In no particular order

1.  The Acoustic Song--Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

2. Wisemen-James Blunt

3. The Kill-30 seconds to Mars

4.Rockstar-Nickleback

5. Lips of an Angel-Hinder

6.  The Diary of Jane-Breaking Benjamin

7.Your Smile is a Drug--Patrick Park

8. Golden-Under the influence of Giants

9. After All--Collective Soul

10. 7 minutes in Heaven--Falllout boy

Alright, alright, I broke down to see "Clerks 2." I know that while the critics have embraced this movie most fans of the Jersey Chronicles have quickly deride it as a cheap attempt to make a buck. I do not agree with their sentiment.Clerks was released over a decade ago and it was time to update the public on what had happened to Dante and Randall. And you know what? Not much has happened to Dante and Randall.

Kevin Smith does a great job in keeping the spirit of the original "Clerks" alive and well in the sequel. Randall is still an ass and Dante is still trying to figure out who he is and what he is here to do. The writing was fresh yet familiar and the story line was senitmental without being sappy. After watching the movie, it comes as no surprise that it got such a warm reception at Cannes this year (a ten minute standing ovation).

The best part of the movie is that the characters are still believable. Everyone knows guys like Randall that hate everything and make fun of everyone because they feel sorry for themselves. Also, Dante is familiar to everyone. He is the archetype of the lost man (think every guy in Arlington--jk). He makes decisions not because he believes they are the best things to do but because they are what are expected (again think the bangroom every Thursday "Sure, I'll take another shot). The funny thing about Dante is that Brian O'halloran's performance is so bad it makes it even more believable.

Kevin Smith is at his best when he has something to say and presents it in a perverted and over the top manner. He does not disappoint in "Clerks 2." This movie is about friendship, true love, finding your way, and innerspecies erotica. Only Kevin Smith could combine all those things and make it seem normal and uncontrived.

While I concur that most people are tone DEAF, I am in fact tone DEATH.  When I sing music dies a little.  It was an ill-fated attempt at humor.   I do, however, agree with Lindsey that I should be awarded zero points for this pedestrian attempt.  

Nevertheless, before I get a slew of comments telling me that it is tone deaf not tone death I thought I should clarify my original intent. 

Oh yeah, I promise to make my next blog coherent  and readable!!!  Piss poor attempt and the awarding of ZERO kudos was rightly deserved

I love music. Actually that is only a half truth. I dont mean to be lying this early in our relationship, but I think I just may have overstated my appreciation for music.  I am tone death;  I cannot speak profoundly on melody and structure; I cannot play an instrument. I am however, human.  Although, I am sure some of my exs may care to argue that point.  Nevertheless, my original statement should read I love lyrics. 

            Does this make me deep or original?  No, actually it probably makes me shallow or completely unoriginal (perhaps even a sap).  I am still deciding which one is worse and I will go with that; I am bit of masochist.  So why do I love lyrics?  I think it stems from my penchant for writing poems when I was younger.   And that stemmed from the fact that I was toddler without money or a job (yes, I was a lazy child) and wanted to give my mom and godmother presents and figured poems where the answer.  They werent.  My poems were awful.  Sure they rhymed, but they were written in crayon.  And rarely are great works written in crayon.

            Recently, I wrote a song for a girl (I am thinking that I am sap).  She loved the lyrics.  I was proud. Seeing her face when she read them is a memory etched in my mind.  I know all the lyrics; verbatim.  I have a photographic memory.  I have an aural memory.  Lyrics, not melodies make me remember.   I was listening to one song when I wrote the lyrics.  I am always listening to one song.  I may have OCD.  I may be slightly autistic.  I may be a sap. 

            Whenever I hear the song that inspired me I think of her.  I wonder what she thinks of when she hears that song.  She is not aware that I listened to that song when I wrote the lyrics.  I wonder if she ever will read the lyrics again.  I wonder if she realizes how calculated every word was.  I hope she doesnt.  I dont like being vulnerable.  

            Songwriters are vulnerable.  They may be bigger masochist than I am.  They share their emotions.  There is no context; unless we investigate. They allow us to make up the story that is attached to the lyrics.  They allow us to make it personal; unless we investigate. 

            I investigate.  The story is never as good as I imagine.  I like to imagine, but my curiosity often gets the better of me.  I want to know what made them write lyrics that make me emote.   When I listen to lyrics I think of The Count of Monte Cristo.  "There is neither happiness nor unhappiness in this world; there is only the comparison of state with another.  Only a man who has felt ultimate despair is capable of feeling ultimate bliss.  It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good life is to live." 

            Have they all felt this pain?  Is that why they write these lyrics?  Is that why no matter what the particular circumstance a well written song can speak to everyone?  I never have really wished for death.  I have felt my heart break.  I have gotten over it and let time pass.   I have felt bliss.  Songwriters have felt it too.  They dont know it, nor do I think they care, but they make me think of those that have crossed my path.   They write because they care to remember the people that have crossed their path.  Or maybe they write because they have to make some money.  I like to think it is the former and not the latter.  But who am I to decide what is nobler? 

So before I ever write a blog I usually go online and read some of my favorite columnist, get inspired, hit up the Microsoft Word and then write.  Today I am going to try to do something different.  I am going to write like Hunter S. Thompson (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas).  This whole blog/review is going to be Gonzo style (Gonzo). 

This will be unpolished and unfettered.  It will be nothing but an emotive reaction to my visceral experience.   But that is what a movie review should be.  Who cares about anything but how the viewer felt and what emotions coursed through his/her body.  If the movies are not about emotion then what are they about? 

As I setteled into my seat to watch "Click"  I thought of a few things: 1.  Man, when will it stop raining; 2. Wish I would have gotten a bottled water;  and 3. I thought this was supposed to be funny I wonder why my bros told me they got choked up?  The previews started and I already could tell that I was in the "mood" to watch a movie.  The previews were for "Talladega Nights" staring Will Ferrell, "Fearless" starring Jet Li, and a some dance movie that does not look half bad.   I laughed and got pumped watching the previews.  Like I said, I was in the mood. 

The movie started and out of the gates it was funny.  I was laughing and enjoying myself. IT was not rollicking funny, but it was funny enough. I thought, "Wow, Kate Bekinsale is hot.  Christopher Walken is money. Adam Sandler has learned to tone it down.  O'Doyle definitly does not rule. Is David Hasslehoff in on the joke?  Nice to see the Fonz again.  And danm they picked some cute kids."

About 45 minutes in to the movie we went to serious town and this is where the movie won me over.  It was emotional without being contrived.  It had a message without being forced.  Remember the Leprachaun. 

Let me explain at the crux of the movie is the following lesson: Remember the leprachaun? The one from the Lucky Charms commercials.  He is always chasing his pot of gold, but in the end, that pot of gold is only cereal.   Pretty deep message for an Adam Sandler movie. 

I will spare you the plot details.  You can read other reviews for that. What I won't spare you is the following (do you hear that?  It is the sirens of the Gay Police): The movie made me cry.  Now, I am not a big cryer, but the movie had some something to say and I heard it.  Anyone who is aware of my missteps and personal growth will know exactly why this movie touched me. 

We spend so much time trying to get the things that we think will make us happy that we never realize they those things are as important as cereal.   I don't care what other reviews say.  Or how much they pan this movie.  If a movie can make me think about the moments in my life when I have lost sight of what is important and challenges me to refocus without being preachy then that is a good movie. 

A few years ago "The Family Man" with Nicolas Cage came out and was emphatically dismissed as slop.  This Thanksgiving, just like the last few, see what movie NBC plays as their first holiday movie--that's right "The Family Man" 

"Click" is in the same vain.  There is not a single performance that will get nominated for an Oscar.  It is a drama disguised as a comedy (dramedy), and sometimes struggles to figure out which way it wants to go, but in the end the experience should reward every viewer.  Or at the very least make them a little more introspective.  I know it did that for me.

So as many of you know I am "working" from home.  I say "working"  because many of you believe that my only job is to fill out surveys on MySpace.  That, my friends, is not true.   I have a job.  Actually, I have many jobs--one would think I was Jamacian.

One of those jobs entails watching countless hours of innane television ("Simon and Simon were not real brothers, only on tel-o-vision") and then sitting around and analyzing the nuances of such classics as: "The Cosby Show" "Boy Meets World" and of course the best show of our generation "Saved by the Bell." 

I have always wondered why there has never been a "Saved by the Bell" musical.  The show was filled with an incredible number of musical numbers: Zack Attack ("Friends forever, friends forever"), The Glee Club ("oh when the saints, oh when the saints--our rendition of a glee club warming up"), and of course Hot Sundaes ("I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so scared.").  I honestly think a Saved by the Bell musical would work.  Hey, if they could make a musical from ABBA music--Mamma Mia!--then why can't they make one from "Saved by the Bell?"  My only request would be that they keep the Tori character in the closet--take that as you will. 

The purpose of this blog (what? a purposeful blog? isn't that an oxymoron?) is not to discuss how great a "Saved by the Bell" musical will be--we can all agree on that point--but to ask the most important question of all time (or at least the most important queston today from 12-1pm as I watched TBS): What the hell happened to the nerds from "Saved by the Bell?"

We all know what happended to Violet Ann Bickerstaff, but what happened to the guy nerds?  I am sure the black nerd now makes his money as Wesley Snipes' stand in, but what about the rest of the guys.  Not since Robert Carradine ("That's because all jocks think about is sports and all nerds think about is sex" by the way, why couldn't goose ever get this man a guess spot on "ER"  I thought they were friends for life) stopped mining the Tri-Lam mine have more nerds fallen off the face of the earth so quickly and quietly.  Who are these nerds--the Dufrains (Dufrain, Dufrain party of 3... How can we eat at time like this? The Dufrains are missing!" That could be either Andy Dufrains or the Dufrains from Mitch Hedberg's stand up--take your pick).

Since 1989 these nerds have been a constant precense in our lives.  Well at least through middle school, high school, college, and any time you are at home sick, and yet no one ever wonders what became of their careers.  Is this fair?  I for one will not stand for it anymore and will ask the question: What the hell happened to the nerds? 

3:53 AM-Pain.  Intense pain.  That is pretty much where I am right now.  Not so much from the Achillies surgery, but more so from the TV selection available at 3:53 AM.  I woke up to find the X-files on.   I feel asleep watching the Clip Show v.  The Run and Fun Suns.  Now I am subjected to the X-Files.  Nothing wrong with the show, its just not my bag.  And to top it off, I cannot find my glasses and consequently I cannot find the remote.  

            I finally find both and realize that the intense pain is not agent Scully (or is it Mulder) and her bad gum to teeth ratio (nod to Family Guy) but rather it is the nerve endings reattaching themselves in my leg.   I need something quick to subdue the pain.  I change the channel.  Yes, thank God a Pauley Shore movie is on-In the Army Now.  The Weasel.  A classic, can life get any better? Two thoughts at this point:  1. Where are my painkillers; and, 2. Will they be able to deal with the pain in my leg and the pain knowing that Pauley Shore is famous and I am not?

            I grab my painkillers and struggle to open the bottle.  For some reason this injury has caused me to have the self-reliance of a 3 year old.  I finally get it open and take the pill like I am drinking in salvation.  Unfortunately, my earlier prediction to the nurses that the pills really will have noteffect since I am a manimal (or is it a Janimal?  Wendimal?)  and half-man half amazing (hey I just had had (no grammar check I meant to write that) anesthesia and did not know what I was saying) is coming to fruition.   

            Man, I cannot believe how much Paid Programming is on at 4:07.  Who, besides bionic legged men (such as myself), are up at this hour watching TV and purchasing things?  Actually, I am glad that the Percoset is not working because I might have bought the book that teaches you how to really sell things on EBay.  Who knew you needed a book?

            Volunteers is on.  Gotta say, Tom Hanks later work does not even compare to his earlier stuff.   Volunteers, Turner and Hooch, Joe vs. the Volcano, now those are some good movies; why didnt they get any Oscar consideration?  And why did John Candy have to eat himself?  And, why couldnt John Candy die eating candy just for sense of coincidence (who thought I was going to say irony?). 

            Medicine is starting to kick in a little bit.  Leg feels better. I feel better, Not as good as when the anesthesia starting to kick yesterday and I noticed my OR nurses name was Donna and I began to sing Oh Donna, but still good.  I think I am going to troll my TIVO and see if I can find something more enjoyable. 

              One last thing, why would I need an ED medicine that last 36 hours? I am not sure, but this really is a pressing question since I have been asked it 8 times in the last half hour. I will write more when I figure out the answer, or when the medicine really kicks in.