IT'S ALL RELATIVE

People think I'm crazy whenever I say this, but I truly believe that M. Night Shyamalan and Spike Lee are brothers. I'm sure that everyone is familiar with the latter. He's the critically acclaimed director of such films as Do The Right Thing, She's Gotta Have It, not to be confused with She's All That, and 25th Hour. M. Night Shyamalan, or Night as his friends call him, might be a little more obscure. He's the Academy Award nominated writer/director of The Sixth Sense, Unbreakable, and the horribly unrealistic Signs.

Now, why do I think the two of them are brothers? It's simple. They look exactly alike. If you look at Spike, back in his Do The Right Thing days, and compare him to Night in any of his films, the resemblance is uncanny. So that begs the question, why do people give me crazy looks whenever I offer up my theory that they're brothers? It's because Spike Lee is African American and M. Night Shyamalan is Indian (dots not feathers). But does that really prove anything?

I think not. They could have the same mother, but different fathers, or vice versa. Whatever the explanation is, I'm going to get to the bottom of it. You may bank on that Missy.

While we're on the topic of similar looking Hollywood stars, has anyone noticed the more than coincidental resemeblance between Johnny Depp, Skeet Ulrich, and Guy Pierce? They look like they were all created using the same DNA. It's freaky. What if there's a covert faction who's sole intention is to take over Hollywood by creating a cadre of actors, not like I'm classifying what Skeet Ulrich does as acting. With their rugged good looks and charm they could be unstoppable. You laugh now, but in a year when every film being produced features one of the aforementioned actors you'll be singing a different tune.

But have no fear. I'm not about to let that happen. Not on my watch.


A QUICK GLIMPSE OF HELL: THE CAT IN THE HAT

When my parents left me alone with my sister, they told me to take her out and do something fun. Now the only joy I have left in the world consists of watching old episodes of Aaron Sorkin's shows and going to the movies. Since I didn't think she'd enjoy the fast paced action of Sports Night or the governmental based antics of The West Wing, I opted to take her to the local multiplex. She's seventeen, but you have to keep in mind that she's mentally handicapped and at last check her interests ranked along side that of the average nine year old. So my options were limited, it was either Will Farrell's knee slapping, feel good, holiday movie Elf, or the Mike Meyers vehicle The Cat In The Hat. Guess which one my sister wanted to go see?

I had no desire to see this movie. None at all. I tried to convince her to see Elf, but she wouldn't have it. To any other seventeen year old, the fact that the movie had Will Farrell would have some drawing power, but she has no idea who he is. So, needless to say, that wasn't a selling point. All I could tell her about the movie was that it consisted of a large man walking around in an elf suit. She was unimpressed.

Given her love for Mike Meyers, it had to be The Cat In The Hat. I knew that we were in trouble when three minutes into the movie it was apparent that everyone within the film world drove either a yellow or a green Ford Focus. That is with the exception of Alec Baldwin who drove some kind of convertable, at least I think it was Alec(all those bastards look alike). At first I was pretty excited that Kelly Preston was in the movie and then I remembered that she is married to John Travolta and he did that horrible flick Battlefield Earth with Roger Marris. Thus, I lost my interest.

The kids in the movie, played by Dakota Fanning (who the fuck names their little girl Dakota) and Spencer Breslin, are off the charts annoying. Of course, I have never liked Dakota Fanning. At the premiere of her first movie, I Am Sam, she talked about how she always wanted to work with Sean Penn and Michelle Pheiffer. The girl is like six fucking years old. Does this sound stupid to anyone else?

I was willing to put all this aside and enjoy the movie, but I couldn't due to one thing...Mike Meyers isn't at all funny as a six foot tall cat. The whole movie annoyed me to no end. My annoyance was amplified by the two middle aged women sitting in front of me who laughed more often than any child in the theatre. And I'm not talking about a slight chuckle. They were guffawing like Saint Nick hyped up on speed and booze. It was awful.

This made for my second bad movie-going experience of the weekend as yesterday I had the privledge of watching Timeline. The movie wasn't all that bad, but there was this group of high school kids who talked throughout the whole thing. It wasn't so much that they talked, but they weren't saying anything. Most of the time they just repeated lines that the characters on screen just said. This was funny to them as most of the characters in the movie had funny accents, or European accents as we would call them. As I listened to their mindless chatter, one thought kept occurring to me: some crazy people, who shall remain nameless, would have beat these high school kids to death with their own shoes.

At any rate, I don't think I'm going to go back to the movies any time soon.


PROCRASTINATORS OF THE WORLD UNITE...TOMORROW

This entire blog entry exists for the simple reason that I don't want to write an English paper. Had I chosen to write it I would have been done already, and I think that's both funny and sad.

This is the life we choose, the life we lead. And there is only one guarantee: None of us will see Heaven.

IT'S GOOD TO BE HOME, AIN'T IT MASTER ROBIN?

This is the first time I've been home in nearly three months. Near as I can tell, nothing has changed.

The house is still in disarray. My father has vowed to clean it more times than I can remember, but it never gets done. My mother is still buying useless shit that we don't need, and I'm not convinced anyone on the planet has a use for some of the stuff that she's accumilated. Just today, in the mail, she recieved a candle that smells like cookies and cream. I didn't know that was a scent, but oh well. My sister, who is mentally handicapped, is the only sane one of the bunch. Sure, all she does is sit around all day and watch movies, but at least she's not causing any trouble. The only ruckus that comes out of her room is when she's got one of the poor, defenseless cats by the tail. In that respect she's a lot like Elmira from Tiny Toons. Great show.

My parents are out of town so it's my responsibility to take care of the little urchin (that's my little nickname for her). Because of this, I haven't had many opportunities to leave the house. The few times that I have stepped out into the world, I have done so incognito.

The reason is simple, I don't want to see anyone that I know from high school. I don't want to have that conversation where both parties have to fake interest in one another's new lives at college. Where you goin to school? Whatcha majoring in? You know, that bullshit. I just want to make it through break without having to pretend to be excited to see somebody.

Is that too much to ask? With my luck, it probably is.


I WANT TO WAKE UP. IT'S A NIGHTMARE. TECH SUPPORT!!!

Within the last month I've had the same dream at least six times. It's not exactly the same dream each time mind you, but they all have roughly the same plot. At some point within the dream, my teeth fall out. Not all of them. Just one or two of the front ones on top. If I knew anything about teeth or dentistry, I'd find a better way to describe that, but I can't.

Sometimes they rot out. Sometimes they get knocked out. At any rate, I lose some of my teeth. I always spit them out into my hand, take a quick peek, and then try to force them back into my gums like they're legos or something. Sometimes this actually works, which should give you an idea of how realistic the dreams are, and sometimes it doesn't work.

I'm not worried. I don't believe that dreams are glimpses into the future or anything, but at the same time I recognize that something strange is going on. Maybe someone's put a mojo on me. Or maybe I'm just afraid of getting older. I turn 20 in two months, and I haven't done anything with my life.

When I was a kid, I imagined that by the age of twenty I would have accomplished some pretty amazing feats. I never thought that I'd be sitting in college, majoring in English, spending my free time writing new episodes of a television show that had been defunct for over two years. As far as I can figure, the only thing I can do exceptionally well is quote movies, but until they make an Olympic event out of it, I don't see this skill having a huge calling. Sure I've written a screenplay, which is something I guess, but theres no guarantee that it's any good or that it will ever amount to anything. And it's not like I want to explore ancient civilizations a la Indiana Jones, or walk the Earth like Caine in Kung Fu.

I just want to do something.


NOT IF YOU COUNT THE GURGLING SOUND

I've often wondered what my last words on this planet will be. Will they be memorable enough to engrave on my tombstone? Probably not. I'd like to think that I would use my dying words to profess my love for somebody. Or that I'd say something like "Rosebud" and have some poor bastard track down all of my old friends to find out what it could mean. Either one of those would be acceptable.

I only hope that my last words aren't "Hey guys, watch this."


NO SHOES. NO PANTS. NO SERVICE

How come whenever I go out in shorts and sandals in subfreezing weather, people give me strange looks? It really annoys me. But, I have come up with a couple of ways to remedy this.

Option 1: Wear a T-shit that says "Don't worry about me people, I'm not cold." Or something to that effect.

Option 2: Pay a kid to follow me around with a bullhorn telling people how I'm impervious to cold weather.

It really doesn't matter which option I go with. People are still going to give me crazy looks. Maybe I should stop having public conversations with my imaginary friend Maurice, the space cowboy.

Maybe...