Life has a way of beating us down. When we least expect it, we're walking along, minding our own business and life comes running up from behind and takes a steel pipe to our knees. Shouting as it runs away, 'Kerrigan Bitch!'
Anyway, that's how I feel.
It's been a lousy month and the lousiness continues. Work sucks (my boss gave me the strangest stare yesterday, it can only be described as 'After I've hidden the body, what will I tell everyone?'), home life not going good (my girlfriend apparently thinks gnats are great pets and her son wants to gut me in my "sleep"), and as for my family; well I don't call them because I can only take so much. When I snap I'm going to start with the loud teenagers standing in groups outside the front of Quik Trips, blocking my enterance to buy my cancer. I'm not joking.
So that's why I haven't been here in a while and why you may notice that I've received a fresh batch of sarcasm, with a hint of scorn. Let's list the good shall we?
Tranformers: bad
The Simpsons: great
Crooked Little Vein: Fantastic
After Dark: good, not Murakami's best short work
Comics: good
Smart Ones Dinners: good
Smoking: the only thing keeping several "people" alive
That's pretty much it. Before I forget, I need someone to help me with the pictures I promised you. I pressed all the right buttons to put pictures along with a post I had, but the last button I touched made the screen go black and words in some strange font I had never seen before popped up making out this sentence, 'Feed me your blood, meatsack.' Then my hardrive started to breath, sticking out its CD tray that saliva started dripping from and the whole thing pulsed as if it was a reject from an old Cronenberg film. Yeah, I know. Cool.
Later,
thatblackbastard
Saturday, August 4, 2007
A Bastard's Law
I hereby decree that the world will be divided into two kinds of people: Almond Joy or Mounds.
Choose carefully. You spineless, Almond Joy traitors.
thatblackbastard
Choose carefully. You spineless, Almond Joy traitors.
thatblackbastard
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Des Moines Part Two or Living on the Dragon's Snout
The rope was tearing into my skin. The more I struggled, the more it tore and burned. Sweat poured down my face to intermingle with my tears. My heart was pounding, ready to rip itself from my chest to escape the building fear growing all over my body. My throat had gone dry from the screaming and now a corse whine issued from my mouth. I had a briuse on my upper right shoulder where I had kept beating my back against the foundation post I was tied to in our basement. It was dark that day in the basement. I remember it was day because, the only thing that filled me with hope was the small window in the basement, with warm rays of sunlight shining to a spot a few feet in front of me. I wondered why Mom hadn't come down to rescue me yet. But I already knew the answer to that. Dad.
After all, he had tied me there.
And that was how I conquered my fear of the dark. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be able to type this now in a darkened room, lit only be my computer screen.
Mom has recently said that she doesn't recall why Dad tied me down there, but there was a shouting match between them about it. All I remember is the sunlight and fear. Fear has been my constant companion since that day. And since most of us have vivid imaginations, my fear has always had a voice. A voice that even now as I type this is telling me to stop and delete this post. I don't know if any of you have ever suffered this type of abuse and perhaps it's not right of me to share it with you and ruin your day. However, if I don't, it makes me a coward and my fear wins.
I remember wanting to escape badly. To run outside and keep running away, until I found a place where I wouldn't be hurt. And then, I remembered where I lived and what resources I didn't possess. The streets of Des Moines would offer no salvation and neither would its people, all dealing with their problems and abuse, that had changed them into unsympathetic citizens. I know what you are thinking, it was your father, Cameron, not the town. It was both is my reply.
The sun beat down relentlessly on the pavement. I reached down to feel its heat make the empty street feel like a skillet. My hands press against the hot surface to gauge my pain threshold. Lifting my head, I surveyed my neighborhood and see that no one is watching. Slowly, I kneel down repeating my pain exercise on my knees first, then belly and finally my right cheek. Heat sears its way all over my body, and subsides after a few moments and then I can feel the coldness of the street return. Staring down the street I can see the two sewage drains on opposite sides at the end of the road. They are raised, so nothing can clog them, but a child could slip and fall down to the sewage below. From my belly resting on the street I can hear what seems to be footsteps and water. I was still alone and no cars had driven on the road since I had laid down. I listen again and this time I hear something else, a pulse. A pulsing sound, and the street seemed to move. Breathing. The whole street was breathing and the two drains suddenly became jet black eyes that caught me in their gaze and I could not move. These words formed in my head. No escape.
And this was the beast that I had hoped to escape to during my time in the basement.
Fear. It's a hell of a thing.
Next time, I'll share a good memory to offset this horrible one.
Later,
thatblackbastard
After all, he had tied me there.
And that was how I conquered my fear of the dark. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be able to type this now in a darkened room, lit only be my computer screen.
Mom has recently said that she doesn't recall why Dad tied me down there, but there was a shouting match between them about it. All I remember is the sunlight and fear. Fear has been my constant companion since that day. And since most of us have vivid imaginations, my fear has always had a voice. A voice that even now as I type this is telling me to stop and delete this post. I don't know if any of you have ever suffered this type of abuse and perhaps it's not right of me to share it with you and ruin your day. However, if I don't, it makes me a coward and my fear wins.
I remember wanting to escape badly. To run outside and keep running away, until I found a place where I wouldn't be hurt. And then, I remembered where I lived and what resources I didn't possess. The streets of Des Moines would offer no salvation and neither would its people, all dealing with their problems and abuse, that had changed them into unsympathetic citizens. I know what you are thinking, it was your father, Cameron, not the town. It was both is my reply.
The sun beat down relentlessly on the pavement. I reached down to feel its heat make the empty street feel like a skillet. My hands press against the hot surface to gauge my pain threshold. Lifting my head, I surveyed my neighborhood and see that no one is watching. Slowly, I kneel down repeating my pain exercise on my knees first, then belly and finally my right cheek. Heat sears its way all over my body, and subsides after a few moments and then I can feel the coldness of the street return. Staring down the street I can see the two sewage drains on opposite sides at the end of the road. They are raised, so nothing can clog them, but a child could slip and fall down to the sewage below. From my belly resting on the street I can hear what seems to be footsteps and water. I was still alone and no cars had driven on the road since I had laid down. I listen again and this time I hear something else, a pulse. A pulsing sound, and the street seemed to move. Breathing. The whole street was breathing and the two drains suddenly became jet black eyes that caught me in their gaze and I could not move. These words formed in my head. No escape.
And this was the beast that I had hoped to escape to during my time in the basement.
Fear. It's a hell of a thing.
Next time, I'll share a good memory to offset this horrible one.
Later,
thatblackbastard
Sunday, July 1, 2007
BEHOLD MY TERRIBLE DIGITAL THIRD EYE!!!
I have been given a camera for my birthday. Now, the world will tremble. Watch your back world. Terrible pictures to follow, perhaps even one of my hideous visage.
thatblackbastard
thatblackbastard
Friday, June 29, 2007
Vacation time at the Bastard Ranch...
My brain needs cigarettes. Hold on a moment. Ah, much better. Well, for ten days I'm on vacation from my job of making small arms ammunition. I work for a company that not only does that, but also ICBM'S (government contracts) and rockets for NASA. However, as stated, I'm just a worker bee that makes primers for machine guns and heavy artillery. Some of you may ask, 'how does that work on your conscience, Cameron?' Answer: see the first line of this post.
Anyway, here at the Bastard Ranch, we love down time. And seeing as how I'm behind on movie watching (The Departed, Pan's Labyrinth, Jeeves and Wooster, any number of my Wong Kar Wai films, etc...) and reading (I regret missing the Once Upon a Time Challenge hosted by friend and Avenger of Wrong Doings by blogger idiots, Carl), so it's time to catch up. I just finished Moorcock's Hawkmoon and I'm looking at these guys to read next...
Jim Thompson
Hunter S. Thompson
Poul Anderson
Haruki Murakami
Neil Gaiman
and of course Michael Moorcock.
I'm leaning towards the Gaiman and Murakami, as I have already read a book each from both Thompson's this year and a good deal of Moorcock's Eternal Champion series. Although, I do have that novel he wrote called Mother London, the predecessor of a book I tried to read and couldn't get to called King of the City. And then there is Anderson, whose Ensign Flandry series looks priceless. I love humor. I'll get to all of these by the end of the year because, I'm trying to read forty books this year. I know, forty is nothing to all of you, but I'm gaining back my old reading habits when I used to read ninety in a year. So please, have patience with this black soul.
Well, its past lunch time and I need to eat. So, until next time people. Keep those streets safe where you live.
thatblackbastard
Anyway, here at the Bastard Ranch, we love down time. And seeing as how I'm behind on movie watching (The Departed, Pan's Labyrinth, Jeeves and Wooster, any number of my Wong Kar Wai films, etc...) and reading (I regret missing the Once Upon a Time Challenge hosted by friend and Avenger of Wrong Doings by blogger idiots, Carl), so it's time to catch up. I just finished Moorcock's Hawkmoon and I'm looking at these guys to read next...
Jim Thompson
Hunter S. Thompson
Poul Anderson
Haruki Murakami
Neil Gaiman
and of course Michael Moorcock.
I'm leaning towards the Gaiman and Murakami, as I have already read a book each from both Thompson's this year and a good deal of Moorcock's Eternal Champion series. Although, I do have that novel he wrote called Mother London, the predecessor of a book I tried to read and couldn't get to called King of the City. And then there is Anderson, whose Ensign Flandry series looks priceless. I love humor. I'll get to all of these by the end of the year because, I'm trying to read forty books this year. I know, forty is nothing to all of you, but I'm gaining back my old reading habits when I used to read ninety in a year. So please, have patience with this black soul.
Well, its past lunch time and I need to eat. So, until next time people. Keep those streets safe where you live.
thatblackbastard
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Des Moines, an introduction
I killed my mother the day I was born. For approximately forty-five seconds, she was dead. Not long, I know, but how many of us can say that? That we experienced death for a short time. I'm starting with this story, because it's important you know how I came into the world. And while my personal experience with the cold black is limited, my birth town is all to familiar with it.
First a cast of characters...
Mom
Dad, Dell Robinson
Joseph, brother
Grandpa Robinson
Grandma Robinson
Curtis Clyce, best friend
April Kibbe, first girlfriend
Butch, Mom's first boyfriend
Erskin, or One-Thirty, Mom's second boyfriend
E.J., Erskin's cousin and drug dealer
Nathan, E.J.'s son
Rico, gang leader
Lefty, Rico's right hand man
The Arab, rich drug dealer looking for young girls in the ghetto
Aunt Pudding, occasional savior
Aunt Necie, occasional savior
And other various family members and friends, who are too numerous to name, but the ones listed above are of note. Which you will discover how in other posts. There is no way to tell this story in one massive volume, so I'm breaking it up. I'll write about Des Moines when I'm feeling nostalgic or when I encounter a situation that reminds of a lesson I learned in the real town without pity. I should note right now that my memory fades about some experiences, while other are crystal clear. I don't know why that is, but it is the truth.
Des Moines has been described as a country town. Not big enough to be a city, but large enough not to be called a village. I always thought of it as a city, but I was a child and didn't know what an actual city was. Now I know what it is. It's a beast that chews people between its teeth before it swallows you whole. Body and soul. And once it has, you're tainted. It stays with you for the rest of your life, living in your blood as a cancer that will eventually make you unrecognizeable to those lucky enough to have never lived in Des Moines.
It's a violent town. I remember so clearly going to bed every night with the sound of gunfire in the night, echoing throughout the neighborhoods. Falling asleep before you heard the sirens because the shots were never enough to worry or startle you. Hell, it became so common place that by the time I moved to Missouri, I had a hard time falling asleep without it. It was unnervering to realize that much later. Joe and I would turn in our beds and rest our heads on our pillows and go to dreamland, not realizing the significance of what was happening outside. That would come later, and sooner than I would have liked.
The first place I remember living was Roach Ridge. This wasn't its actual name, but it had so many roaches that that was what everyone called it. Even to this day. To Mom and Dad's credit nothing bad happened to us there. Unless, you count Dad's infidelity and me pushing my brother's bassinet down the stairs. Yes, he was in it at the time and I've been told that it was an accident (Joe has never believed this and uses it as an excuse for the trouble he has caused). It wasn't until we moved to 1819 21st street, that the real story began.
The beatings, killings, drugs, fighting matches masquerading as family reunions, the street's you couldn't cross because of rival gangs and their shoot-outs in broad daylight (we lived on 21st and E.J. lived on 23rd), and let's not forget the home made psychological scars. The town had it all.
The next time I write about Des Moines, I'll tell you more of my first house, the neighborhood we lived in, the people I met and ran from, and perhaps, even a good memory or two.
Later,
thatblackbastard
P.S. It only gets worse from here.
First a cast of characters...
Mom
Dad, Dell Robinson
Joseph, brother
Grandpa Robinson
Grandma Robinson
Curtis Clyce, best friend
April Kibbe, first girlfriend
Butch, Mom's first boyfriend
Erskin, or One-Thirty, Mom's second boyfriend
E.J., Erskin's cousin and drug dealer
Nathan, E.J.'s son
Rico, gang leader
Lefty, Rico's right hand man
The Arab, rich drug dealer looking for young girls in the ghetto
Aunt Pudding, occasional savior
Aunt Necie, occasional savior
And other various family members and friends, who are too numerous to name, but the ones listed above are of note. Which you will discover how in other posts. There is no way to tell this story in one massive volume, so I'm breaking it up. I'll write about Des Moines when I'm feeling nostalgic or when I encounter a situation that reminds of a lesson I learned in the real town without pity. I should note right now that my memory fades about some experiences, while other are crystal clear. I don't know why that is, but it is the truth.
Des Moines has been described as a country town. Not big enough to be a city, but large enough not to be called a village. I always thought of it as a city, but I was a child and didn't know what an actual city was. Now I know what it is. It's a beast that chews people between its teeth before it swallows you whole. Body and soul. And once it has, you're tainted. It stays with you for the rest of your life, living in your blood as a cancer that will eventually make you unrecognizeable to those lucky enough to have never lived in Des Moines.
It's a violent town. I remember so clearly going to bed every night with the sound of gunfire in the night, echoing throughout the neighborhoods. Falling asleep before you heard the sirens because the shots were never enough to worry or startle you. Hell, it became so common place that by the time I moved to Missouri, I had a hard time falling asleep without it. It was unnervering to realize that much later. Joe and I would turn in our beds and rest our heads on our pillows and go to dreamland, not realizing the significance of what was happening outside. That would come later, and sooner than I would have liked.
The first place I remember living was Roach Ridge. This wasn't its actual name, but it had so many roaches that that was what everyone called it. Even to this day. To Mom and Dad's credit nothing bad happened to us there. Unless, you count Dad's infidelity and me pushing my brother's bassinet down the stairs. Yes, he was in it at the time and I've been told that it was an accident (Joe has never believed this and uses it as an excuse for the trouble he has caused). It wasn't until we moved to 1819 21st street, that the real story began.
The beatings, killings, drugs, fighting matches masquerading as family reunions, the street's you couldn't cross because of rival gangs and their shoot-outs in broad daylight (we lived on 21st and E.J. lived on 23rd), and let's not forget the home made psychological scars. The town had it all.
The next time I write about Des Moines, I'll tell you more of my first house, the neighborhood we lived in, the people I met and ran from, and perhaps, even a good memory or two.
Later,
thatblackbastard
P.S. It only gets worse from here.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Review: Ocean's Thirteen
I'll try and be as fair and objective as possible with this, but I am a huge Soderbergh fan. With the exception of Kafka, I've loved every one of his films. Now, after blowing my so-called "objectivity", on with the review.
Most people didn't like Ocean's Twelve and thought it was a nearly overindulgent piece of fluff by a filmmaker who, hadn't made too many missteps. While I agree it wasn't as good as the first(there were problems with it), it still entertained. It did feel though, that there should have been a little less slight-of-hand plot points.
Thankfully, Clooney and Soderbergh admitted this and set out to correct the mistake. Thirteen is simple and to the point. Reuben (Elliot Gould) has entered into a partnership with business shark, Willie Bank (Al Pacino). They have teamed up to create a brand new hotel/casino in Las Vegas that will rake in the dough. Everyone, including Ocean, has warned Reuben that Bank will cut him out the deal once he gets what he wants from him. Reuben, whose ego and legacy building blind him, defends Bank and goes through with the deal. Promptly, Bank gets what he wants and cuts Reuben out. Reuben, in distress, has a heart attack and the whole gang comes running. Our boys knowing what happened; decide payback is the only option to revive Reuben, now catatonic in his bed.
Without giving anything else away, the payback is great. Although this time we don't get to see every clever, painstaking detail of the gang's plan. We come in when the plan is already in place, but the boys have hit a couple of snags and call in outside help (Eddie Izzard/Roman Nagal and Andy Garcia/Terry Benedict) to finish the job. The entire gang returns with the exception of Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones, whose absences' are explained by Danny...
'This isn't their fight.'
It isn't and there are not missed. That being said, you would figure that would mean more screen time for the rest of the gang, but it doesn't. Don Cheadle and Qin both get maybe a scene and a half. Bernie Mac, Carl Reiner, Scott Caan, Casey Affleck, and Eddie Jemison all get at least two scenes, but it left you wanting to see more of them (especially Affleck, his scenes are great in relation to the smooth running of the plan). Disappointing most of all is the misuse of Ellen Barkin. She's such a great actor that it was shameful she was just being used as something pretty to look at (and yeah, she still looks gorgeous). Most of the screen time is given to Ocean (Clooney), Rusty (Pitt), Linas (Damon), and of course Pacino; who really wasn't as scary as the trailer made him out to be.
Despite all of that, it was a laugh out loud, clever piece of entertainment that made me feel like I was one of the boys again and I was in on the joke. Last movie, didn't do that. And that's probably because, Soderbergh was on his game for this one. You can watch the movie and feel that he knows how to place his characters in relation to the pop culture necessity of the plot. And he stayed away from flashy camera angles and lavish scenery (as much as one can in Vegas) that turned the audience off in the second movie. And the banter between all of them, PRICELESS. Clooney and Pitt are finishing each others sentences and there are a few scenes which are just flat-out funny with them. You never would have thought that two A-list stars could co-exist and make you believe they were the best of friends, but these two make you believe it.
All of this and we get the best piece of in-the-boys-club advice/rule/code I have ever heard. I'm not going to tell you what it is, but it is so cool and its said twice in the movie, that you will not miss it. So what are you waiting for? Go see it.
Later,
thatblackbastard
Most people didn't like Ocean's Twelve and thought it was a nearly overindulgent piece of fluff by a filmmaker who, hadn't made too many missteps. While I agree it wasn't as good as the first(there were problems with it), it still entertained. It did feel though, that there should have been a little less slight-of-hand plot points.
Thankfully, Clooney and Soderbergh admitted this and set out to correct the mistake. Thirteen is simple and to the point. Reuben (Elliot Gould) has entered into a partnership with business shark, Willie Bank (Al Pacino). They have teamed up to create a brand new hotel/casino in Las Vegas that will rake in the dough. Everyone, including Ocean, has warned Reuben that Bank will cut him out the deal once he gets what he wants from him. Reuben, whose ego and legacy building blind him, defends Bank and goes through with the deal. Promptly, Bank gets what he wants and cuts Reuben out. Reuben, in distress, has a heart attack and the whole gang comes running. Our boys knowing what happened; decide payback is the only option to revive Reuben, now catatonic in his bed.
Without giving anything else away, the payback is great. Although this time we don't get to see every clever, painstaking detail of the gang's plan. We come in when the plan is already in place, but the boys have hit a couple of snags and call in outside help (Eddie Izzard/Roman Nagal and Andy Garcia/Terry Benedict) to finish the job. The entire gang returns with the exception of Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones, whose absences' are explained by Danny...
'This isn't their fight.'
It isn't and there are not missed. That being said, you would figure that would mean more screen time for the rest of the gang, but it doesn't. Don Cheadle and Qin both get maybe a scene and a half. Bernie Mac, Carl Reiner, Scott Caan, Casey Affleck, and Eddie Jemison all get at least two scenes, but it left you wanting to see more of them (especially Affleck, his scenes are great in relation to the smooth running of the plan). Disappointing most of all is the misuse of Ellen Barkin. She's such a great actor that it was shameful she was just being used as something pretty to look at (and yeah, she still looks gorgeous). Most of the screen time is given to Ocean (Clooney), Rusty (Pitt), Linas (Damon), and of course Pacino; who really wasn't as scary as the trailer made him out to be.
Despite all of that, it was a laugh out loud, clever piece of entertainment that made me feel like I was one of the boys again and I was in on the joke. Last movie, didn't do that. And that's probably because, Soderbergh was on his game for this one. You can watch the movie and feel that he knows how to place his characters in relation to the pop culture necessity of the plot. And he stayed away from flashy camera angles and lavish scenery (as much as one can in Vegas) that turned the audience off in the second movie. And the banter between all of them, PRICELESS. Clooney and Pitt are finishing each others sentences and there are a few scenes which are just flat-out funny with them. You never would have thought that two A-list stars could co-exist and make you believe they were the best of friends, but these two make you believe it.
All of this and we get the best piece of in-the-boys-club advice/rule/code I have ever heard. I'm not going to tell you what it is, but it is so cool and its said twice in the movie, that you will not miss it. So what are you waiting for? Go see it.
Later,
thatblackbastard
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