Horror? Or just plain horrible?
Film is subjective. There can be no right and wrong, only a majority concurrence, and it seems to be that the horror genre wallows in mediocrity. As an unabashed horror fanatic, this pains me.
From the Vault: Pontypool
Pontypool—which is quite possibly the worst title I’ve ever heard—pays homage to its radio roots right from the start. Shock Jock Grant Mazzy, expertly played by Stephen McHattie, purrs the story of a local woman’s missing cat over a black screen broken only by a red, skittering sound wave. I know it sounds mundane, but there’s … Continue reading
Swords and a shooter
So I mentioned a few weeks ago that I was going on a lot of first dates, and last week I listed a handful of old games that I would really like to be able to say that I had played. I’m happy to say that first dates have progressed to second dates, and that … Continue reading
Missing My So-Called Life
I’ve always loved T.V. Happy Days, Reading Rainbow, a long line of gritty crime dramas. I was the only kid (besides my brother) that I knew of who was allowed to watch Johnny Carson before bedtime. “Just the monologue, then I promise I’ll go to sleep, Daddy.”
Still, though there’s enough room in my heart for a sick amount of network, cable, HBO and Showtime programming, only a certain handful of those shows can actually shut my little ticker down and make it bleed pure joy and sadness all at once. My So-Called Life (ABC, 1994-1995, may she rest in peace) is one of those heart-rending shows.
Five is not the same as seven
Remember last week when I listed my playoff predictions?
No? Admittedly, the column was pretty long, and the predictions were slapped onto its end, well after your attention had waned. (It’s probably happening now, at the end of this sentence. All these parenthetical statements wear you down, my high school English teacher said.)
Well, obviously, no one read that far/was in full possession of their wits when they got that far, because no one noticed my hilarious mistake (part Freudian wishful thinking, part Courvoisier.)
Let’s take another look:
How I came to terms with poached eggs
I had a hard time figuring out the topic for this week’s column because, shockingly, nothing went wrong this week in my culinary life. This week it became fall in Boston, without much of a warning. Now it’s dark by the time I get home from the gym, I can see my breath in the morning, and I can cook in my apartment without turning it into a human-sized oven. Now that it’s cool, I used this week to bring back one of my winter favorites—soup.
For someone like me who is often lazy and often hungry, soup is the perfect winter meal. The initial batch can be time-consuming, but for the rest of the week, dinner is only a microwave trip away. The newest entry into my soup repertoire is a White Bean puree with a poached egg on top.
The final rip-off
I love the Rolling Stones. But man alive I am mad at them right now. Do they care? No. I don’t expect them to, why would they. I’m just one fan. But I do have to wonder how many others out there are feeling the way I’m feeling.
I’m not mad at the Stones for their latest records, a political stance or a fashion choice. I’m not wild about Keef’s cameo in the Pirates of the Caribbean film but am thrilled that he has let his hair go grey again. No, I am angry at the Stones for the travesty that they whipped out in the form of the reissues (plural) of their classic, overly lauded double LP Exile on Main Street.
October 4-9, 2010
Today, in “Dysphonia,” Mike Vincent admits that The Rolling Stones have always been greedy, but they’ve finally pushed it one step too far. Read “The final rip-off”
It’s a triple feature in “The Cinephiles.” In “The witching hour (and 38 minutes)” Adam Simmons insists that Halloween III: Season of the Witch is better than you remember, in “The horror years” Kevin Mattison revisits a childhood spent watching the Saturday afternoon Thriller Double Feature in the 80s, and it’s all topped off by a review of The House of the Devil
In “Diary of a Casual Gamer,” Gavin Craig shares “Two quick thoughts” on backwards compatibility and his first impressions of the lonely, lonely world of BioShock.
In “Flipside,” Rosemary Van Deuren reads John Waters’ memoir Role Models, in which the man who has said everything unspeakable finally talks a little about himself. Read “The passions of John Waters”
In “Rounding Third,” Angela Vasquez-Giroux bids a fond farewell to players whose contracts are not likely to be renewed, thinks of the good times, and handicaps the playoffs. Read “Happy trails”
In “The F Word,” Jill Kolongowski goes camping, and reconsiders her packing strategy. Read “Pretending to know how to grill, or, Jill goes camping”
And a new comic by Zac Gorman
