“I wanna be, I wanna be, I wanna be like Mike.”

Last night I went to this place is this uber-rich/land of plenty asshole section of Orlando called Millenia. They have this fancy mall there and an Ikea store. Anyway, at this mall, they have this place called the Blue Martini. So I went there last night with a gathering of people for some person’s birthday whom I never met. But I decide to put on my best. A button down shirt with my regular jeans (you know, the jeans I wear every single day) and my 2 year-old Pumas (complete with holes and such). But the guy at the door wouldn’t let me in with that, until I “hooked him up” with some bills.

I obliged. This wasn’t/isn’t my scene at all but it’s been about 48 hours since my last drink and something needed to be done.

About an hour later, we all walk outside but on our way out, this tall motherfucker walks by us. This guy in the group says, in a Scottish accent, “Shite man, do you know who that was?” I look back and the tall man is gone. “No dude, who was it?” “That was Michael fucking Jordan.”

Apparently this Blue Martini place is an infamous hangout of his. I guess he goes there every time he is in town. But I don’t watch basketball, so I kept walking outside.

Later, I had to go back in and pay my tab. On the way out for good, I look over to the VIP section he is sitting in. Sure enough, it was Michael Jordan. That guy from those underwear commercials with Cuba Gooding Jr. I remember him in Spike Lee’s He Got Game though he was only in it for 6 seconds. And nightmares prevent me from forgetting Space Jam.

But there he sat, watching some basketball game on one of the televisions, with his hoop pirate earing glistening in the dim light. Who sat next to him? Tiger Woods, with his signature smile and a pink polo. It was weird. I know balls about sports but I understand that these are two of the best players of their sport ever. Patrick Ewing was also there but I didn’t see him.

On my way out for the night, I passed by that section. I looked over again, out of pure curiosity, and noticed Jordan looking somewhat in my direction. So I raised my fist at him, gave him a fistagon if you will, and he returned the gesture with a half smile and a head nod. It was a good night.

He Got Game (5/2008)

We May be Through with the Past…

But the past ain’t through with us… (5/2008)

What’s Your Excuse? – 2008

This entry is recycled – it was a piece written for Film Threat a few years ago. It’s a sad story with some pictures I drew with Microsoft Paint. Now that my artistry has matured and such, I figured to revisit the piece. Firstly, you should check out the original by clicking these pretty words. Here is the original text for those too lazy to click. There are also two examples of each picture, the top one being the older one and the bottom being the remastered version. Think of this as the George Lucas of blogging. Remaking my own shit, thinking it’ll be better when in reality, it won’t be…

Big Trouble in Little China (4/2006)

Big Trouble in Little China Redux (5/2008)

People sure were stupid in 1986. In July of that year, John Carpenter’s amazing film of adventure and intrigue, Big Trouble in Little China, was released in cinemas. The sad thing there was no one really saw it. It was a “bomb” if you will. Not “Tha Bomb” (although the film is indeed Tha Bomb), it was a regular bomb, like the kind that dude in the woods used to make and mail to people.

This movie is so good. But no one saw it. 20 years later, people are still just as stupid. Slither leaked out of theaters faster than a blink of the eye, yet, Scary Movie 4 is pulling in an astonishing amount of coin. I guess the point of that story is we (the audience I mean) will always be a little dumb. That’s what makes being alive so much fun.

I have an excuse for missing Big Trouble in Little China in its theatrical glory. It was 1986, a year I’ll never forget, and perhaps one of the worst years in my life. I was about 5 years old then. My parents’ tumultuous relationship was coming to a close. They divorced that year. I don’t remember caring all that much about the separation (even then I thought divorced ruled because people that shouldn’t be together should indeed go their own ways) but I did care because I wouldn’t see my dad everyday anymore.

Tears of ‘86 (4/2006)

Tears of ‘86 Redux (5/2008)

I was indeed sad. A few months after that happened, in a winter month, my good dog (a German Shepherd for you dog people) decided to call it quits. I walked out to his little doggie house to give him some food and water and I found him lying on his side. “Hey Corky, you okay?” I asked. “No, I don’t feel too good today,” he replied. I went back into the house and told my mom. She then called my dad. I then went back outside to kick it with Corky, who was still just lying there on the ground, motionless except for his chest moving in and out as he inhaled and exhaled.

My dad arrived moments later with his old Nissan Sentra station wagon. He said, “This doesn’t look too good Mike. I am going to take him to the vet now.” He rolled Corky up in a blanket and put him in the back seat. My dad then hugged me and said, “You might want to say goodbye to him now.” I knew when he said it that I would never see Corky again. I looked into the window and Corky looked back at me. I gave him a little wave, then watched my dad drive off. I never did see Corky again.

No More Corky (4/2006)

No More Corky Redux (5/2008)

1986 was indeed a terrible year. My dad and mom split, my dog died, my first hamster died (I left that part out on purpose) and Big Trouble in Little China was financially screwed. Being only five years-old, growing up with a single working mom, I never found a ride to theater that year to see Big Trouble. I was sad.

The following year or so, HBO decided to play the hell out of this movie. Thankfully, my mom still had HBO, so I watched it every time it was on. My mom used to actually get angry because everytime she came home from work, I was watching a crappy VHS dub she made for me. I must have seen that movie 237892344 times by now. And I love every second of it, still to this day.

To John Carpenter and Kurt Russell, I am sorry that I didn’t see your film in the theater. I highly doubt my 1986 dollars would have helped you or the film anyway, but it’s the thought that counts. I have since purchased it on VHS and DVD (the awesome 2-disc spectacular) to make up for the trouble.

When are you guys going to get back together and make another good movie? Do it for Corky.

Isn’t that quite a tale? Notice how my art skills really haven’t improved much over the years?

Indiana Jones and the Raping of My Eye Sockets

You didn’t think this was for a coherent plot, did you? (5/2008)

Before you little bitches cry, note that there are oncoming spoilers. Don’t read any further if you expect to be “surprised” by the shit storm film that is Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. There was enough rodent action in this movie for it to be labeled Caddyshack 3…

There was a midnight screening last night of the new Indy flick. As you know, my love for midnight movies is huge, as it is for a few mates of mine. We were 5 last night. We hit up a local bar, where they had Coors Light cans for a dollar each, and drank a few. Needless to say, we were pumped. The trailer of the film promised some cheesy pulp action. Plus, it couldn’t be worse than Temple of Doom, right?

Wrong. This movie is a computer-animated nightmare, with failed comedic timing, bad characters (Cate Blanchett), uninspired action set pieces, elements that have introductions but no conclusions (I seem to recall something about psychic abilities) and did I mention really fucking awful CG? This is the kind of movie that early reviewers seem to praise, only for the fact that, well, “It’s an Indy film.”

That’s like saying that Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones is a really good Star Wars film. In fact, these two film sort of compare rather easily. There is some hideous romance angle, a lack of climax (an interesting one anyway), and a slew of messy action scenes. George Lucas loves to fuck you.

There was word around the internet campfire that amazing writer Frank Darabont (Shawshank Redemption, The Mist) wrote a draft of the screenplay, but was ultimately turned down by none other than Lucas himself (though Spielberg liked it). When said interweb phantoms got their hands on the script, it was noted that it dealt a lot of with “aliens” and “area 51.”

That’s pretty fucking interesting. Regardless, David Koepp (Spider-Man – fuck) took over the writing. And, it’s exactly what you’d expect from that dude. Did I mention he also scripted that awful Cruise-filled War of the Worlds a few years ago? But I digress.

So I watched this movie and what did I see? “Aliens” and “area 51″ (as well as swinging monkeys and giant ants) – the same shit these certain internet fags mentioned was in the earlier script but was hated on. “Indiana Jones and aliens? That’s lame!” some would say. But those same internet bastards, who wrote of the potential badness of the earlier screenplay, loved every miserable ounce – aliens and all. How could that first script been any worse than this?

I want another Indiana Jones movie. Not because I want the raping of a cherished franchise to continue, but because I want to see Indy again. He wasn’t here, in this movie. It was someone else. Like how the John McClane we all know and love was absent from Live Free or Die Hard. That movie felt so out of place, much like this one. This was not the Indy I loved.

Who knew that the only fucking person on the planet who could actually re-ignite an old franchise properly is Sylvester Stallone? He did it two times – Rocky and Rambo. Sylvester “my career has been in the shitter since Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot – Stallone should have made the last Die Hard, the new Indy, and any other franchise that wishes to start up again.

Iron Man is still the summer movie to beat. I never thought that I, hater of most superhero movies, would pick one as the best movie of the summer. What is wrong with the world?

Dear Orlando,

Goodbye my friends… (5/2008)

The time is finally here, old friend. Come June of 2008, I will be exited your limits forever, never to return for residence or employment. I moved to your town back in August of 1999 so you can’t say I didn’t try. I exasperated all of your resources, met everyone I possibly could have, and done all I could within that time. There is nothing more for me here. We just weren’t meant to be. We have completely opposite tastes. You like hot weather and tourists, I like cool breezes and hate tourists. You spend a lot of your time building useless condos in your downtown area, instead of actual affordable places for your residents to live. You don’t have that many well paying jobs in your city… who the fuck is moving into these places?

So I am moving from you. Leaving your limits.

Whatever, I don’t care. We are over. The only thing I will miss about you are the friendships I created. You had nothing to do with those either, because most of those people hated you too. Most of them have already left. I’d be nowhere without the people I’ve met here.

It is true however, that I fucked up a great deal of my relationships with people in this town and I have lived with that regret for longer than I care to remember. For the last time, I will offer them an apology, from the bottom of my heart. Shit happened in the past and there is nothing I can do about it, no matter how bad I want to. All I can do now is move forward. Maybe they can too. I’m done with it though. My chest has burned too long. As Clutch once sang, “You can’t stop, you can’t stop progress.”

I am going to take this next year of my life and dedicate it to me. You see, a couple of friends of mine offered me a chance to stay at one of their rental properties in a city far away. The upside? They say I wouldn’t have to pay rent. That would help me more than you could ever know. In a year’s time, I’d be so financially stable, I would be able to move anywhere on the planet. That has been my dream for longer than I can remember. The downside to that? This house is located in the town I came from. I vowed never to live in that city ever again, but never has an opportunity struck me like this before.

This decision didn’t come easy either. I’ve been contemplating it for months, without mentioning a word to anyone. A lot of shit has happened this past year – like a lack of employment, work skills, and not being admitted into any graduate programs – that has caused me to take a look at my life. All of my failures will only lead to my success, and my misery to my enlightenment. I have no direction in life anymore, so this decision to move back home (even though none of my family lives there anymore) actually kind of makes sense. I’ve always been proud to say, “Man, I never had to move back home, not even for a summer.” Everyone else I know has done that, at least once in their lives. Now it is my time.

It’s going to be good. It’ll give me time to think, like when Billy Idol sinks another drink. I will be able to test those new teaching skills I have acquired, and provide me with some experience. I can put focus into re-applying myself to graduate programs, only this time none of them will be film related. Writing about film used to be something I was quite interested in. Actually, it was the only thing I was interested in. But I know now that this skill can and will be nothing more than a hobby. How can I treat it as a hobby when it was the only thing I was ever good at? I didn’t have skills to do anything else with my life. But perhaps I do now. So my film writing days are over.

I guess that is all I have to say about that. Nothing you will say to me is going to change my mind. This is this, and that is that. I’m letting you go, old friend. I’ve lived within your walls longer than I have lived in any other city in my life. That is quite an accomplishment but it is one that has to end. You take care of yourself kid. Be well.

Sincerely,

Mike Bronson

P.S. Please take care of my people who still live within you. I love them all and wish them nothing but happiness.

Dear Weezer,

There was a time in my life when I was proud to say I was a fan of yours. Even with our rocky start, which I’ll explain in a few moments, your music flowed around the walls of my bedroom more often than not.

And it’s kind of odd too. When your first album (now dubbed The Blue Album) came out, I was going through this odd phase of music. Punk in Drublic came out that same year too, and since it was so different than most of the shit any 13 year-old kid had access to, I didn’t give a shit about that Happy Days song.

Then some kid on my bus told me I had to go home and listen to it. “Okay dude,” I said with an open mind. So I listened to it. Surprisingly, it rocked my balls. Especially that song about the garage. I even sent you guys a SASE, like the liner notes suggested, and received your photocopied lyric sheet 6-8 weeks later. I was that inspired.

Pinkerton was released a few years later, when I was in high school. The day it came out, I didn’t have wheels yet of my own, so I called this pink-haired chick I knew. She had a car. She came over and I was like, “Can you run me up to the store?” She replied, “What for?” When I told her I wanted to get the new Weezer album, she was a little less than enthused. She obliged anyway.

They only had it on cassette in this store I went to. “Whatever,” I thought. She didn’t want to listen to it on the way back to my house though. Instead, she played some Soul Coughing. Regardless, I gave it a good listen to when I got home and loved the less poppy/more lyrically inspired approach the group took. The press wasn’t so optimistic though, and Rolling Stone named it one of the worst albums of the year. Add that to the fact that no one actually bought the album, and you got yourself more than enough reasons for Weezer to call it quits. I was sad for the first year or two, until I forgot about it.

In 2001, there were rumblings about that the Weez would be back in full force (minus one of the pivotal members). I was somewhat curious but never gave it much thought until an album release date was posted. A few weeks before the album came out, I heard this awful song on the radio. The song was called “Hash Pipe” and I heard it more often than not. I was quite curious to find out what shitty new-school poppy alternative band sung this song. It sounded like the Local H of 2001.

I went to a midnight release party for the record and picked it up. On the way home, I popped the disc in my CD player and prepared myself for the good. Ultimately, the first 2 songs sounded exactly the same and in short, they were lame. It’s after the second song ended, when it happened.

“What’s this?” I asked. It was fucking “Hash Pipe”. “Unholy Lord,” I thought, “how can this voice-piercing shit be Weezer? Say it ain’t so!” But it was. This song was indeed Weezer – but not good Weezer. This was new Weezer. The rest of the album was just as disappointing and similar. In fact, to this day, I’ve only given that album 4 listens before ultimately retiring it to the bowels of my CD collection. I felt defeated.

Maladroit came out the following year and while it was a large improvement over the wretched Green Album, it still couldn’t hold a piece of deuce to Blue or Pinkerton. I listened to that album about 8 times before retiring it. It was about this time that I called it almost quits with the group.

I wouldn’t end up retiring the band from my mind and memories until 2005. They made an “album” (if that’s what you call it) called Make Believe. I was actually somewhat pumped to hear it, as Rick Rubin’s name was attached. Unfortunately for us, Make Believe was a giant piece of shit. Ever see that 2girls1cup video? That substance in the cup that these ladies were chewing on/painting with, was the new Weezer album. It was that stinky, wretched and awful. It would be the first Weezer album I wouldn’t purchase. They were dead to me.

Now, in 2008, it appears they have a new album coming out next month. I’ve heard about 3 or 4 tracks off it and all I can say is that if you thought Make Believe was awful, these tracks prove that Weezer have sunk to a new low. The Weezer we 90s kids grew up loving have long since been murdered.

What happened to you guys? You guys were so good. Did the Pinkerton fiasco really hurt you guys this much? How is it possible for a band to suck this much? You’re like the new Limp Bizkit but without the metal. So I have a proposition for you…

Your new album is called The Red Album, right (I guess your talents can easily be compared to your lack of album naming skills)? How about this. If I get everyone I know to buy a copy of it, will you then take that money and stop making albums? I am asking you to break up, forever. Would you be interested in that? If you keep going the way you are, everything you’ve accomplished in your early years will have been for nothing, like M. Night Shyamalan.

That is all I ask of you. Me, one of your ex-biggest fans, asking a simple request from one of his ex-favorite bands, like a dying cancer kid getting one last wish. Will you please just do this one thing for me? The songs on the radio suck enough without your awful imput.

Stop it… no, you stop it! (5/2008)

Take care of yourselves.

Regards,

Mike Bronson

Rapist and Shark Versus You

This post is meant to serve as warning to all rapists and sharks out there. Actually, more like a repellent to said creatures. Is someone trying enter one of your orifices that shouldn’t be? Don’t do what everyone else thinks you should do… do not go for the balls. Do not punch a rapist or a shark in the balls. That would just piss them off. You’re liable to get punched so hard, you’ll get knocked out. Next thing you know, you woke with someone’s boys and girls oozing out of you, or with one of your legs missing.

So I propose a new strategy. Go for the fucking eyes. Let them get close to you – real close. Then, take a good hold of their head with your fingers, and JAM your fucking thumb so hard into their eye sockets, their poor little balls of optic delight ooze out of the socket.

“But why would I do that? That’s so disgusting.”

Because if you blind them, they won’t be able to see you. They will flail their arms in crazy directions but you can just get up and run/swim away. Turning them into Ray Charles is much better than the alternatives. Plus, think about how badass you’ d be to your friends and neighbors. Use your thumbs.

The Eyes of a Rapist (5/2008)

Speed Racer and the Epileptic Seizure…

Last Thursday, I attended a midnight screening at an IMAX theater (that’s a theater with a screen bigger than your mom’s ass – it’s huge) of Speed Racer. The film was directed by the Brothers Wachowski (or is it ’siblings’ now that one of them has become a woman?), the same duo behind the lame Matrix trilogy.

The movie was nothing shy of awful, which was to be expected, but I still went and saw it due to my undying love for midnight movies. Plus I’ve never seen a movie on an IMAX screen before. Fucking thing is huge. It was like I was watching a movie on the side of a building. HUGE. The main problem with said screen was the actual motion picture showing on it. To say Speed Racer’s visuals are seizure-inducing is being rather kind. Speed Racer never stopped moving. It was like the Wachowskis put a children’s kaleidescope in front of the camera before shooting. Imagine looking through a kaleidescope for 2 hours and change. Actually, imagine looking through a kaleidescope the size of a building for 2 hours… that’s no good for business. In fact, I still see it every time I close my eyes. And it’s 4 days later…

Christmas Trees Aren’t This Flashy (5/2008)

The “Grand Theft Auto IV” Entry…

There was about a 9 year period (1999 – 2008) of my life where I didn’t own a video game system. When I was a kid, NES (Nintendo Entertainment System for you acronym challenged) pretty much owned me. Then the Sega Genesis came out, and that owned me up until I was in high school (Streets of Rage 2 still owns me to this day), when the Playstation came out. I had one of those for a little while but then vagina started coming into my life, so I didn’t much care about video games anymore. So I rarely played them, save for a few Halo battles here and there at a friend’s house, or Grand Theft Auto shoot-outs.

This past March, however, all that changed. Being the DVD/movie geek I am, I was excited to arm myself with a Blu-Ray player, even though I am too poor to afford an HDTV to reap the full benefit. So I bought a Playstation 3. First time I’ve owned a game system in quite some time. I then found myself spending a great deal of time playing games too. Like Call of Duty 4 and Rainbow Six: Vegas. I came to the stunning realization that I love shooting people. I really love it. And this new system provided me with tools to do so.

“Hey terrorist!” I would say, “Get away from that slot machine!” I would then shoot them in the leg, only to wound them, then clip them in the neck to finish them off. I would literally sit on my couch and say these things to my TV. In my mind, I really was a terrorist fighter, armed to the teeth with an arsenal of weaponry.

Last week a game called Grand Theft Auto IV was released. It has been hailed by many as the greatest game ever made and is sure to be the best selling video game of all time. In said title, you play a Russian immigrant escaping to the US to begin an awesome life of crime and villainy. You can run around, steal cars, shoot anyone, run people over, punch people, drive while drunk (which is SO awesome), go on dates and have sex, and best of all, you can buy prostitutes. It’s like God himself made this game for the world to experience. I find it hard to believe anyone else could be responsible for creating such beautiful mayhem.

Needless to say, I got a copy of the game at midnight of the day of its release, and I have yet to stop playing it. I find myself aiming a lot of my aggression towards the residents of Liberty City (the location where this game takes place). I’ll be running around, and someone will accidentally bump me with their car.

So I’ll take out a gun and say something like, “Didn’t you see me you fuck?” and fire a shot into their chest. They’ll start screaming and falling down. So I get near them and say something like, “Oh, does that hurt? What about this?” and shoot them again. Then I’ll put my gun back and start punching them in the goddamn face. Finally, I’ll get in their car and start driving in reverse, so I have plenty of room to speed up. Next, I’ll start speeding up to their defenseless, injured body on the road and run them over at full speed.

“Next time, watch where you’re going motherfucker.”

Can I borrow your car? (5/2008)

Also, I know my pictures have lacked a certain variety as of late but stress not. I am working to remedy the problem.

The Story-less Picture…

It’s already the 5th of May and so far I have yet to post anything for this month. What is up with that? This being Cinco de Mayo and all, it’s hard for me to concentrate on anything other than a weekday one can spend drinking without society shunning him for an apparent urge for alcoholism. So I drew this picture about a man hailing a cab. I am not so sure what inspired it but I can promise you an awesome story will be posted in the next day or two, that also happens to be a true story. For now, enjoy. And drive safe tonight. I can’t afford to lose anymore readers…

Drive Slow (5/2008)