Nymphadora they destroy ya

Okay seriously the fifth Harry Potter was good enough to be enjoyable. Wish I didn't have to sit through ten hours to get there but it's true. And I have DEFINITELY found my favorite character, her name's Nymphadora and her hair turns red when she gets angry.

Stupefy Riddikulus

All of my friends that have recommended I see Harry Potter movies are either stupid themselves or think that I am. And of course, no offense to any of you who enjoy them - you obviously have a higher tolerance for lower quality than I do, and I'm sure it serves you well. But I feel like I have to at least try them because all these little Harry Potter fans are growing up and eventually one of them will be elected president, and I should have at least enough cultural knowledge to know that Hogwarts isn't a disease. So I've made it through two films and have started the third, "Harry Potter and the Holy Shit Do I Have To Sit Through Another of These." I've been told this is where they start getting good, and that this one is darker than its predecessors. I can tell, because there is literally more blackness on the screen. This does not make it dark. David Lynch is dark. Lars von Trier is dark. Tim Burton and Harry Potter are not dark. This one begins with the family having dinner with the front door wide open. No mention is made as to why, and in fact there are snow flurries outside. Then Harry inflates his aunt and she floats... out the door of course because it's wide open. Are you FUCKING kidding me. This is presented to me as good writing, something I would enjoy? The only thing I'm hanging on to is the overall story of Voldemort, and to find out which one of them's gonna get to fuck the little girl with the furry eyebrows. Plus I'm kind of hoping Harry dies at the end, that could be rewarding. But if that evil little blonde kid Malfoy turns out to be secretly hurting inside because his father never wanted to play catch, and eventually turns good because Harry shows him mercy, I'm going to throw all of these dvd's into the trash. After I snap them in half first.

Where's that confounded grail

Just watched the movie “Excalibur.” I don't understand the whole King Arthur searching for the Grail thing. I mean it was only the Dark Ages – how could they already have lost it so completely? And why would you look for it by riding on horseback through the woods of England waiting for a hallucination? Wouldn't you think a better place to start would be, I don't know, Jerusalem? Take a walk downtown and ask people “Hey, you remember Jesus' favorite cup? Whatever happened to it? Have you seen it lately?” Or here's an idea, go to Jesus' house and look in his cabinets. I would think some good, solid, Jesus-built cabinets should still be standing at that point. If he's anything like me, check next to the fridge, that's where I keep my cups.

It's All Just a Game: Tropico 4

Hi. I'm Larry, and I'm a military dictator on a small third-world island in the Caribbean.

Go ahead, have a seat on this nice bench with your back to the friendly neighborhood guard tower. We like it that way.

I was given a quest to arrest the person who had the least amount of respect for me. So I break out the ledger and look through the numbers and it turns out that honor goes to my opponent in the upcoming election. Well, how perfect is that, so I go ahead and give the order to have her brought in to camp for a little re-educating. Definitely not something I want to miss, so I search the streets to find her - turns out she's a little old pregnant lady, hobbling slowly down the sidewalk. Easiest arrest yet, although it does take a while for her to walk to jail.

I sentence her to five years, and I assume at some point she has the baby in there but I don't ever go back to check on her. Actually I'm a bit surprised to find my first prisoner still languishing in his cell - I arrested him just to see how it was done. His crime was thinking about supporting my opponent in the last election. Funny thing is, if I ever do let him out he'll be an ex-con and no longer eligible to vote! So I guess the lesson here is, Vote for Larry.

Soupy

I can't even choose a favorite Bruin right now.

My old pal Lucic, who's been clearing away opponents from in front of the net like a crazed Zamboni? Krejci, who could have easily been the MVP of the last Cup win and again in these playoffs leads the league in points? Tuukka, the kid who respectfully answers all questions about neocon former goalie Tim Thomas and then goes out and allows just two goals in the last three games, including 53 saves last night? Jagr, the grizzled veteran who last won the Cup in 1992 (!) and comes out onto the Garden ice two hours after games to run drills by himself with a weight vest on, his only audience the guys sweeping the floors? Bergeron, the king of the late-night goal?

I don't think I could pick a jersey to wear if I had to.



It seems to me there's a hierarchy of toughness in sports. At the lowest level is basketball, where someone gets poked in the eye and sits down and cries with his hand over it, not letting trainers pull his hand away so they can see. This is the toughness equivalent of a six-year-old. Next up is baseball, where the most exciting part of most fights is watching the dugouts empty, the combatants running towards each other like they're crossing the plains of Middle-earth. In this range of toughness you get someone like Jacoby Ellsbury, who cracks his ribs in April and is out the rest of the season. Finally getting into the realm of respectability you have football, where Tony Romo cracks his ribs and is back later in the same quarter. Still though, whenever someone gets hurt in football, everyone stops what they're doing and gathers around in a prayer circle while Fox plays a quiet piano version of their theme and slips in a quick commercial.

And then there's hockey tough, a level beyond all other sports. Witness Gregory Campbell last night. This is a guy who breaks his leg blocking a shot, but with his team already down a man he doesn't want to leave his post, so he stays on the ice taking up space in the passing lane and trying to block more shots. After 45 seconds that seem like forever the Bruins finally kill off the penalty and clear the puck, and Campbell hobbles off the ice in front of a Garden crowd giving him a standing ovation and chanting his name. Hockey doesn't stop, even for a broken leg.

And the thing is, as kick-ass and worthy of respect Campbell is, this type of grit isn't even all that unusual. Most every hockey team has at least a few guys who would do the exact same thing. There is, quite simply, nothing like the NHL playoffs.

Sir I believe it's intended to represent the duality of man, sir.

Do you ever think to yourself you really should go just one night without it, but you can't possibly do that so you only take half, and then you forget you took half and compliment yourself on how well you're coping with not taking any?

No?

Maybe it's just me.



Had a job interview this morning, and I'm afraid. Of course I'm afraid I won't get the job, there were five other people in the lobby, but more than that I'm afraid I will get the job. I'd hate working there, I hated the person who interviewed me. Joking with me about how miserable married men are and how the government screws up everything it touches. It's a sales position and I'm just so not the type. It wouldn't be quite as bad as the scene from Lost where Charlie pukes on the photocopier, but pretty close. The problem is after going so long without getting any responses I'm starting to apply for jobs I don't even want.

At one point the interviewer said "Once you hit 50... Are you over 50?" "Getting there, HAHAHA!" Dude I'm not even close. I started going grey at 21, especially my beard. Yeah I hear ya, shave it off - well it serves a purpose, it hides my face. I've been debating if I should dye it but I've always considered that vaguely dishonest, like a push-up bra. False advertising. But now it's like my beard is already lying, telling everyone I'm much older than I am, so it'd really only be correcting a misperception. Of course there's always the chance it'll look ridiculous, or burn my face, or run down the front of my shirt in the rain like some Dali painting.

By the way, I know the Full Metal Jacket quote above isn't exact. I like my version better.

New England Strongest

By now I'm sure you've all seen this photo of the dunderhead at the Maple Leafs game Monday.



I've heard people say it's Psy holding the sign - I didn't believe it until I realized he's sitting next to Rick James.

I'm not offended, really - who cares what someone like this thinks, every city has a few. And apparently it's tradition for those nice Canadians to boo our national anthem while 75 percent of them huddle next to our border.

But this really does sum up everything that's wrong with a certain breed of sports fan. Whenever tragedy strikes, sports commentators always say it puts the game in perspective. And I think to myself, what dillweed needs death to remind them a game is just a game? Apparently some do. Apparently some people have their head so far up their ass they forget there's a whole world out there beyond their team. For me personally, sports occupies a small part of my day - most of my time is spent playing with my hobbit, if ya know what I mean.

But this guy doesn't get it. He doesn't realize "Boston Strong" isn't about sports, it's about attitude, the resilience of a region. It's not hard to comprehend if you're either from here or have read a Stephen King book. New Englanders may not be the first to smile and wish you good morning, but when my car broke down a few months ago I hadn't tried to crank it three times before a stranger stopped and offered a jump. In the moments after the Marathon bombing, there were more people running towards the blasts than away from them, and that's a big reason why the death toll wasn't higher.

So keep your piddly little sports allegiances, this is about something bigger.

But while we're on the subject, Bruins in six.

Whatever happened to normal, everyday people?

The normal, everyday person died on September 11, 2001.

We now live in the era of the Hero.

Don't get me wrong, I love Charles Ramsey. But I love him because one, the man likes his McDonald's. Two, he describes not just the size of his neighbor's testicles but the menu at his barbecues. And mostly because three, his eyes get wide and his head jerks around at the sound of a police siren. Take it from someone who's been there before, this guy's got warrants.

But let's get some perspective here. He called 911 for a screaming woman. What normal person wouldn't have done the same?

Compare this with the man who wouldn't open his door to a stranger during Superstorm Sandy. He, of course, is a villain, perhaps even a baby-killer.

As Laurie Anderson once said, the problem with living in a digital age is nobody wants to be a zero, everybody wants to be number one. It leaves very little room in the middle for the rest of us.

Hello.

Hi. They call me Larry. I got sumthin to say.