Let’s be honest: you either love Rush, or you totally hate them. I have never met anyone who thought they were ‘okay’, and if I did, I would kick them in the butthole for lying to my face. Thomas Dolby is ‘okay’. Molly Hatchet is ‘okay’. And Wings will always be superior to the Beatles.
Me? I love Rush SO HARD. I also love music documentaries. This movie is basically Jewish Christmas for me.
I don’t know what that means.
Normally I write long reviews, but I broke that pattern with The Expendables. My reasoning for that shorter review was simply that there wasn’t much to say. Explosions, crazy stuff, fun, shitty dialog. I was able to maintain my favorite kind of relationship with media: pass judgment and get out.
This piece of hardware presents a similar opportunity, because it is unbelievably awesome with no downsides.
I like old things. It is no surprise that I love the Frosty Drive N building, a post-war burger joint off 377 that looks like it came from the set of Hollywood Knights. It has the crazy-angles support beams, the flat sweep-wing roof, and a lunch counter replete with a few ancient soda taps and the kind of menu you peg letters to.
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Don’t do this. It’s not funny. It’s not clever. You’re not contributing anything to society by telling other drivers that you are indeed “1GR8DOC”. The only thing you’ve accomplished has been to add another irritant to my already irrational anger problem. Quit it.
Fuck all 20 of you.
Seriously, it’s 2010. Get your shit together.
SCORE: Having a vanity license plate gets a 0 out of 5.
The Expendables is exactly what you think it is.
The writing and dialog are terrible. The action is incredibly macho and awesome.
I would write more, but that’s really all there is to it.
Score: The Expendables gets a 4 out of 5.
So, a while back one of my wife’s friends recommended this book to her, and said recommendation was then passed along to me. Ordinarily, this is not a book I would ever even consider reading, but the wife seemed to enjoy it, and it’s rare that she will read/watch/listen to something and feel compelled to share it with me. Our tastes in things just run completely contrary to each others. She likes Janet Jackson and En Vogue; I like Lightning Bolt and Miles Davis. One of her favorite movies is White Christmas; I like that internet video of one kid hitting another in the head with a shovel. So if she feels like there is some benefit I could take away from this, even with her very specific knowledge of my expansive catalog of dislikes, then I feel like I owe it to her to give it a whirl.
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The Modern Man's Guide To Everything
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