Oh shit, a new Final Fantasy XIII character! What’s her name?!?!

Oorba Yun Fang.

…

No seriously Ian, what’s her name!

Oorba Yun Fang

…

Square, what the fuck! Seriously, this ridiculousness with your names is getting awful. It’s almost Tekken bad. Well, Fing Fang Foom can summon Bahamut, and she’s also got a retarded tribal tattoo like half the guys at your local gym!

Fing Fang Foom was revealed in a trailer last month or some shit, and you can check out the scan she’s featured in by clicking on this link.

I’ve documented my love for the women of Mad Men throughout this blog. Usually I’m waxing philosophic about the curves of Christina Hendricks. But I suppose I can give it up for the American Dream Ideal of this one January Jones, if it involves the actress playing that rocking an insane amount of cleavage.

Well done, Mrs. Draper.

A dude I went to high school with and a bunch of his friends have apparently filmed a movie. Fucking crazy. As a dude who spends his time desperately wanting even a minimal amount of recognition for toiling with the word, I can only do a solid by passing along word of his movie. The movie’s called Self Helpless, and apparently it’s showing at a bunch of film festivals and shit. Well done. You can check out the trailer after the jump.

Keep Reading »

I stole this picture of Pepsibones today while he was drumming. His kit is above our family’s garage, and so he usually enters the loft to rock the fuck out. I initially wanted to ask him a question, but seeing him in the middle of a rock session, I didn’t want to intrude.

I’m a big fan of this shitty picture for several reasons. First, my brother is god damn amazing at the drums, but he doesn’t have much time to play them between school and student teaching. So whenever I hear his heavy metal thunder echoing across our yard, it generally brings a smile to my face. You know, just hearin’ him do his thang. And secondly, I love the fact that he’s drumming out in his dress pants and dress shirt. It’s dapper as hell. It’s metal meets GQ.

As intimated in previous post, OCTOBERFEAST is going to get pretty damn metal. Since its inception heavy metal has been identified as sharing genetic material with Halloween — a predilection for the occult, the subversion of the innocent and a profound respect for Satan. Of the metal family tree, the cousin most closely related to Hallow’s Eve would have to be DEATH METAL!

Hailing from the uber-metal Sweden, Opeth are goddamn masters of heavy metal. The mindchild of Mikael Akerfeldt, Opeth can alternatively play the heaviest shit imaginable and ballads that will make you weep. Unlike a lot of metal acts, Akerfeldt’s growls are balanced with a crooning sweet enough to lullaby a baby to sleep. With stylistic versatility, musical virtuosity and a knack for tune-crafting, Opeth are in a league of their own.

Yes, these Swedish rockers are capable of holding their own against the songwriters of most genres. But this is OCTOBERFEAST, so I’m going to focus in on Opeth’s ability to conjure the Devil. In fact, I’m fairly certain that The Grand Conjuration is about just such a divinely-defiant act.

The Grand Conjuration is the seventh track of Ghost Reveries, a loose concept album [arguably] about one man’s emotional distress after killing his own mother.  This track in particular  seems to be some sort of an appeal to the Dark Lord himself.

The hands of Satan
Assembling his flock.
Pale horse rider
Scouring the earth.

Whispered conjuration –
A belief takes form.
Choking hand tapping
The veins in your throat.

His orders in your mouth
A decree for domination.
Beneath the tides of wisdom
Spins the undertow of hate.

I’m not 100% sure what the above lyrics mean, but I know that they’re fucking evil. I can just picture a dark priest from a Stephen King novel reciting those lines as he prepares to sacrifice a school bus of Girl Scouts.

As an added bonus, the music video for The Grand Conjuration is a perfect treat for any OCTOBERFEAST evening. In addition to the standard “dudes in an empty warehouse” motif, the video features trash-can fires, rats, and interrogations conducted by a creep who looks like a  cross between Zorro and Frank Miller’s The Spirit (yes — Frank Miller’s, not Will Eisner’s).

Also, because Gene Hoglan was touring with Opeth at the time he makes an appearance. An automatic +5 points.

I’m not sure if the Devil listens to music. But if He does, I’d like to think He’s an Opeth fan.

Fuck Paul Pierce, Uncharted 2 is the truth. I’ve played the game for about three hours this morning. And? Impressions?

First off, Nathan Drake has stunning neck hair. Most dudes know neck hair. It grows way faster than your regular hair. Mine seems to grow at roughly four-times the speed of my regular hair. And so every two weeks I make Pepsibones or my girlfriend shave it off with my Mach 17-Powerglide or whatever my razor happens to be.

Why is it even worth mentioning? The level of detail in Uncharted 2 is stunning. Naughty Dog has paid attention to all the little nuances that make this game absolutely gleam. I mean, seriously, they’ve spent enough time to give Drake neck hair. It isn’t even something I’d even think to incorporate.

Check out the characters in cut scenes. Especially the ones who aren’t speaking. They move their fingers, they shift their weight, their facial expressions are minimal but apparent.

Everything is ridiculously polished, every scene seems to be taken with exceptional care.

And secondly, I am really digging the way they’ve constructed the narrative. They’ve taken the J.J. Abrams’ special and incorporated it into a video game. You know the one I’m talking about – they start the character in the middle of a catastrophe, and then they cut back to the very beginning of the tale. It’s very reminiscent of how ODST was told, but I’m more impressed with its use in this title. Why? I think it’s because the lynch pin of the “current” moment was the faceless Rookie. Whereas in Uncharted 2, it’s a bloodied, destroyed Nathan Drake in the middle of some frozen tundrea.

I think the game begins with Drake saying, “This is my blood. This is lots of my blood.” Immediately I was snagged. Where the fuck is he, how the fuck did he get there, and why is he bleeding profusely.

Thirdly, the dialogue is great. The interaction between Drake and Sully is so generic buddy-adventure, but it’s done so well.

More as I play through this sexy collection of polygons. If you own a PS3 you owe it to your fun glands to snag this title.

OCTOBERFEAST just wouldn’t be the same without the lovely recess that is Columbus Day.

Personally, I couldn’t care less about Christopher Columbus himself. Yeah, his travels really paved the way for European exploration of the New World. I guess that’s pretty cool. But it’s kind of hard to overlook the raping/pillaging/plundering aspects of his genocide. So in that regard, he’s pretty lame.

More important than the Christopher Columbus is the holiday bearing his name. I am a firm believer that human beings need days off. Without the occasional three-day weekend, society is apt to implode. If the only way to officially cancel a workday is to replace it with a bogus holiday, then by all means go for it.

The usefulness of Columbus Day reveals itself it many different ways. For college students, this first three-day weekend of the semester provides an excuse to travel back home, attempt a road trip or just enjoy an extra day of binge drinking.

For sports fans, Columbus Day provides an otherwise absent opportunity to nurse post-game hangovers. This is  an appreciated prospect, considering that the MLB playoffs are in full-swing, NFL action is heating up, the NHL season is beginning and the NBA preseason is looking to come to a close.

And for many more, Columbus Day is a chance to enjoy autumn. With a full day’s freedom, it is a lot easier to plan a trip to an apple orchard or pumpkin patch. Living in the suburbs, it seems to me that this is the day that the neighbors start tossing scarecrows and goofy Halloween decorations onto their front porches and lawns. I’m not sure if agricultural competitions are the October-thing-to-do everywhere, but residents of the greater Boston region use this day to get their asses to Topsfield.

Truthfully, I always try to use the holiday as an extra day of rest. While I always find OCTOBERFEAST to be the  most pleasurable of all seasons, it is also generally when I’m at my busiest. Today I made a point to lounge around, eating too much food and trying to catch up on some television I’ve been missing; I can’t say that the combination of caramel apples and Californication is a bad one. I haven’t been terribly productive — and this is a design with which I am comfortable.

In the case that you had to work today, I offer my sympathies. At the very least you can take comfort in the fact that we’re well on our way to Halloween.

Oh, and just in case you’re unfamiliar with the exploits of Christopher Columbus – the video below is a hard-hitting documentary about the explorer.

Monday Morning Commute.

Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me the arts that you’re indulging in, to stave off suicide. Check out my list after the jump:

Keep Reading »

Since the dawn of the cinema, an incalculable number of feature films have been produced. Some are good, others are atrocious, and most are some shade of cookie-cutter meh. The members of this homogenous body are usually enjoyed at the time and then forgotten for the rest of eternity. And I’m fine with that — more than fine with it, really.

I have a problem when it seems as though people forget about quality pictures.

There are a lot of movies that deal with ghouls, ghosts, and all the other staples of the supernatural world around which we base Halloween. But I have a terrible feeling (about this!) that today’s heaping of OCTOBERFEAST has been largely forgotten by pop culture. I can’t remember the last time I saw this movie on television or referenced in a bullshit Top 10 Best Something or Others list. And it’s a damn shame because the movie is a wonderful intersection of comedy, horror, zany special effects, and Michael Keaton.

I’m talking about Beetlejuice.

Let’s  hop in the Delorean and go back to a time  before  Tim Burton only made movies  so that studios would  cut fat checks to Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter. Back in the day, Burton made some genuinely unique movies that weren’t afraid to take chances. I dare you to watch Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure and suggest that it is anything other than an extraordinary journey, told with a self-awareness and darkness that only reinforces the humor. In fact, I probably don’t have to tell you to watch Pee-Wee because you most likely remember it.

And so I return to Beetlejuice, a strangely overlooked classic. This movie sees the young couple of Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis just trying to enjoy their time in a relaxing rural home. But since this is a movie and therefore requires a conflict, they die. Shortly after they bite the dust, Baldwin and Davis realize that they’re actually ghosts! Unfortunately, their house has been sold to a couple of new-age yuppie scumbags and their goth teenage daughter named Winona Ryder.

Befriending Winona, Alex and Geena try to figure out a way to scare the yuppies into leaving. With no luck on their own, they look to the assistance of Betelgeuse — a perverted ghost whose business lay in conducting reverse-exorcisms. Even with his relatively limited screen time, Michael Keaton shines as the self-proclaimed ghost with the most.

Betelgeuse is a crass, vulgar misogynist with whom you cannot help but laugh. He’s fucking hysterical. When questioned about his qualifications in convincing living beings to vacate the premises, Betelgeuse retorts:

Ah. Well… I attended Juilliard… I’m a graduate of the Harvard business school. I travel quite extensively. I lived through the Black Plague and had a pretty good time during that. I’ve seen the EXORCIST ABOUT A HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SEVEN TIMES, AND IT KEEPS GETTING FUNNIER EVERY SINGLE TIME I SEE IT… NOT TO MENTION THE FACT THAT YOU’RE TALKING TO A DEAD GUY… NOW WHAT DO YOU THINK? You think I’m qualified?

Also, it was because of Beetlejuice that I learned there is a time and place for swear-words. No more than four years old, I emulated the title character by kicking the air and proclaiming, “Nice fucking model!” My mom told me that I shouldn’t have used the sentence’s middle word…but she did so with a smile.

"I gotta show up at shopping centers for openings and sign autographs and shit like that and it makes my life a hell. Okay? A living hell."

I’m not doing this movie justice. Just trust me on this one — Beetlejuice rules. If you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favor and buy/rent/download a copy and enjoy. If you have seen it, give it the respect it deserves. The fact that Beetlejuice is forgotten while Rob Zombie’s Halloween remakes are the objects of salivation brings tears to my eyes.

Believe it or not, The Simpsons was once a great television show. In fact, I would argue that in its prime (somewhere in the mid-to-late 1990’s) The Simpsons was fucking untouchable. Marge vs. the Monorail? Twenty-Two Short Films About Springfield? The Itchy & Scratchy and Poochy Show? Episodes like these embody the spirit of the sitcom at its absolute finest.

So while its epic nose-dive has been enough to keep me away for the last decade, I still feel warm, fuzzy things for The Simpsons. Some of the warmest and fuzziest of these funny feelings are connected to Treehouse of Horror — the show’s annual Halloween special.

Every year, Treehouse of Horror would take everyone’s favorite family from Evergreen Terrace through parodies of horror & science fiction movies, strangely murderous tales and other similarly bizarre romps. It was insanity — the residents of Springfield killing one another before my very eyes! I guess part of the charm was that for one episode every season, the best show on television took it upon itself to make kooky stories about the zany shit I love.

Also, Treehouse of Horror always featured Kang & Kodos, two of the best alien characters of all-time. I think it was in the `96 episode that they inhabited the bodies of Bill Clinton & Bob Dole, then ran against each other for president. Genius.

Kang & Kodos hoping to hitch a ride.

Maybe I’ve constructed a false memory, but I really think that I remember coming home from trick-or-treating and watching Treehouse of Horror. As an eight-year-old, there was no better feeling than stuffing my face full of candy, paying my dad off with Almond Joys to look the other way, and watching Homer Simpson do silly shit. That was the life.

I’m not so sure that The Simpsons will ever reclaim the glory it once possessed. But at least once a year, when the pumpkins are screaming in terror as their captors approach them with kitchen-knives in hand, I’ll think of Treehouse of Horror and smile.