It's not that I'm a hater, far from it, but neither am I in there watching that red carpet with emphatic enthusiasm, flailing limbs, and a heaping pile of pseudo-voyeurism. You know what I'm talking about. That shit can get out of hand. I did, in fact, take in the middle third of the proceedings, and it certainly invigorated my extraordinarly limp interest in movies in general. I have seen exactly three '06 movies at this point, you see. I can't place a precise cause on my aversion to the theatre, but when friends and lovers come knockin' on my door about this or that hip new big screen number, I shrivel up inside.
I mean, she wore what? Get out of town.
I like that upon finally - finally - completing my critically acclaimed year-end list in the timely season of seven freaking weeks into the new year I actually gave Blood Mountain by Mastadon a third listen and sincerely understood the hype. We clicked, it was hot. I don't know that it'd penetrate that deeply into my graces the way my other two or three metal picks did, but the stripped down, rock n' roll flavour is compelling. It's simpler, more straight forward, more about the rock and less about, say, smashing in your buttocks or whipping one's wang out whilst combatting aliens on a far away inferno-choked world.
Which is not to say that Mastodon couldn't happily do both of those things at once.
I don't really have much to say this week.
I am deeply pleased that Happy Feet won a fucking Oscar.
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