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It took years to make this naturalistic

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(no subject) [Feb. 25th, 2008|03:34 pm]
It took years to make this naturalistic
Will Farrell must like his sports movies. Signing up on films such as Talladega Nights, Kicking and Screaming, and Blades of Glory, Farrell now laces up his shoes for Semi-Pro, a story about the 1970s American Basketball Association and the Flint-Michigan Tropics. The tropics, a subservient team with little talent, little reasoning, and little fan-base, are run by the bombastic, incredulous, and flashy owner/manager/player Jackie Moon (Will Farrell). The plot is rather linear; the Tropics, who are doing terrible, are told that one team will make it to the NBA once the ABA closes at the end of the season. Moon, being the flamboyant man-child he is, assumes his dodgy team of misfits will have a chance of being that certain team. The plot of this movie dares not to be smart, but that’s okay. Will Farrell uses this script to showcase those unsightly short-shorts of early basketball, to revel in his own animated elasticity, and to howl while agonizing in pain (Moon is not the best player, by any means).
The best players on the Tropics are, however, Coffee Black (Andre Benjamin), and Monnix (Woody Harrelson). Both who, conveniently enough, hate each other - only so they movie can reconcile their differences later, of course. In fact, all of the drama in the movie draws from older rags-to-riches sports films, including Major League, Necessary Roughness, etc. The comedy in this movie, I might add, seems fresh and coherent, however. The basketball scenes are filmed in slow motion, with trumpeting horns, and the sound of high-top shoes chirping on the hardwood floors, it’s pretty over the top. With that said, It’s all pretty darn cool, too.
Farrell is funny with this material, as he should be. Most of everything works well, including that of a Tim Meadows cameo (this caused quite a few chuckles). The only thing to dislike about this movie is the love story between a disgruntled, but basically nice guy (Harrelson), and his despondent, but well meaning ex-flame ( ). The relationship poses some interesting questions. One of the questions that arose in my mind was simply, why is this clunky, over-stuffed romance subplot destroying any comedic synchronicity this film has going for it? The other simply was, why isn’t Harrelson being used as a humorous supporting character? Wouldn’t it be, in a different realm, irrefutably more entertaining to see him mock his post-White Men Can’t Jump Days? To see his blatant wig crown around his shoulders, and throw some suggestive jokes around? It worked in King Pin, anyway, so there’s no reason it shouldn’t work here, too. But no, assuming the audience would want to see the doldrums of a throwaway romantic subplot, we’re subjected to the stuttering, boyish pandering of Harrelson’s character, who acts far more dramatic than anyone wants to see when watching a Will Farrell comedy. Nonetheless, most of the supporting cast works appropriately, considering the material, anyway, and we’re given some good laughs because of it. The best characters that come out of the motley crew of dysfunctional cameos is that of Will Arnett and Andrew Daly, who play Lou Redwood and Dick Pepperfield, the vulgar duo of commentators who helm the Tropics’ home games.
All in all, it’s no surprise that the Flint-Michigan Tropics make it to the finals. This is, after all, the formula of a sports comedy. Players overcome obstacles, make good with each other, and practice in montages. Sure, Semi-Pro is predictable, but so what? Predictability is the exact reason Will Farrell’s fans attend his movies. And it’s not exactly a bad thing, either. Farrell generally delivers his brand of humor while yelping obscenities, manipulating the octaves of his voice, generating excitement, and then, finally, mellowing out with a deadpan randomness. They know what’s coming at them, and, to be quite exact, they enjoy every moment. A worthy viewing.
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(no subject) [Aug. 21st, 2007|10:49 am]
It took years to make this naturalistic
Her: I just wanted you to come because I'm bored and lonely.

Me: I love you
Her: Yeah.

Me: I miss you.
Her: I heard you.
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(no subject) [May. 11th, 2007|06:01 pm]
It took years to make this naturalistic
a thousand strange voices coming from everywhere.

And you're not going to believe this, but we had to go under the water to get to the city.
And we lost contact with everything. It was like we were on another planet.
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Better Luck in Your Skills [May. 3rd, 2007|12:14 pm]
It took years to make this naturalistic
[mood |tiredtired]

So my source of anxiety stems from a sick brain, that links to my caged fucking trap of a head. People aren't annoying, they may be stupid, or mouthy, impatient or quarrelsome, but they are just people. Working at Blockbuster doesn't make me feel empowered to chastize anyone, though, unfortunately, I have. Work stresses me out, and I feel partially withdrawn, partially outgoing and mostly unappreciated (which is the ultimate foundation of work for everyone, Rob you are not special). I have a very basic supply of cashflow, that niether meets, nor suffices, any type of bill flexes I will have soon. I also know since being released (terminated, canned, etc etc?) from my realty job, my career field is economically hazy. I know I didn't like the path, but it was a staple of monetary bliss nonetheless. As for my writing job, credentials rock, but how many poor journalist does it take to impress money bags into submission? I mean really, no one cares about it. I would go back to school, but that would require A)time and B)money (both of which are too busy fucking me to actually have a relationship with them). Also, I am not scholastically sound, and probably not as booksmart or otherwise to compete with the next bloke. So what do I do? Do, do, do. I have a rather diverse method of securing positions, but with what? For what? My communication level is superb, my dialect is decent and I can do circles like a red pen around a want-add against anyone else. My problem is, I'm not thinking, not that I can't, I just haven't. Procrastionation is the seething impulse of life. Truly, I would like to in theory start up a magazine, a newspaper, a coffee shop (with tasteless, tart flavors I'm sure), or an endless amount of things that would either tailspin into the endless waves of a desert, or take off with a nervous, detached flight.

I am a creator; self inflicted, self indulgent, wholly complicated. I am complicated in the way in which I operate, in how obstinate I am. What fucking fork in the road do I take to eat the rest of my life?

I think this is the point in my life where I point to the point of a cliff. I am not happy, but it's fun looking off, if just to examine the view. I also realize, from this aforementioned vantage point, that_______________________________________________________________________________
______________________________________
_______________________________________________________________
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Balechrist Diet [Dec. 30th, 2006|05:01 pm]
It took years to make this naturalistic
[Current Location |Within a rock and a wooden mantle piece]
[mood |Get the fuck out my way]
[music |A LACK OF COLOR - death cab for cutie]

I am going on a strike. A fruit and bagel strike. A strike that includes instrumental doses of non-dairy smoothies and writing binges. I will also consume large pots of coffee and yell about shit. I'm beginning to write a screenplay, I wrote four lines of dialogue. Colleen is pretty hot.
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December [Dec. 8th, 2006|02:26 pm]
It took years to make this naturalistic
Realization is kind of an ever changing visual. I mean it's completely self reliant and yours to own or alter, shift or create. It can be negative, positive or a neutral color. I feel like I've 'realized' several things about myself. I am ambitious, but only when momentum swings my way. If I am not cornered or called upon aggressively I take a stoic approach. However that may be, when someone or something spars with me, I am lively and tenacious. I take charge and command a situation, and if need be, others by not only implementing an array of verbal tactics but a quickness in action that is generally unparallel. I am confident and potentially awing when I need to be. When I need to be is not as much as my character calls for though. I am content mulling around tactlessly until I feel excited about an event or conflict. If no event or conflict sets off the motion, I am quiet or deterred from how I am best; vocal and spontaneous.
I regard my personality as basic if not provoked. I am generally low key, if not low brow, and talk with mild wit or concept of wit. I am somewhat of a talker, but only if conversing strikes me as interesting or moderately engaging. It's not so much what the person says that would make me interested or engaged, but how I feel at the moment, and mostly that moment is indifferent. I can be riveting during a social get together, or perfectly calm. It's particularly unfortunate I cannot take control of either mood. I think deep down I am selfish in my stance toward any type of conversation (this is not an anomaly, considering most people are) but more so than called for I fear.
Part two of my revelation deals directly with my sentimentality/emotional behavior. It is said that I overreact often with little regard to logic. This is probably true, only because I don't fight when I am labeled this. I wish I could control my worrisome attitude or explicit need to want to help people or show love. This is not to say any of the said actions are terribly or disgraceful, but they should be shown in moderation not quantity. The problem lies in my inability to try; I let my heart decide what I say, I don't put forth an effort to minimize anything. Someone may say that trait is annoying, tedious or impractical. Someone may also say that same trait is none of those things except one; vulnerable.
I am a good person but my mental aptitude is questionable. I hope for many things religiously, I mostly hope that I am a good boyfriend, or at very least or very most, a good friend. I wonder about both and try to weigh them accurately in what I may be doing wrong or right. This, as most know, is better left to those around you to know and say. It is unfair to strain yourself over miniscule things so entirely subjective it makes no difference.
I would like to imagine I could lie dormant for several days. I think I overwork myself in degrees unfit for most; in ways physically and mentally. I am much too hard on myself when most people could care in fractions less. At times I feel like I need a break from myself, a break to toil about something much more important than what I'm doing wrong while being me.
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One Line. [Nov. 29th, 2006|01:49 pm]
It took years to make this naturalistic
Running on a cracked pipe dream like a water stream.
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Allegory. [Oct. 10th, 2006|07:45 pm]
It took years to make this naturalistic
I'm unknowing. When the sad end of your eyelashes fall.
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The Chill of Sheets, Time and Redundancy [May. 17th, 2006|03:33 pm]
It took years to make this naturalistic
[mood |melancholymelancholy]
[music |Great Lake Swimmers - The Man With No Skin]

I'm not sure how to properly describe my feelings without using cliche syntax. I'm not positive about the manner in which I'm supposed to compose myself. She's gone, and I feel a swelling of something sad inside me that discriminates against nothing. There are planes, and we leave so fast. Vacations and dreams, sequences and surrealism. My memories of her are beautiful, and I am overwhelmed by them in a way that intimidates me. My imagination couldn't even support their imagery, their weight, and I cannot compensate for her absence.
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Two Jets, One Bed; an Ironing Board [May. 4th, 2006|10:06 am]
It took years to make this naturalistic
[mood |Absolutely Fucking Complacent]
[music |John Saw That Number - Neko Case]

I go to sleep speaking with her, and wake up dreaming of her. There are times when my thoughts become memories of our heads against each other, and her hair falling on my shoulder, my face.

I shouldnt have written this, but it's better here.

I love her because she is perfect, in every literal sense of that abused word. I love her, and when I tell her I become the happiest person I could imagine.

I love her.
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