Jeebeevisig (jeebee as in the end of “the heebie-jeebies” an visig, pronounced “physic” but with a g at the end), as said in my last post the shorthand for James Bond Villain Style Gloating should become a common household word.
Because really, we ALL love doing it. No-one I know can resist the temptation while watching the last feeble spasms of life in ones opponent while playing Monopoly or Trivial Pursuit, or even chess, to fire off at least one small pun and/or resort to mad, maniacal laughter.
“No mr Pawn, I expect you to DIE…MWUHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” is not rarely heard around our games-table, but even a dejected “I’ll get you next time. Gadget, next time…” has frequently echoed around the RISK-board on a sporadic Sunday afternoon. Not to mention the fact that ever since we bought the freaking game I’ve wanted to suspend that little shoe thingy above a tiny pool filled with tiny metallic sharks. Obviously, that second example is not as such gloating, or Bond, but it definitely falls under the heading of jeebeevisig.
So, people, start using this word, please, and help me fulfill my life’s ambition of giving something to this crazy world we live in to make it all a bit more crazy.
In the sure knowledge that this goal will be accomplished I have moved on to my next goal in life, which is using the frase “in one memorable but extreme case, dog” as often as humanly possible. It was true in the last write-up, may be in this one, use your own judgemend from now on.
In other news, my little brother has a band. Well… little… he’ll be all of twenty-one this April, but luckily still a good head shorter than I am so little he is and little he’ll remain.
The band (http://www.blackbandit.web-log.nl/) is actually quite ok, if I do say so myself. The music is a bit rockish in the general idea, but so far I’ve heard something a bit rock-reggae and a ballad with a decided Twin Peaks feel to it. Very interesting choices to be made, but luckily they realize the slight incongruity themselves
They are planning to perform live, which is always a brave choice, but are quite dedicated and should be able to put up a good show, I guess. No proof yet though.
My lil’ bro is being the drummer of the threesome, which I’m not ashamed to tell you had a good deal of run-up with a number of instruments purporting to be percussion, but mostly just made noise. The current drum-set and the previous incarnation of random “pieces of round wood with ungoated skin attached to them” may be better than the pots, pans, and in one memorable but extreme case; dog, of yore, but really, being awakened on a Sunday-morning buy an infernal but slightly recognizable-as-music racket is no difference from being awakened by a sound of two strippers dressed in metal going at it in a vat full of deadbolts, which bares striking resemblance to the sound a five-year old can make when aided by EVERY FREAKING PAN IN THE HOUSE, and a high stairway... (the actuality of being awakened by such a thing (strippers, deadbolts) instead of something sounding like it leaves also something to be desired, but that’s a whole new subject)
A short write-up this time, just wanted to plug my brother’s website a bit, hope you’ll like their music.
Have fun,
Kevin.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Monday, January 23, 2006
What does one call a female Skunk?
Despite every intention being for the best, despite everything a person can say about personal rights and principles, despite all that has been said in advance, sometimes one finds oneself in a situation where one has to negotiate around the bear-pit of personal objective to find oneself in a place of relative peace.
If, in this place of peace and happiness, there might also be a BIG FREAKIN’ GUN with which to turn around and SHOOT THE DAMN BEAR, more so the better.
The person: Me. (starring me, but the movie will probably have Michael Pitt) The bear-pit: the Amsterdam local bus (starring the bus, but the bus driver should be played by a loveable and recognizable actress, I’m thinking Betty White, perhaps Angela Lansbury)
The Bear: Don’t know her name, but I’m talking about the woman who needed to sort out her change for the bus this morning and started doing this while standing in front of the innocent driveress of the bus, and ignoring the pleas and bleats for help from the people behind her. (Starring THAT WOMAN, but for the movie I’m thinking an actor or actress who is able to place that kind of…unworldlyness…of..strange inconsideration into the role. Probably the make up Charlize Theron wore in “monster”, only without Charlize, and with the charm of Chucky and the general availability of Michael Myers.)
Now, don’t get me wrong. I think that every man, woman and child has been given free will to be able to make their own choices in life, to be able to take responsibility for their own actions, and that it is not given to others, given to us, in fact, to judge the decisions other people make during the course of any given day. Therefore, as long as it harms me not, I believe with every fiber of my being that every person around me should be allowed to do as they think best in any situation, without influence or judgment from those around them.
The thing is, however, that people like that aren’t really people. And therefore may very well be either judged or influenced.
But mostly judged.
And…sentenced.
Look, in Holland, public transport is a very simple thing. When you don’t have a subscription for public transport there is a “strippenkaart”, a piece of paper with 15 or 45 “strippen”, which are ticked off with use, usually by either the driver/conductor of the ride or in a small machine somewhere on the chosen mode of transport, or on the platform before boarding said transport. So far, so easy. One “strip” is paid as a base cost, and additional “strippen” are paid for the actual journey, calculated by the amount of distance covered, which is measured in zones. For every zone, there is a “strip”. Example, to get from my house to Amsterdam I travel through 5 zones. Therefore, 5 “strippen” + the base cost = 6 “strippen”. The bus driver stamps the sixth “strip” on my “kaart” and I can happily sit or stand anywhere on the bus where my fancy takes me, as long as there is space available for me at this chosen location. Out comes the book, and I mosey along life’s’ highway quite literally unconcerned with the world around me, barring the place where I have to get off, which I signal to the driver by pressing any of the myriad little buttons marked “stop”, after which the driver stops at the next bus stop on the line.
Easy, right?
Ok.. now comes the part where this all gets a bit more difficult… Hang on to your seats…
When you don’t have a subscription, and you don’t have a valid “strippenkaart”, you can buy “strippen” from the bus driver. Because this causes the slight inconvenience of change and explanation beyond just calling out your destination, “strippen” purchased in this manner are a bit expensive. They cost € 0.80 each. Smart readers, and I take it all my readers are smart (aren’t you, readers o’mine, all five of you?) will have deduced from this that the shortest possible bus trip, taking you within a one zone area, and therefore using 2 “strippen” will cost you € 1.60 (the one “strip” for traveling in a zone, plus base cost = 1+1=2 times 0.80 = 1.60)
Journeys that take you further, thereby traveling through or in additional zones will cost an additional € 0.80 per traveled zone.
Advancement of the previous example; when I have forgotten my “strippenkaart” or my subscription has run out and for some strange reason I still need or want to get to work, I have to pay for 6 “strippen” in the bus, which would ring me up for a WHOPPIN’ € 4.80.
Now, no-one can say I am a truly considerate person, not that I am a colossal asshole, but I’m absolutely no Mother Theresa (I look like shite in a white scarf (the name of my mostly still to live autobiography)) but even I know that when I have to pay in the bus, I have to pay in the bus. I usually try to calculate about how much I have to pay, and either have the amount ready in exact change, or give the driver an amount for which change can be supplied in as little time or coinage as possible. This has little to do with consideration, I would like my bus to leave on time and despise change, so naturally getting back as little as possible of it in as little time as conceivable is a good thing, in my world.
Now, on a route that is reasonably often traveled this is easy. One KNOWS how many “strippen” things are gonna take, and can decipher quite easily how much this is gonna cost. But even on a road less traveled this should not be really hard… After all, any amount of “strippen” over any distance, WILL be either € 1.60 or an multiple of € 0.80 above that amount. 1.60-2.40-3.20-4.00-4.80-and so on till the end of the country.
Now, coinage in the Netherlands and most of Europe consists of pieces worth, among others. € 0.10/0.20/0.50/1.00 and 2.00, bills start from € 5.00 upwards.
Granted, the amount 1.60 and possibly 3.20 are a bit hard to change, but most others can be calculated thusly that one would get no more than one or two coins in change. Ideal for people like me.
Regretfully, there are not only people like me….
There are, for instance, people who need to look for their “strippenkaart” while they are already on the bus, usually not a big problem, the driver will allow them to look for it while he drives to the next stop, nine times out of ten. At worst this means they ride for free for a stop, which is no skin of anybodies back.
But there are the ones who handle the bus like I would’ve handled the candy store when I was about six years old. Meaning pointing or grunting in the general direction of what I wanted, and depositing about a month’s worth of saved up small (and I mean SMALL) change on the nearest flat surface, open hand or, in one memorable but extreme case, dog.
Now, the last time I did this I was ADORABLE. Six years old, blond, big blue eyes, bee-sting-type mouth.. Anyone would’ve forgiven me anything, except for the dog…he never was friendly to me ever again.
I am still somewhat adorable, but even I would not dare to do the exact same thing now, not in a candy store, and CERTAINLY not in a bus. Because the problem here is that the driver doesn’t have to but in all likelihood WILL help to sort out the mass of metal (so did the kind people at the candy store, as I’m sure they are still doing for innumerable small children all over the world, they really are the unsung heroes of our times, and I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to them).
This also happened this morning, with the cow in human form looking on as though the driver himself made a doody on the little board thingy he used to count out the money, in stead of this person delivering a smack down of lateness in the shape of a small pile of coins. Granted, this results, mostly, in little or no change for them, but an ENORMOUS amount of lost time. Defeats the purpose of evading change, really.
These people must, simply, be put to death. I have thought about this a good deal, and the only thing to do seems to be to declare them outlaws, so that I can go to the front of the bus and kick them until they are a mere spot on the windshield ore a greasy piece of trampled flesh on the bottom of the bus. More and more I am convinced that should ever a police officer stop me and ask me what I am doing to this person, after explaining my position he will not only lend me his nightstick but will actively help goring the skunk-bitch to kingdom come.
Because you know, not a little suspect, or think, but KNOW, that the bus will be late after you’ve pulled this little stunt. People will miss their connection, be late for work, suffer a tiny bit of stress for every second of the day wasted, all in all, you karma will and should be stinking up the place like no tomorrow.
And therefore, for knowingly and willingly putting others through this ordeal, the person perpetrating this should die, or at the very least be made to strip down to their underwear and wait for the next bus. With the Dutch climate this will amount to death most likely as well.
And no, people doing this are not people. They are either to stupid to prove that they are (anything that is stupid enough not to win a match of wits to, say, a rock, should not be allowed to claim they are human) or, when smart, are demons in human shape, put on Earth by a vengeful God with the intent of letting you know that yes, yes indeed, you could’ve stayed in a warm bed for those few minutes longer, because you will not arrive at work earlier for the time you sacrificed this morning to get to the freaking bus on time.
And I SWEAR, thou ugliest cow since God himself turned his face away from your family in disgust, should I ever find your mass of wasted flesh in front of me on high stairs or a subway-station, that I will exert the necessary force to let you meet either the bottom of the stairs real fast or the third and electric wire with slower speed but maximum gloating. Think James Bond Villain Style Gloating. (JBVSG WILL be an accepted acronym soon enough)
Or, perhaps, I’ll just raise my eyebrow in a manner so pithy that you will feel forced to take your own life. You would not be first.
If, in this place of peace and happiness, there might also be a BIG FREAKIN’ GUN with which to turn around and SHOOT THE DAMN BEAR, more so the better.
The person: Me. (starring me, but the movie will probably have Michael Pitt) The bear-pit: the Amsterdam local bus (starring the bus, but the bus driver should be played by a loveable and recognizable actress, I’m thinking Betty White, perhaps Angela Lansbury)
The Bear: Don’t know her name, but I’m talking about the woman who needed to sort out her change for the bus this morning and started doing this while standing in front of the innocent driveress of the bus, and ignoring the pleas and bleats for help from the people behind her. (Starring THAT WOMAN, but for the movie I’m thinking an actor or actress who is able to place that kind of…unworldlyness…of..strange inconsideration into the role. Probably the make up Charlize Theron wore in “monster”, only without Charlize, and with the charm of Chucky and the general availability of Michael Myers.)
Now, don’t get me wrong. I think that every man, woman and child has been given free will to be able to make their own choices in life, to be able to take responsibility for their own actions, and that it is not given to others, given to us, in fact, to judge the decisions other people make during the course of any given day. Therefore, as long as it harms me not, I believe with every fiber of my being that every person around me should be allowed to do as they think best in any situation, without influence or judgment from those around them.
The thing is, however, that people like that aren’t really people. And therefore may very well be either judged or influenced.
But mostly judged.
And…sentenced.
Look, in Holland, public transport is a very simple thing. When you don’t have a subscription for public transport there is a “strippenkaart”, a piece of paper with 15 or 45 “strippen”, which are ticked off with use, usually by either the driver/conductor of the ride or in a small machine somewhere on the chosen mode of transport, or on the platform before boarding said transport. So far, so easy. One “strip” is paid as a base cost, and additional “strippen” are paid for the actual journey, calculated by the amount of distance covered, which is measured in zones. For every zone, there is a “strip”. Example, to get from my house to Amsterdam I travel through 5 zones. Therefore, 5 “strippen” + the base cost = 6 “strippen”. The bus driver stamps the sixth “strip” on my “kaart” and I can happily sit or stand anywhere on the bus where my fancy takes me, as long as there is space available for me at this chosen location. Out comes the book, and I mosey along life’s’ highway quite literally unconcerned with the world around me, barring the place where I have to get off, which I signal to the driver by pressing any of the myriad little buttons marked “stop”, after which the driver stops at the next bus stop on the line.
Easy, right?
Ok.. now comes the part where this all gets a bit more difficult… Hang on to your seats…
When you don’t have a subscription, and you don’t have a valid “strippenkaart”, you can buy “strippen” from the bus driver. Because this causes the slight inconvenience of change and explanation beyond just calling out your destination, “strippen” purchased in this manner are a bit expensive. They cost € 0.80 each. Smart readers, and I take it all my readers are smart (aren’t you, readers o’mine, all five of you?) will have deduced from this that the shortest possible bus trip, taking you within a one zone area, and therefore using 2 “strippen” will cost you € 1.60 (the one “strip” for traveling in a zone, plus base cost = 1+1=2 times 0.80 = 1.60)
Journeys that take you further, thereby traveling through or in additional zones will cost an additional € 0.80 per traveled zone.
Advancement of the previous example; when I have forgotten my “strippenkaart” or my subscription has run out and for some strange reason I still need or want to get to work, I have to pay for 6 “strippen” in the bus, which would ring me up for a WHOPPIN’ € 4.80.
Now, no-one can say I am a truly considerate person, not that I am a colossal asshole, but I’m absolutely no Mother Theresa (I look like shite in a white scarf (the name of my mostly still to live autobiography)) but even I know that when I have to pay in the bus, I have to pay in the bus. I usually try to calculate about how much I have to pay, and either have the amount ready in exact change, or give the driver an amount for which change can be supplied in as little time or coinage as possible. This has little to do with consideration, I would like my bus to leave on time and despise change, so naturally getting back as little as possible of it in as little time as conceivable is a good thing, in my world.
Now, on a route that is reasonably often traveled this is easy. One KNOWS how many “strippen” things are gonna take, and can decipher quite easily how much this is gonna cost. But even on a road less traveled this should not be really hard… After all, any amount of “strippen” over any distance, WILL be either € 1.60 or an multiple of € 0.80 above that amount. 1.60-2.40-3.20-4.00-4.80-and so on till the end of the country.
Now, coinage in the Netherlands and most of Europe consists of pieces worth, among others. € 0.10/0.20/0.50/1.00 and 2.00, bills start from € 5.00 upwards.
Granted, the amount 1.60 and possibly 3.20 are a bit hard to change, but most others can be calculated thusly that one would get no more than one or two coins in change. Ideal for people like me.
Regretfully, there are not only people like me….
There are, for instance, people who need to look for their “strippenkaart” while they are already on the bus, usually not a big problem, the driver will allow them to look for it while he drives to the next stop, nine times out of ten. At worst this means they ride for free for a stop, which is no skin of anybodies back.
But there are the ones who handle the bus like I would’ve handled the candy store when I was about six years old. Meaning pointing or grunting in the general direction of what I wanted, and depositing about a month’s worth of saved up small (and I mean SMALL) change on the nearest flat surface, open hand or, in one memorable but extreme case, dog.
Now, the last time I did this I was ADORABLE. Six years old, blond, big blue eyes, bee-sting-type mouth.. Anyone would’ve forgiven me anything, except for the dog…he never was friendly to me ever again.
I am still somewhat adorable, but even I would not dare to do the exact same thing now, not in a candy store, and CERTAINLY not in a bus. Because the problem here is that the driver doesn’t have to but in all likelihood WILL help to sort out the mass of metal (so did the kind people at the candy store, as I’m sure they are still doing for innumerable small children all over the world, they really are the unsung heroes of our times, and I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to them).
This also happened this morning, with the cow in human form looking on as though the driver himself made a doody on the little board thingy he used to count out the money, in stead of this person delivering a smack down of lateness in the shape of a small pile of coins. Granted, this results, mostly, in little or no change for them, but an ENORMOUS amount of lost time. Defeats the purpose of evading change, really.
These people must, simply, be put to death. I have thought about this a good deal, and the only thing to do seems to be to declare them outlaws, so that I can go to the front of the bus and kick them until they are a mere spot on the windshield ore a greasy piece of trampled flesh on the bottom of the bus. More and more I am convinced that should ever a police officer stop me and ask me what I am doing to this person, after explaining my position he will not only lend me his nightstick but will actively help goring the skunk-bitch to kingdom come.
Because you know, not a little suspect, or think, but KNOW, that the bus will be late after you’ve pulled this little stunt. People will miss their connection, be late for work, suffer a tiny bit of stress for every second of the day wasted, all in all, you karma will and should be stinking up the place like no tomorrow.
And therefore, for knowingly and willingly putting others through this ordeal, the person perpetrating this should die, or at the very least be made to strip down to their underwear and wait for the next bus. With the Dutch climate this will amount to death most likely as well.
And no, people doing this are not people. They are either to stupid to prove that they are (anything that is stupid enough not to win a match of wits to, say, a rock, should not be allowed to claim they are human) or, when smart, are demons in human shape, put on Earth by a vengeful God with the intent of letting you know that yes, yes indeed, you could’ve stayed in a warm bed for those few minutes longer, because you will not arrive at work earlier for the time you sacrificed this morning to get to the freaking bus on time.
And I SWEAR, thou ugliest cow since God himself turned his face away from your family in disgust, should I ever find your mass of wasted flesh in front of me on high stairs or a subway-station, that I will exert the necessary force to let you meet either the bottom of the stairs real fast or the third and electric wire with slower speed but maximum gloating. Think James Bond Villain Style Gloating. (JBVSG WILL be an accepted acronym soon enough)
Or, perhaps, I’ll just raise my eyebrow in a manner so pithy that you will feel forced to take your own life. You would not be first.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Valentine's day!!!!
So... Valentine's day 2000, and I don't really beleive in Valentine's day as such, so it wasn't a real problem for megoing to a party the night before knowing I wouldn't be in till six and I would be sleeping away the entire blasted 14th of Feruary. After all, I was single, had no secret admirers (and if I did no-one told ME!) and was going to be more than happy to spend the day in a self-induced coma. I had some friends comig over later in the afternoon, but I would be up again by then.
All's well, the party ruled, I was payed a tidy sum for the pleasure of turning up in a tux and leading a friend of a friend around a dancefloor, and I got home about six, landing on my bed around half sixish and drifting off to nowhere in particular not too long after, blessed sleep... Well... light outside..damn...up again, close curtain..sleep...not sleep....turn...not sleep... ah! Spot, warmth..sleezzmm.
That is, untill I hear the bell ring (the hallway&gallery were next to my bedroom)... But my mom's home and I can hear her stumble to the door and open it.
A flapping of leather and an exciting squeak later my mom gently opens my bedroom door and tells me there is someone here to see me.
Grumblng and mumbling I try to get myself to the front door, after having bumped into a couple of walls I actually succeed, open the door and there stands Vanessa, one of the friends coming over. A quick check of the watch tells me it's about ten in the morning, and a quick check is all I get because the sound of flapping leather is back again. And back it is, in fact, because Vanessa has pulled open her long red leather coat. showing off her long red leather boots, and the belly burron ring saying I*heart*Kevin.
She also easily managed to show off the fact that she trimmed her pubic hair into an interesting heart shape and the fact that she was apparently not feeling much of the cold (it was FEBRUARY, for chrissakes) except round the nipplish area, it was a shame I had no planes of glass I needed to cut.
At this point in time the people that life in my head had a sort of discussion... one side of me really, really wanted to go to sleep, one part of me was to shocked to do anything, and another part was, well, apreciating the view. Shamefully, the part that wanted to sleep was biggest andf managed to win the fight, so the other parts of me watched me telling her we had an appointment for that afternoon and closing the door again.
Not smart.
When I realized what was happening the door was shut, and opening it swiftly and looking outside meant I could see her booting down the gallery towards the stariwell, RIGHTEOUSLY (and rightly) pissed off and very clearly nt speaking to me anymore.
Suffice it to say, Valentine's day was spend on the phone. First calling Vanessa to apologize (not really succesfully, as such) and then to a collection of mutual friends who might've tipped me off. (surprises, as anyone should have gathered, are wasted on me)
She eventually spoke to me again, but Valentine's day has held a specific dread for me since then..
And now, in the run-up to Valentine's day, for the first time in years I am in a relationship. Dreadfull thought. And my bf has a long leather coat.
It is a good thing I no longer live at home... My mom didn't really like the wake=up-pussy and she might be even more perturbed by, well...
We'll see..
Anyway, I've been to "the descent" last week, and "jarhead" both excellent movies, in their own right.
Descent is about a group of friends who gave exploring a cave system, getting lost/stuck and getting on each others nerves. The internal psychology of the group has been ecxcellenly done, and it nearly overrules the fact that they are also hunted by, well, things. I'm not saying what type of things, but they pulled a heartfelt "FUCKTHAT" from me and people needed to pry me off the ceiling after the things first real appearance.
Go see it, it's worth never entering a cave EVER AGAIN.
Jarhead is about US marines in the gulf war, a dismal prospect as any, but handled with such sarcastic irony and wit that it becomes engrossing, and very powerfull. Beutiful cinematography and camerawork, the acting is allright, and the sight of a buffed up Jake Gillenhaal in nothing but a christmas-hat (regretfully strategically placed) does onders for the spirit...
Till next time,
Kevin.
PS. one of my last posts seems to have read like a suicide note...can anyone tell me which one and why? Cause I don't see it...
All's well, the party ruled, I was payed a tidy sum for the pleasure of turning up in a tux and leading a friend of a friend around a dancefloor, and I got home about six, landing on my bed around half sixish and drifting off to nowhere in particular not too long after, blessed sleep... Well... light outside..damn...up again, close curtain..sleep...not sleep....turn...not sleep... ah! Spot, warmth..sleezzmm.
That is, untill I hear the bell ring (the hallway&gallery were next to my bedroom)... But my mom's home and I can hear her stumble to the door and open it.
A flapping of leather and an exciting squeak later my mom gently opens my bedroom door and tells me there is someone here to see me.
Grumblng and mumbling I try to get myself to the front door, after having bumped into a couple of walls I actually succeed, open the door and there stands Vanessa, one of the friends coming over. A quick check of the watch tells me it's about ten in the morning, and a quick check is all I get because the sound of flapping leather is back again. And back it is, in fact, because Vanessa has pulled open her long red leather coat. showing off her long red leather boots, and the belly burron ring saying I*heart*Kevin.
She also easily managed to show off the fact that she trimmed her pubic hair into an interesting heart shape and the fact that she was apparently not feeling much of the cold (it was FEBRUARY, for chrissakes) except round the nipplish area, it was a shame I had no planes of glass I needed to cut.
At this point in time the people that life in my head had a sort of discussion... one side of me really, really wanted to go to sleep, one part of me was to shocked to do anything, and another part was, well, apreciating the view. Shamefully, the part that wanted to sleep was biggest andf managed to win the fight, so the other parts of me watched me telling her we had an appointment for that afternoon and closing the door again.
Not smart.
When I realized what was happening the door was shut, and opening it swiftly and looking outside meant I could see her booting down the gallery towards the stariwell, RIGHTEOUSLY (and rightly) pissed off and very clearly nt speaking to me anymore.
Suffice it to say, Valentine's day was spend on the phone. First calling Vanessa to apologize (not really succesfully, as such) and then to a collection of mutual friends who might've tipped me off. (surprises, as anyone should have gathered, are wasted on me)
She eventually spoke to me again, but Valentine's day has held a specific dread for me since then..
And now, in the run-up to Valentine's day, for the first time in years I am in a relationship. Dreadfull thought. And my bf has a long leather coat.
It is a good thing I no longer live at home... My mom didn't really like the wake=up-pussy and she might be even more perturbed by, well...
We'll see..
Anyway, I've been to "the descent" last week, and "jarhead" both excellent movies, in their own right.
Descent is about a group of friends who gave exploring a cave system, getting lost/stuck and getting on each others nerves. The internal psychology of the group has been ecxcellenly done, and it nearly overrules the fact that they are also hunted by, well, things. I'm not saying what type of things, but they pulled a heartfelt "FUCKTHAT" from me and people needed to pry me off the ceiling after the things first real appearance.
Go see it, it's worth never entering a cave EVER AGAIN.
Jarhead is about US marines in the gulf war, a dismal prospect as any, but handled with such sarcastic irony and wit that it becomes engrossing, and very powerfull. Beutiful cinematography and camerawork, the acting is allright, and the sight of a buffed up Jake Gillenhaal in nothing but a christmas-hat (regretfully strategically placed) does onders for the spirit...
Till next time,
Kevin.
PS. one of my last posts seems to have read like a suicide note...can anyone tell me which one and why? Cause I don't see it...
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