Wet Cigarettes

Revitalize! The sign atop the the deli across the street flashed. It was a new advertising reminding all who saw that a new beverage named BRink was vital for daily success: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day , it read, so why not start with a little pep in your step!" the old vagrant on the bench chuckled. Ha! You try being cheerful with weather like this! Feels like we haven't seen the sun for days, eh kid?
He elbowed the young man standing behind him , just off to the side. Thomas was sullen and tall and not the least bit insterested in what the old bum was saying. Huh? Yeah, sure. He parroted mindlessly. He stared at his shoes as the constant rain fell atop them and seeped into the holes and broken seams that time and misfortune had conspired to invent. Thomas hated the old bum. Or maybe it was the shoes he'd hated. either way, he'd grown tired of seeing them both day after day. The old man continued on as Thomas pretend to listen. It was the decent thing to do. After all, Marty wasn't all that bad. He'd heard it was 30 years ago. Had it been that long? Thomas began to recount the tales he'd heard about him as he fiddled with the half-empty plastic lighter in his pants pocket. Yeah. Marty had been a hero once. Something of a neighborhood legend. Supposedly, sometime around the end of the Carter administration, he'd foiled some nefarious plot by a bunch of greedy white developers to swindle a piece of land from some ignorant old elderly couples, or the like. As it turns out this particular plot of dirt held historic value and selling it off would have dealt a "gut-shot to the community from which it would never have recovered." or at least that's the way Granbo, the guy who runs the deli tells it. It was this along with an assorted variety of other lies and local half-truths that Thomas didn't quite care enough to recount, that Marty had built his reputation on. What he was like back then? As the lord's fervor would have it, after all the pomp and celebratory hellos that had marked Marty's early bouts of heroism, his popularity, in line with his efforts, had eventually cooled off until he was forced to live like one of us: a faceless sap with a wife, a mortgage and a couple of kids.  But that was 30 years ago, Thomas thought, and the man who gazed up at him now, half-drunk and rambling on wouldn't be able to pass for the hero's third-cousin, twice removed. Thomas pulled a cigarette from his pocket, flimsy and half-soaked from the worsening rain. Tucking it gently between his lips, he attempted to ignite it despite it's sad condition. Come one! he thought to himself. Just one drag! Then he'd be able to stand all the soaked shoes and rambling old men the world had to offer. Conventional attempts at lighting the damn thing notwithstanding, Thomas tried a third time, this time cupping his hands in front of his face, toking with every odd second as if he were suddenly holding a cigar instead. Thwarted, he pitched the singed remains along the road and into an awaiting gutter. Then that's when the mumbling began. But, to himself he thought, Is this it? Is this what becomes of heroes!? Still holding the lighter, he had to stop himself from indicating Marty by shoving his free hand into his pocket. He continued. Half-past 8 in the morning and already half in the bag and recounting old tales to disinterested 30 somethings or hell, anyone who would listen? Thomas recalled one morning he'd taken a cab to work and he'd sworn he'd saw the old drunk regaling a stray dog with his tales, while a giddy smile engulfed his face. Despite his thoughts though, Thomas had only managed to mumble a few words loud enough for Marty to overhear, and even in his beer-soaked state, there was no mistaking them for flattery. it was evident the lanky kid had heard enough, Marty considered, so he ended his speech with his usual farewell and added: " Sorry to keep you. You being a working man and all. Wouldn't want you to miss your bus, listening to my ramblings. Marty flashed him a smile which, still sullen from the nose up, Thomas returned in kind. Sensing a new middle-ground, the drunk nearly began to recount an old work story, before cutting himself off and returning to his bottle. Alone at last, at least with his thoughts, Thomas began to reconsider his previous outburst as a feeling of guilt slowly crawled up his throat. Was he too hard on the old guy? he thought. Yeah the old man's earful was worth a cigarette or two, but could you blame him? His life had turned to shit before he got smart enough to do something about it, and his stories were all he had left. If going on about his past glories brought him peace, who was he to take that away from him - even if he had to feign interest? Resigned to the roll of evil-doer after having thwarted the nostalgic efforts of a old glory-hound, Thomas began to settle into the cold confines of the bus stop when a sudden surge of panic brought him back to life. It was something the old man said. He looked at this watch. Half past 8. The bus was late. And he would be late too, but strangely he didn't care. What troubled him the most were his own words this time: "Is this what becomes of heroes?" He felt his confusion subside as he stubbornly withdrew another cigarette from his inner jacket just as soggy as the last one. As time would allow, Thomas would only get 3 strikes on his plastic lighter this time before lifting his head to see that the crowded 8:15 bus had finally arrived. Returning the lighter, he took a long glance at the smoldering butt in his hand before expertly extinguishing it's cinders and carefully placing it back in the pack with the other soaked candidates. As he stepped onto the bus he mumbled to himself. "No. Only the lazy ones."

The Matrix..Er, Hollywood Has You...

Image courtesy of Imgur

 You know how I know we're living in the Matrix? Because we've all seen this before. Take a look around you. Shades of decades long since passed can be seen in just about every facet of contemporary society. Just have a look at your garden-variety big-city denizen if you need proof. 9 times out of 10 they're a patchwork of social sensibilities that have pervaded the last 50 years of American culture. Liberal thoughts on promiscuity and relationships?- From the 60's. Those low hanging pants? - They're from the 90's, oh, and the way they fit?- from the 80's. From haircuts, to jewelry, to eyeglasses (and by the way, when I wore them 25 years ago, trust me, they were NOT AT ALL cool) there's hardly a youth among us, myself included (I'm partial to 90's slang, I must admit) that hasn't found longing in a piece of yesteryear's nostalgia in this our 21st of centuries. And if you haven't guessed by now, despite my somewhat disparaging tone on the matter, I'd like you to know that, for the most part anyway, I'm pretty much ok with this apparent lack of social innovation and hand-me-down culture. There's always a sort of strange comfort (and learned caution) to be found in the familiar, a quixotic appeal to basking in the relative safety of that already lived. And so it is to this thought, this space of warm embrace, which I greet with the words of the iconic Han Solo in the 2015 Star Wars sequel: "We're home." Ironically, it is this brand of thinking that conveniently brings me to the point of this article, which is: there's (at the very least) one area of our collective culture that does not stand to benefit from this willful regurgitation of the 20th century and that's storytelling.

 Anyone familiar with the 1999 Wachowski phenomenon knows that the jist of the film revolves around a nefarious plot by the world's machines to enslave humanity by keeping them enthralled in a computer program. Ironically, this is not far from the truth (ha!), or at least my truth anyway. The parallel I'm trying to draw here was one of the big themes in the movies. This idea of recycling, this churning up of the old in an attempt at creating something "new" - and in doing so, missing the point entirely. The remake has by far and away been the most familiar thing in entertainment over the past two decades. At the tender age of 31, I myself have seen more prequels, sequels, reboots and remakes than I care to admit. From Alien to Terminator, Tron to Jurassic Park, the list goes on.  Even the one time pariah of a film Blade Runner got its chance at 21st century glitz in 2017 with a sequel that featured Ryan Gosling in the lead role along with Harrison Ford reprising his role as Dekker, an ex-cop who specialized in hunting down and "retiring" robots masquerading as humans. And it's not just sci-fi that gets to ride on the sequel/remake carousel that has become on of the cornerstones of Hollywood (one the others being superhero films). Most recently some old guy in a suit, or Willis himself (in which case, still true) thought it'd be a good idea to remake Death Wish, a film franchise made popular by actor and badass Charles Bronson. The 2018 remake (likely to spawn several sequels should this one recoup its budget) stars Bruce Willis, known for his role as John McClain in the 1988 action film Die Hard, which itself spawned a number of sequels spanning into the 2010's. The tendrils of the reboot don't end at the dust ruffle of the film industry, as the T.V. faithful have seen their insidious grasp extended into their realm as well. Evidently emboldened from the same wellspring, countless programs of the Vonnegut era have tried their hands with the audiences of the internet generation- some to lasting success, such as Netflix's Full House which, at last check, was in its third season.

 Now don't get me wrong. I get just as excited as any 80's pop culture fan when I get a chance to see classics like Star Wars and Roseanne (whoops!) get a chance to reach the younger generation- made shiny and new with all the bells and whistles of ridiculous budgets and lengthy shooting schedules courtesy of the faithful consumers of the couch culture. The very idea conjures up images of rainy Sunday afternoons of popcorn and iced tea, watching these cinematic wonders as loud as I want through my headphones while my mom enjoys her sob fest (likely Beaches or whatever cheesy marathon was on Lifetime that weekend) in the quiet comfort of the living room. But as I alluded to earlier, nostalgia is something that must always be enjoyed with a learned caution much like wearing a Yankee's hat to Citi Field. The desire to see the past live on mustn’t be sustained by the life blood of what could be. For it is this proclivity to innovate and depart from the awkward conformity of our past that made those decades we seem desperate  to relive so special as we retrospectively stare at them over our shoulder. That's all. I just needed to make that point. Oh, and to paraphrase what that wise old guy said that one time (though I can figure out for the life of me what his name was right now): those whom forget the past, or at the very least forget that it has already happened, are doomed to repeat it.

"The New Johnny Storm"

Courtesy of comicvine.com

In case you haven't heard, there's been a bit of controversy surrounding the recent announcement  form 20th Century Fox that up and coming actor Michael B. Jordan, best know for this roles in the action film "Chronicle" as well as the highly acclaimed "Fruitvale Station", Is set to take on the role of comic book wise guy Johnny Storm a.k.a. The "Human Torch" in Marvel's reboot of the "Fantastic Four" film franchise.

Courtesy of aceshowbiz.com

What's the big deal, you ask? Well if you've see either of the films I've just mentioned, then you undoubtedly have noticed that actor Michael B. Jordan is African-American, while the character of Johnny Storm has traditionally  been portrayed as Caucasian-American - most recently played by Marvel's "The Avengers" star, Chris Evans.

Courtesy of thefilmstage.com

Though Jordan has shown himself to be a noteworthy and versatile actor, as well as a heck of ballplayer if you had occasion to watch this years celebrity all-star basketball game, this doesn't account for the potential plot problems that may arise form his casting. Most notably among these that Johnny's Storm's teammate and sibling, Sue Storm, reported to be played by actress Kate Mara, raise questions about how the powers that be intend to portray their parentage precluding any chance, at least in all likelihood, of the two being biological relatives. While such a change may not exactly be a deal breaker for the average Joe, I can't imagine that a re-write of this magnitude will go over well with the die-hard fan boys of the series.

As I expected when I first got word that Jordan was up for the part of Storm, the announcement has garnered a fair amount of controversy since entertainment site IGN confirmed the casting this Thursday via Facebook. The comments ranged from the optimistic with one reader posting: "The guy playing Storm is a pretty good actor. I think he can be great." to the puzzled: "So...The Human Torch is adopted?"

Whatever the screenwriters have in store for moviegoers remains to be seen, but this isn't the first time comic book fans have witnessed long-standing white roles portrayed by black actors. 2003's "Daredevil", starring Ben Affleck and Colin Farrell, saw the emergence of the late Michael Clarke Duncan in the role of ruthless New York crime boss Wilson Fisk a.k.a. "The Kingpin". While the film was met with generally negative reviews, director Mark Johnson was able to construct a tale with enough cinematic drama and well-paced action to keep most of the genre faithful at bay, in large part due to Duncan's convincing portrayal. Other notable hero castings to blur racial lines are Samuel L. Jackson's performance as Nick Fury, in Joss Whedon's 2012 blockbuster "Marvel's The Avengers" as well as Jamie Foxx's role as the hoodie wearing Electro in the upcoming "The Amazing Spider-Man 2" set to be released later this year.

At the end of the day, the take away from this shouldn't be an over-focus on what some may see as a wonton disregard for the tradional appearence of our favorite heroes, but rather that there no longer seems to be a racial criteria when it comes to casting leading roles for major Hollywood studios. There are many that would herald these moments as a step in the right direction, myself among them. Just don't be surprised  when Marvel releases their next entry in the "Blade" film series...starring Josh Brolin. Just kidding...or am I?

Review: Uncharted 3: Drake's Deception

Hello fellow readers! It's review time once again and on today's menu we've got Uncharted 3: Drake's Deception. (a la mode of course!)





Image courtesy of christian-gaming.com

Producer Naughty Dog has once again dazzled us with their mad skillz! From the same studio that brought us the Jak & Daxter collection as well as one of my personal favorites Crash Bandicoot( ah..the memories), comes the third and regretfully the final installment in the unforgettable Uncharted series; Uncharted 3: Drake's Deception.

Image courtesy of gameinformer.com

Once again Nate, Sully and the gang are in search of lost treasure; this time it's Sir Francis Drake's fabled fortune known as the "Atlantis of the Sands".

What makes this game so special in my opinion besides it's ability to hearken back to the Indiana Jones films of the 1980's, is it's nonstop power to enthrall and place you at ground zero of the action as you play as series protagonist Nathan Drake, voiced once again by the talented Nolan North.

Uncharted 3 is as spectacular in it's ending in the dusty and abandoned ruins of ancient Arabia, as it is gripping in it's pugilistic beginnings in a seedy London bar.

Image courtesy of aeportal.in

Joined by a cast of unforgettable characters such as returning father figure Victor "Sully" Sullivan voiced by Richard McGonagle, Uncharted 3 presents itself as far more than a mere video game, but rather a literary narrative as compelling as anything you've ever experienced.

Uncharted 3 sets the bar for interactive media seamlessly transitioning between captivating cut scene and actual game play with virtually non-existent load times.

With absolutely gorgeous visuals, fantastic pacing as well as an consistently challenging enemy AI, seasoned gamers and newbies alike will find something to keep them enticed from Drake's first wise-crack to his last white-knuckle gunfight; not to mention a featured cooperative campaign and a meaty multplayer online mode.

I finished the story in just under 8 hours on the normal difficulty, but I'm already looking forward to a second play through on a tougher setting.

Image courtesy of unlimitedammo.org

If I could indulge myself of but one gripe about this game ( as all reviewers must) it would be the somewhat familiar mid-game scenery having experienced both Uncharted: Drake's Fortune and Uncharted 2: Among Thieves.

All in all i would be absolutely amiss in my duties as a reviewer if I failed to understate the sheer wonderment i felt while playing through the Uncharted series.

I consider myself lucky amongst my fellow gamers whom have yet to experience this masterpiece in media and cinema and weep for a gaming future that finds itself without Nathan Drake.

A perfect score at a 3 out of 3 stars!

Uncharted 3: Drake's Deception

Image courtesy of howlongtobeat.com

 

3 out of 3 stars

A. Rose

Photo from gaiaonline.com

  A young man sat alone in a dark corner of the bar. As if in fear of its retreat, his hands were gripped tightly around a glass of brown liquor, sat atop a dining table. His appearance suggested he was a drunkard yet the glass he grasped, wet from sweat, sat shaking and untouched. Every instinct told me to stay away but my desire for answers compelled me to do otherwise. As I approached the suspect, the sounds of restless floorboards underfoot forced my breathing to betray my hazy bravado - born of caffeine and painkillers. Placing a cigarette in between my lips, I sat down in the chair across from him trying not to look terrified. His countenance now bathed in the light of my flickering lighter, revealed a man weary of his past. As I searched for words, the man’s gaze arose from his glass and met my own. Instantly I found myself robbed of speech. Red and swollen from tears, his eyes conveyed the nature of a man no more capable of doing harm than sprouting wings and taking flight. His gaze lasted but a moment but imbued my hands with the impetus to act.

  “Cigarette?” I offered, shaking a loosie from the empty pack. He made no gesture and spoke no words of contention as I returned the package and lighter to the breast pocket of my jacket still wet from the storm outside. Allowing myself to believe he wanted company I began to speak. “Do you know who I am?”

Nothing.

“Do you have any idea why I might want to speak with you?”

Still. Nothing.

  I removed the golden shield from my belt and placed it on the table hoping this would have the effect of dispelling his reticence. It was in that moment I realized my mistake. The man’s indifference gave way to panic as he lept across the table sending us both crashing to the floor.  The shot came from the heavy standing at the foot of the bar; whizzing by my left ear and striking the framed sports jersey on the wall above our table. Flinching for what seemed like an eternity, the eyes of the man atop me directed my gaze to the shooter. There he stood inebriated and blinking rapidly - apparently in disbelief of his recent miss. I recognized him right away as a local killer-for-hire and hated myself for failing to spot him when I entered. Urging me onto my feet, the man above me finally seemed to relinquish the truth as he stepped into to the path of the shooter’s second shot giving his life for my own. My heart raced as I removed my service revolver from its holster. It had been over 15 years since the academy and even then my aim had been far from true. Now at 47 and nursing a hangover, it would at last behoove me to be a straight shooter in more ways than one. I aimed down my shoulder as the bar’s patrons began to scatter and squeezed three shots. Mustering all  the strength I could to prevent my legs from giving out, I remained standing long enough to witness my handiwork dispatch first a nearby bar stool, then a bottle of scotch whiskey and finally my would-be killer. When the madness began to settle, I stood over the murder’s corpse holding what remained of my pride in the same hand as the broken bottle of whisky. “What a waste.” I whispered to myself. Discarding the bottle I returned to the stranger on the ground lying now in a pool of his own blood. His mouth hanging wide, I discovered to my horror why the man had not spoken a word this night: his tongue had been removed. Judging by the look of the scaring, it had been months since the procedure was performed. The events of the night raised more questions than they answered and I wondered now more than ever if the man who had perished saving my life was indeed the man I had been searching for these past six months. As the spirit fled his once tarnished face, I couldn’t help feeling that he had at last, in the finality of his death, found peace...

Review: Koi No Yokan

"The Deftones"

image from guitarworld.com

  Greetings! It's review time for the first time and this time it's music! The Deftones' latest studio album "Koi No Yokan" to be precise.

  It took me a while (sue me) to get my hands on this album but once I did, I didn't want to put it down. This LP is eleven tracks of harmony that are guaranteed to play in your ear buds for a very long time. If alternative metal is your thing (like it is mine) or if you simply possess a penchant for good music, then this stirring amalgamation of melodies and lasting tunes is just what your local "musicologist" (that's a thing right??) ordered!

  If you're already familiar with "The Deftones" then you'll be pleased to hear that band front man Chino Moreno croons his way to one of the best performances that I've heard in years. Unfortunately the album does not feature the musical stylings of long-time bassist Chi-Cheng as he still recovers from a near-fatal auto accident that occured back in 2008.

  Finishing on a brighter note, and seeing as this is the first time that I will be employing this review system allow me to familiarize you with it:

• The ratings are out of 3 stars
• 0 stars being the lowest and 3 being the highest with everything else crammed in between (tighter than my skills in symphonic jurisprudence...or something...)

So, without further delay it is my pleasure to bestow a humble:

The Deftones : Koi No Yokan (2012)
 

2.5 out of 3 stars

image from kalahari.com

 

"The New Guy"

Pope Francis I

(pic from toledoblade.com)

  It has been a year of firsts (well, kinda) for the Roman Catholic church so far in 2013. Last month we witnessed the ressignation of a pope for the first time in over six hundred years, and now we saw on Wednesday the emergance of the first non-european ponitff since Pope Gregory III of Syria held the top spot in 731. Now that all the commotion of seletciing a leader is (thankfully) behind the church, I'd say it's time we meet "the new guy".

  So who is Franicis I? Well for staters he was born Jeorge Mario Bergoglio and up until now, he served as Archbishop of Buenos Aires since inheriting the job from his predecessor in 1998. A native of Argentina, he was ordained as a priest in 1969. Francis is both the first Jesuit and the first native of the Americas ever to be elected Pope.

  Now I'm not the religious type, but even I had to admit that is was pretty riviting bearing witness to the events of the last few days as the Cardinals, the officals responsible for eleting a pope, remained completely silent about the entire affair up until the moment Pope Benedict XVI's selector was offically ready to be named (no leaks this time).

  Being a member of the Order of Jesus or jesuits, Bergoglio is known for his promotion of social justice, his work to improve the lives of the poor, as well as his displays of poverty. A humble man, it has been reported that the new pontiff, while serving as in his capacity as Archbishop, chose to forego his stately quarters in favor of a modest apartment which he himself paid for. There have has also been stories of him opting to ride public transportaion in his native Argentina as opposed to the more commonly seen chauffered limosine.

  It is in this regard that I wish more of the worlds religious leaders, or any leader for that matter, would follow in the example of Pope Francis I and indulge us with more displays of poverty and humilty. Trust me a little bit of chastity goes a long way. As far as I can tell, such acts can only serve to boost the church's image which would be as a boon for the Vatican after all of the bad publicity it's been receiveing in the last decade or so.

  After all, Jesus never rode around in a Mercedes-Benz, with his hands and neck covered in gold and jewels.. ( right??)