveniently when considering the attention span of your average movie-goer. The lack of interest I held during this movie left me as quite the fidgety fucker from beginning to end.
You can only imagine my disappointment when I was blindsided with the mediocrity of this film from the very first scene. The color palette, however befitting, was dull and uninspiring; and the camera work was reminiscent to the capabilities of a digital camera. The actors were out of focus, the angles were unprofessional, and the herky-jerky motions felt a bit too much like The Blair Witch Project.
As the film progressed, the only thing keeping it from turning into a dull History Channel special was the complete disrespect for facts and time lines. After doing some research, I was surprised to find that the "Based on a true story" film was far from realistic, and was more of a mash-up of almost-events surrounding John Dillinger's life. In all honesty, Michael Mann could've renamed the characters, changed locations, and no one would be able to distinguish the story as having to do with Dillinger's life at all.
At no point in the film was I engaged or drawn into the story. I'm still confused about how Mann pulled off creating a movie that evoked no emotion. In retrospect, it unsettlingly felt like movie purgatory.
Overall, this movie was more like a scrapbook than anything else. It copy and pasted scenes, one after another, with little to no fluidity. The performances were unmemorable, and the cinematography average. It was very cold, very matter-of-fact (ironically despite it being anything but).
I'm saddened and a bit reluctant to say: if you're going to invest money in two and half hours of movie entertainment, you'd be better off sitting through Transformers 2.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Transformers 2 (1/5, to be generous) was a better film than Public Enemies, I'm saying it was more entertaining. I'd rather sit through two and a half hours of Megan Fox being a sexy, scowling bitch and watching shit blow up than spending the same time watching Michael Mann fail miserably with what should've been a compelling story and two of Hollywood's current elite actors.
2/5.
My bubble of positive expectations had been inflating since I discovered this movie was in production some 11 or so months ago. As the hype built and people around me had been giving me positive feedback, I struggled with my patience.
Public Enemies fits its name quite conveniently when considering the attention span of your average movie-goer. The lack of interest I held during this movie left me as quite the fidgety fucker from beginning to end.
You can only imagine my disappointment when I was blindsided with the mediocrity of this film from the very first scene. The color palette, however befitting, was dull and uninspiring; and the camera work was reminiscent to the capabilities of a digital camera. The actors were out of focus, the angles were unprofessional, and the herky-jerky motions felt a bit too much like The Blair Witch Project.
As the film progressed, the only thing keeping it from turning into a dull History Channel special was the complete disrespect for facts and time lines. After doing some research, I was surprised to find that the "Based on a true story" film was far from realistic, and was more of a mash-up of almost-events surrounding John Dillinger's life. In all honesty, Michael Mann could've renamed the characters, changed locations, and no one would be able to distinguish the story as having to do with Dillinger's life at all.
At no point in the film was I engaged or drawn into the story. I'm still confused about how Mann pulled off creating a movie that evoked no emotion. In retrospect, it unsettlingly felt like movie purgatory.
Overall, this movie was more like a scrapbook than anything else. It copy and pasted scenes, one after another, with little to no fluidity. The performances were unmemorable, and the cinematography average. It was very cold, very matter-of-fact (ironically despite it being anything but).
I'm saddened and a bit reluctant to say: if you're going to invest money in two and half hours of movie entertainment, you'd be better off sitting through Transformers 2.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Transformers 2 (1/5, to be generous) was a better film than Public Enemies, I'm saying it was more entertaining. I'd rather sit through two and a half hours of Megan Fox being a sexy, scowling bitch and watching shit blow up than spending the same time watching Michael Mann fail miserably with what should've been a compelling story and two of Hollywood's current elite actors.
2/5.
Monday, July 6, 2009
No Tears for the Fallen
Death is not a clean slate, death does not make you innocent. Every death is not a tragedy.
With celebrity death on the rise, I've noticed my sympathy failing to keep up with that of everyone else's. I can't bring myself to forgive and forget that easily. Death is not a fucking magic eraser.
Heath Ledger. Farah Fawcett. Michael Jackson. Billy Mays. Steve McNair.
The only one who hits the proverbial 'tragedy button' for me is Billy Mays. He was a man in his apex, he was a man of the people who helped everyone he could, and he was all around a good and caring guy. Many people loved Billy Mays, but most didn't even know why.
I'm also willing to compromise that McNair and Fawcett's deaths were a touch upsetting and untimely, although it's not as though either were role models or great losses. Fawcett was a known drug addict who wasn't afraid to flaunt it in public mediums, and McNair was a cradle-robbing adulterer. Even before and after their deaths, people had lost interest in them. Fawcett was barely news breaking as she was overshadowed by Michael, and McNair wasn't even a featured story anywhere outside of ESPN. I don't understand why we're hung up for more than a moment over the losses of these two. They're just people, no more valuable than you or me, when multitudes of other people died these same days, and we could care less. I can't make sense of it.
But then there's the two who are prime examples for the point I'm trying to make. Michael Jackson and Heath Ledger. Both elite talents in their fields, both award winning entertainers, both extremely skilled. But none of that is justification for overlooking that they killed themselves. Maybe intentionally, maybe on accident, it doesn't matter, they both decided to consume lethal volumes of drugs, and unsurprisingly got to the point of OD. I can't be convinced that Heath didn't know better than to mix 8 prescription pills, all pills he clearly sought after and coveted. I can't be convinced Michael hadn't been a long-time user who knew his habits would inevitably catch up to him. Both killed themselves, while alive, and to end their life. They didn't seem to care that they were leaving their children behind, Michael didn't care about his $400 Million debt situation, Ledger didn't care about his commitment to The Imagination of Dr. Parnassus. So why should we all be so fucking upset? Because we're starstruck? It's not as if anyone had cared about or liked Jackson in his final years, he had fallen from grace financially, he was accused of child molestation, his songs weren't on the radio and his videos were never shown on TV, his severe plastic surgery was the butt of relentless jokes, and he was unabashedly scrutinized about his fatherhood. But he dies, and our facade quickly changes to one of mourning? His songs and videos are played world-wide? Millions try to get tickets to his funeral at the Staples Center? Everyone bawls their fucking eyes out and calls it tragedy? Ledger starts being called the greatest film actor of his day? He wins an Oscar that some believe he didn't deserve? The sales of his films sky-rocket? Everyone bawls their fucking eyes out and calls it tragedy?
It doesn't add up for me. I have a short amount of sympathy for those who don't deserve it and for those who are the bearers of their own demise. If you want to be upset about something, be upset about the war casualties because some towel-head sets off an IED, be upset about the still-born babies who don't even get a chance to fuck their lives up, be upset about civil servants who lose their lives simply trying to do their mediocre blue-collar jobs. Don't get caught up on people based on their celebrity, who only live to let you down, and then kills themselves when they can't cope with the shit they've gotten themselves into. They're just people. People Die.
- The Christian Pankow.
P.S. RIP Michael! You're an icon and we'll never forget you! <3
With celebrity death on the rise, I've noticed my sympathy failing to keep up with that of everyone else's. I can't bring myself to forgive and forget that easily. Death is not a fucking magic eraser.
Heath Ledger. Farah Fawcett. Michael Jackson. Billy Mays. Steve McNair.
The only one who hits the proverbial 'tragedy button' for me is Billy Mays. He was a man in his apex, he was a man of the people who helped everyone he could, and he was all around a good and caring guy. Many people loved Billy Mays, but most didn't even know why.
I'm also willing to compromise that McNair and Fawcett's deaths were a touch upsetting and untimely, although it's not as though either were role models or great losses. Fawcett was a known drug addict who wasn't afraid to flaunt it in public mediums, and McNair was a cradle-robbing adulterer. Even before and after their deaths, people had lost interest in them. Fawcett was barely news breaking as she was overshadowed by Michael, and McNair wasn't even a featured story anywhere outside of ESPN. I don't understand why we're hung up for more than a moment over the losses of these two. They're just people, no more valuable than you or me, when multitudes of other people died these same days, and we could care less. I can't make sense of it.
But then there's the two who are prime examples for the point I'm trying to make. Michael Jackson and Heath Ledger. Both elite talents in their fields, both award winning entertainers, both extremely skilled. But none of that is justification for overlooking that they killed themselves. Maybe intentionally, maybe on accident, it doesn't matter, they both decided to consume lethal volumes of drugs, and unsurprisingly got to the point of OD. I can't be convinced that Heath didn't know better than to mix 8 prescription pills, all pills he clearly sought after and coveted. I can't be convinced Michael hadn't been a long-time user who knew his habits would inevitably catch up to him. Both killed themselves, while alive, and to end their life. They didn't seem to care that they were leaving their children behind, Michael didn't care about his $400 Million debt situation, Ledger didn't care about his commitment to The Imagination of Dr. Parnassus. So why should we all be so fucking upset? Because we're starstruck? It's not as if anyone had cared about or liked Jackson in his final years, he had fallen from grace financially, he was accused of child molestation, his songs weren't on the radio and his videos were never shown on TV, his severe plastic surgery was the butt of relentless jokes, and he was unabashedly scrutinized about his fatherhood. But he dies, and our facade quickly changes to one of mourning? His songs and videos are played world-wide? Millions try to get tickets to his funeral at the Staples Center? Everyone bawls their fucking eyes out and calls it tragedy? Ledger starts being called the greatest film actor of his day? He wins an Oscar that some believe he didn't deserve? The sales of his films sky-rocket? Everyone bawls their fucking eyes out and calls it tragedy?
It doesn't add up for me. I have a short amount of sympathy for those who don't deserve it and for those who are the bearers of their own demise. If you want to be upset about something, be upset about the war casualties because some towel-head sets off an IED, be upset about the still-born babies who don't even get a chance to fuck their lives up, be upset about civil servants who lose their lives simply trying to do their mediocre blue-collar jobs. Don't get caught up on people based on their celebrity, who only live to let you down, and then kills themselves when they can't cope with the shit they've gotten themselves into. They're just people. People Die.
- The Christian Pankow.
P.S. RIP Michael! You're an icon and we'll never forget you! <3
Pray For Our Troops
I have little to no self-restraint. It's just in my nature to get upset when I see asinine shit surrounding and boxing me in. I swear it'll be the death of me, as I can never let anything roll of my shoulders, and they say stress is an easy way to an early grave.
Walking out of Wal-Mart, post-soda run, a bumper sticker grabs my attention. Ironically, it's as bland as possible, it reads: 'Pray For Our Troops'.
For a slight moment, I'm so fucking irritated, that I think I'm on the verge of coughing blood.
Now, I'd like to think that from my 14 or so years of experience with Christianity, as well as a great deal of general knowledge, that I have a fair grasp on the Christians' core belief system. If I know as much as I presume I do, "God is perfect" and "God has a plan and purpose for everyone." From basic logic, one would be able to deduct that if "he is perfect" and "he has a plan" that his "plan" would have to be "perfect" as well. That all adds up quite cleanly, so far so good. Unfortunately, what doesn't seem to add up, is where prayer factors into his "perfect plan".
Prayer is a complete contradiction to the Christians' beliefs and is both disrespectful and incredibly vain. It'd only make sense for someone to pray if they believed their prayer would influence change in "God's perfect plan", a plan which could not feasibly change for the better if it were in fact "perfect". Making me assume that any good, praying Christian thinks they know better than their incompetent God, considering even they don't trust him to make the right decision on his own. God, the all-knowing, omnipotent being apparently needs to work off a fucking cheat sheet.
Even if prayer was an effective and reasonable tool, why would it ever be okay to use it in order to ask for success in going against God's will? 10% of God's commandments are "Thou Shalt Not Kill". You'd have to be insane to expect God to just fucking flip-flop on himself like that, and assist you in your blatant disobedience. That's on par with asking God to hold your hand through deceiving your spouse amidst an affair with your slutty assistant or wishing to be blessed with success in the armed-robbery of your local Mom N' Pop Gas Station.
I also struggle to believe that God would respond to hokey popularity contest like a fucking All-Star game. Where if the U.S. manages to pray-vote for its troop at a more dramatic rate than the Middle Easterners pray-vote for theirs, then God has no choice but to be partial to the U.S. This, of course, is despite him "creating all of his children equally" and already "having a (perfect) plan."
The irrationality and contradictions that are pathetically prevalent in Christianity never fail to baffle me. I wish just once a Christian had the balls to admit they're wrong, or at least contrive a respectable counter-argument, instead of copping out with the typical "I have faith" bullshit. Nobody is buying it.
- The Christian Pankow.
P.S. I've come down with a bit of the flu, your prayers are heavily appreciated.
Walking out of Wal-Mart, post-soda run, a bumper sticker grabs my attention. Ironically, it's as bland as possible, it reads: 'Pray For Our Troops'.
For a slight moment, I'm so fucking irritated, that I think I'm on the verge of coughing blood.
Now, I'd like to think that from my 14 or so years of experience with Christianity, as well as a great deal of general knowledge, that I have a fair grasp on the Christians' core belief system. If I know as much as I presume I do, "God is perfect" and "God has a plan and purpose for everyone." From basic logic, one would be able to deduct that if "he is perfect" and "he has a plan" that his "plan" would have to be "perfect" as well. That all adds up quite cleanly, so far so good. Unfortunately, what doesn't seem to add up, is where prayer factors into his "perfect plan".
Prayer is a complete contradiction to the Christians' beliefs and is both disrespectful and incredibly vain. It'd only make sense for someone to pray if they believed their prayer would influence change in "God's perfect plan", a plan which could not feasibly change for the better if it were in fact "perfect". Making me assume that any good, praying Christian thinks they know better than their incompetent God, considering even they don't trust him to make the right decision on his own. God, the all-knowing, omnipotent being apparently needs to work off a fucking cheat sheet.
Even if prayer was an effective and reasonable tool, why would it ever be okay to use it in order to ask for success in going against God's will? 10% of God's commandments are "Thou Shalt Not Kill". You'd have to be insane to expect God to just fucking flip-flop on himself like that, and assist you in your blatant disobedience. That's on par with asking God to hold your hand through deceiving your spouse amidst an affair with your slutty assistant or wishing to be blessed with success in the armed-robbery of your local Mom N' Pop Gas Station.
I also struggle to believe that God would respond to hokey popularity contest like a fucking All-Star game. Where if the U.S. manages to pray-vote for its troop at a more dramatic rate than the Middle Easterners pray-vote for theirs, then God has no choice but to be partial to the U.S. This, of course, is despite him "creating all of his children equally" and already "having a (perfect) plan."
The irrationality and contradictions that are pathetically prevalent in Christianity never fail to baffle me. I wish just once a Christian had the balls to admit they're wrong, or at least contrive a respectable counter-argument, instead of copping out with the typical "I have faith" bullshit. Nobody is buying it.
- The Christian Pankow.
P.S. I've come down with a bit of the flu, your prayers are heavily appreciated.
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