Dear Quentin,

please stop using the Wilhelm scream.

Seriously.

Nowadays it's a widely known, overused, clichéd, tired tradition.

Yes, we get it, you know movies and movie history. You can stop reminding us now.

Soon I'll write something worth reading here again, it's a promise.

Too Good Too Bad

I smoked a cigarette tonight. Unable to sleep, I stepped to my window around one A.M. and lit this fag I got from a lady friend last weekend. Taking a leak from the very same window five months ago, shooting into the flow of raindrops from four stories high didn't feel nearly this strange. Damn drunken summer nights.

And damn leather jacket pockets. The cig broke at more than one points, its filter was completely destroyed, and I still can't get used to that old shitty taste. It's not like I wanted to, but still managed to feel it way too many times in the last two months. Damn freshmen camps.

You could define me a social smoker. I'd call myself as an anti-social one. Standing there alone, breathing in and out, slowly, like a dying whale that ran ashore, I was thinking about growing up, becoming independent, walking under an unearthly weight of a million responsibilities. Besides the usual I could use a Coke thought, only one thing hit my mind in conclusion: I'm going to write a filler post that makes absolutely no sense, but it'll have a crazy twist ending in the last sentence.

Here, have a look at Jerry O'Connell's chomped off penis.

What a Story, Mark!

Remember Jerky Jim and his comment regarding knowledge and universities? He said when I get to that, I'll know more and I'll be allowed to use my voice. Man.

Let me tell you something about this university thing. I won't go into boring details, that's the common September-syndrome of bloggers who want to write about their new school. I have some eccentric but fun teachers and profs, a few cool roommates (our bad movie nights are a real blast into the head even when alcohol isn't involved), and a nice city to live and learn 4 days a week. That's about it.

Now, what did I actually learn during these weeks? Let's count it from August, with the two freshmen camps I attended. Here it goes:

• Rubber chickens can be whores too. Seriously, I saw one that would suck on anyone's preferred body parts if s/he paid the chicken's - her name was Sári - owner.
  

A real babe, isn't she?

• I'm not the biggest Stanley Kubrick/Clockwork Orange fan from our city, what the hell.

• Sex with deeply religious girls often leads to scruple. Fact.

• You can find jocks outside America, even if they are a bit old (24 years, but the guy was grizzled already), coming complete with huge muscles (to compensate being 5.7 feet tall) and almost funny behaving problems. You don't wanna f'ck with him when he's drunk. Least if both of you are drunk.

Awright, that's all for now. Maybe I'll complete the list when something comes to my mind. The point is, what I would like to say to a certain someone:

Oh really now, Jim? Really?

Knewsick Shows Its Teeth

Well now. Seems like 5 days before the album's official release date, you can listen to the closing titles from Michael Wandmacher's Piranha 3-D score. Oh boy. Seriously.

This is the kind of badass music that makes you feel like your d!ck has grown 9 inches.

Even if you are a girl.

Presenting:

P3D End Titles from Chris Lydecker on Vimeo.

Oh yeah, baby. Oh yeah :)

Association, I'm Lovin' It

Back in 2000 I saw a music video for Armand van Helden's Koochy, a song which is basically a remixed-the-living-shit-out-of-it version of the classic Cars by Gary Numan. With its '80s retro feel the thing is still one of my favorite music videos, It's nothing more than and nothing sort of a stock footage glory, featuring scenes from documentaries, sci-fi movies and porn flicks, centered around a concept which is - at least I think - depicting the essence of an orgasm via technical mayhem. Check it and keep an eye out for the robot that sings, more like talks the lyrics:

He's called Box, and he stars in the classic 1976 sci-fi movie Logan's Run. Did you notice anything strange on him? Since a good third of my readers are hardcore gamers, you probably should. I've photoshopped this little picture so the ones living in blessed ignorance (= no game-addicts) could see how awesome this talking toaster is:


Yes, he's wearing the friggin' Xbox logo! And yes, he's actually called Box. What the hell. You'd think the movie somehow managed to pay homage for a console that came out almost thirty years later. Or that the designers were Logan-fans. Or maybe what we're seeing here is just plain coincidence.

But seriously, anybody heard something official on this? I did not, but this is why I associate Gary Numan with the Xbox. Let's move on.

One of the most fun games I ever played on the X360 (thanks to my pal Mykee, I never show him, but he's grooming me for being a real addict) is an FPS called Borderlands. Set on planet Pandora (no, not that one), you make your way through deserts with futuristic weapons, and... whatever, just watch the intro here. Cool, huh?

And what's the coolest thing about it? The soundtrack, that way-too-cool-for-this-Earth song, Ain't No Rest For the Wicked. It's a real shameful cliché among their fans, but that's how I learned about the artist behind it, a band called Cage the Elephant.

Cage. The. F'cking. Elephant.

These guys are this month's Dickies, something thats awesomeness nearly poked my eyes out for years, but I haven't noticed them until recently. Their music is glorious, miraculous, spectacular, amazing, sea-you-al. The whole self-titled album is so kewl with catchy tunes and sharp lyrics in every song, that I had to make a fan group for them on iWiW. I encourage you to join it if you have an account, and like their music, being the only member of my own club is a bit boring and a helluva lot embarrassing, too :)

Well, this is why your humble jellyfish associates deserts and ugly dogs with the X360 and one of his favorite bands. No summary or any kind of wisdom this time. Or maybe... association is fun, so is this song by CtE. See you later, Dear Readers.

You Really Call This Civilization?

Watch this little clip from Godzilla 2000 and notice the incredible acting skills, coming complete with a wonderful English dub. Such a dramatic scene, I almost feel bad laughing at it.

Try this link in case YouTube killed the video star.

No need for further comments, I guess. I'm watching all this kaiju eiga stuff again, Japanese trash movies that makes you feel like your brain has shrunk two sizes because of the plot, while the action scenes - with their rubber/plastic badassness - make your wiener become a whole inch longer.

In G2K I actually found the thing that's close to what I saw in my mind when I first thought about the term "microwave jellyfish". It's an entity called The Millennian, a squid-like creature from outer space, who after two minutes of screen time mutates itself into Godzilla's main foe, Orga. Here, have a look:

The first full CGI monster in the whole series. Gayest looking kaiju ever?

Naw, that would be Mothra actually, but since she's a female monster - a goddess, in fact - she doesn't really count. She's one of the most interesting characters, though, no matter how hard fans of reptilian badassness bash her. As a giant butterfly, full of love and motherly instincts instead of destructive periods, Mothra is so awesome at depicting what's nice, beautiful and lovely in this world, that some movie fans actually started to worship her as a real goddess. Check out Mothra's Shrine, a webpage dedicated to this plastic insect. It has a lot of good stuff, everything you need to know if you want to become a follower.

Here's Mothra's own Eleven Commandments for example, with girly letters, that makes everything seem so cool like... the cover of Fight Club:

1. Thou shalt rever (sic!) Mothra, as with the powers of the universe, and hold love in thy soul for all life.
2. Thou shalt rever (sic!) the Earth and life itself, and protect these to any means.
3. Thou shalt protect, and cooperate with, others of thy race to greater ends.
4. Thou shalt not harm or kill others who posess (sic!) life as thou dost.
5. Thou shalt trust in Mothra's love and power always, and hold trust and faith in thy fellows.
6. Thou shalt keep thy word when thou givest it, and treat others always with respect.
7. Thou shalt sing and chant in praise to Mothra and to worship life and love.
8. Thou shalt remember that Mothra will protect thee always.
9. Thou shalt give thyself and others a chance at rebirth and a chance to change for the good at all oppurtunities (sic!).
10. Thou shalt never insult or hold negative feelings toward others; thou shalt always remember love.
11. 11. Thou shalt not be ashamed to stand up for thy faith, and thou shalt not condemn others for their own faiths.

You know what? Deal. From now on, I'm an idolater, I guess. These commandments sound pretty good, although when I pray to Mothra, I won't use her theme song. Something more... Gojira-esque would fit me better.

Yes, my Dear Readers. These all are a just a few reasons why Japanese trash is so awesome.

Dreams and Dick's

One million dollar questions. Two of them.

1) Why don't we have someone who narrates our life?

In my dreams there's always one. When I'm running from policecars at night with my bike still missing those lights, somehow a voice tells me which crossroads should I be aware of, if there's a cop around there and if they've spotted me yet. Stuff that comes handy. I could use a narrator like that in real life.

1+) Speaking of dreams, why did Leo remind me of my cousin when I saw this Inception trailer?

He was the one who introduced me to Alien not long after I first saw JAWS. Grooming a real horror/creature flick fanboy nerd. He's a good man. Too bad we haven't met in years.

2) How come I've never heard about The Dickies before?

After a full year of living in the depressing industrial world with a few weak sunbeams coming from The Rip-Offspring (oh, come on guys, stealing from Foo Fighters? That's low.), I've finally found punk music again that won't make you emo, nor a jackass with his personality replaced with political ideas. For a whole day now I've been listening to Killer Klowns, the theme song for that b movie Killer Klowns from Outer Space (any questions?), and Banana Splits - I'm sure you've heard this one, it was used in Kick-Ass trailers and during Hit Girl's very first massacre scene. This music makes me happy, like some kind of drug injection through my earphones. F'ckin' awesome feeling.

You can listen to both songs on this MySpace page. Have fun, Dear Readers.

Now I'm going to watch Die Hard and think about my ex-girlfriend. No sexual pun intended, tra la la, tra la la la...

You Make Me Perfect

The absolute best movie ever, also known as Spielberg's JAWS is 35 years old today. In case you count movies' age from their opening date, of course. It's a shame we haven't got it on Blu-ray yet - come on, Universal, you gave us 25th and 30th Anniversary edition DVDs, now we need some HD here. Hurry. Up.

Anyways, I haven't posted anything in a full month now. Should I recap what happened in the meantime? First, as it turned out, the weirdest girl in this whole country has a crush on me. Good to know things like this. Knowing that someone likes you, it feels really good. The knowledge itself, no matter how screwed up that other person is. I guess this is why women who get beaten up all the time can't let their so-called soulmate go, even if he's (she's?) the world's biggest d-d-d-d-d-di... uh, penishead. Just think about Rose and Jerky Jim.

(No, the crusher isn't Miss Ruiner. When it comes to strange habits, this one bears with a bit more common weirdness, involving blades and wrists - yes, it's an old cliché. What interesting is, she's the one who always calls me a downer for some reason, and says I'm not thinking positive enough. Fancy that.)

Self-hurting feeds our self-esteem, right now this is what my oh-so-wise-one-sentence comment would be about modern relationships. Well, 90% of modern relationships, especially if we're talking about young and wild people, like me.

. . .

Good Ol' Life, Fate, God Or Whatever flows me towards policemen all the time. They caught me while I was riding my bike without lights on - it cost me 3000 HUF, big deal. It happened last week, just after Mykee told me he wants to be a cop, and it seems to be a nice career for myself, in case all else fails and Good Ol' Life, Fate, God Or Whatever crushes (oh, these crushers!) all my dreams. You gotta love that guy.

Now I'm about to drink some Coke with wine, and watch some B movies. This is going to be a fun... dawn, I guess. Hope you are all right, my dearest readers, and can enjoy the summer more than I do.

R.I.P. Max Payne

I effin' love Max Payne. He's the ultimate badass of the "realistic" part of video game world, a character built up by the most overused detective movie clichés, who operates not just with bullet shower from a wide range of guns, but also a handful of cynical one-liners you gotta love.

Never mind the the awfully mediocre Hollywood transition with Marky Mark - Max Payne 1 & 2 still remain the pioneers and remembered classics of the third person shooter/action genre. They have cheeky humour in contrast of the usually dark, moody storylines, adrenaline pumping action scenes, simple, but addictive and cool music tunes, and from a historical point of view, the very first gameplay usage of the so-called bullet time effect. I could list hundreds of other reasons, but right now I'm just going to ask your trust if you haven't tried these games. In a nutshell: Max Payne kicks ass.

Well said, kid.

Now, what can you do if you have a franchise this good? Yup, you have to ruin the whole thing. Max Payne 3 is coming soon, which would be awesome news for us, fans, but. Quoting from Wikipedia:

This is the first game in the series not to be developed by Finnish game developer Remedy Entertainment and not being written by series creator Sam Lake.

Say whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa'? Sam was the soul of the whole thing, even Max's appearance was designed after him in the first game. So how come not he's doing it? The game's release date was pushed back several times, and people are starting to realize that without the Finns, it may suck. Hard.

Now, the good news: last week Remedy's Alan Wake was released, a survival horror-TPS game, also written by Sam. Thanks to TFYM I had the pleasure to play with it, and I gotta tell you, it's friggin' awesome. Like a twisted Stephen King book, set on the location of Twin Peaks. I'm encouraging all my readers to check it out, and I won't spoil much of it, except for one certain thing. During the gameplay chapters you'll find manuscripts for a novel, and there's two pages written about - you guessed it - Max Payne, read by James McCaffrey, the guy who did Max's voice in the first two games. You can hear them in the first minutes of this video:

Yes, seems like Max's brain is spilled out on snow, and he's ready to join his dead family, finally. I have a feeling this is how Sam gives his opinion about the third game. Don't worry fans, it doesn't matter - Max is dead, actually, dead for good. And, coming from the series' creator/writer, I'd list this as canon, no matter how Payne3 will end up after all.

Well, goodbye, Max. Your suicide didn't disappoint us, it fits you. I hope you find your loved ones, and peace, eventually.

:(

All I Wanted Was a Pepsi!

So I'm twenty years old today. Do you know what that means? Do you? Do you?

Yes, it means I'm no longer a teenager. I have to change my signature on a forum, these lines:

98% of teens would be dead if Twilight said breathing wasn't cool. Post this if you are a part of the 2% laughing.

I'm no longer part of that 2%. I'm no longer a teen. And if I'm feeling low, mad, angry at the world, it's not justified because I'm adolescent. Oh gawd, how I miss doing rants like this already:

Time to grow up, eh?

Boobs and Blood

Have you seen the new trailer for Alex Aja's Piranha 3-D? You really should check it out:

That Ripley-ish face when one of the CGI fish screams (!) at the girl, whoa - I think I'm in love with Jessica Szohr. Seriously.

The film is basically a remake of the original 1978 Piranha, the JAWS-parody by Joe Dante. Unlike its sequel, The Spawning/Flying Killers (James Cameron's first movie) and the 1995 TV remake by Roger Corman, this new version won't avoid humour, which is a good thing. People who already trash it, they just don't get the joke, I think.

This is tongue in cheek, a b movie, the kind that doesn't even tries to look anything other than that. Dumb, silly fun with naked chicks, bloodbath, roaring cartoon fish, and A-list actors saying and doing cheesy things. Notice how Christopher Lloyd uses his Doc Brown-voice to emphasize the line "THIS particular piranha VANISHED two million YEARS ago...", while Richard Dreyfuss is dressed as the character he played 35 years ago in JAWS. Should I mention that allegedly there's a nearly 30 minutes long massacre scene? Throw any objective POV out of the window, I already friggin' love this movie.

Someday I will say something clever about the real life "it's funny when horrible things happen" scenarios. Now I'm just hyping my most anticipated movie of the year. Spring break is gone, but summer's almost here. Stay out of the water, kids.

Second thought, don't do it. Stay in water, kids. I wanna see sexy teenage girls getting torn apart, and I wanna see it now!

PS: Yesterday I made an account on of the most useless community sites, you can check out what's up with me there.

Smashed Up Integrity

Let me tell you about someone I've met recently, a person I'm going to refer to as Ruiner Rose. She's your average 23 year old girl, living in the shadow of her boyfriend, Jerky Jim, and in the constant admiring gaze of Random Randy. Rose is one of those young adults who like to show their sadness and lack of satisfaction with their lives via doing pretty extreme things.

(A bracketed passage to all the depressed people in the world: cutting yourself isn't extreme by any means. It's a cliché.)

I've met Rose last weekend when I was having a drink with a few pals of mine in a pub. Parting apart from her company, suddenly she comes to our table and asks if we wanted to play a match of table football with her. Sure, we answer and introduce ourselves. Before the game starts she tells us how much she likes the sound of breaking glass. "It's the best sound ever." After the match she demonstrates how serious she was about this: she drinks her beer and smashes the glass to the table. Again. And again. And one more time.

It was nice meeting you, weirdo, we think and sit back to our table. But still keeping an eye on Rose. She doesn't go back to her friends' table to their epic card game play. Instead she does what The Fuck You Man likes to call angsting. She just sits near the football table with her head bent down, her fingers caressing the remains of the glass. After a while she gets her coat, says goodbye and leaves.

Ten seconds of thinking, then I get up, say "I'll be back in ten minutes" and go after her. At the pub entrance I meet with Random Randy, your typical nice boy (imagine a strange hybrid of Daniel Craig and Kåre Hedebrant with an attitude that's kinda pathetic even when you compare it to my natural shyness). I ask him if he saw a girl around here, and where did she go. He shows me the direction and within a minute I reach Rose.

First thing, I assure her that I'm not hitting on her, but like, I really-really want to talk if she has the time. She isn't in a hurry, so we start to talk, when Randy shows up with the lamest "can I put my hand in your panties?"-type smile, says hello, and asks if he bothers us. "Just a little bit", I say. "Yeah, you really do", replies Rose, so Randy says sorry and walks back to the pub. I really feel sorry for him. You can't blame someone if he wanted to have Rose's company. The girl has nice looks, I have to admit, and it's hardly fair that I totally occupied her. But whatever, this is life. Cut to the chase.

A few minutes later me and Rose are sitting on the side of the curb, and she tells me everything. An awful lot of things, actually, but here's the point: she wants more from her life. More than sitting in pubs and playing card games. It's not her type of stuff, her buddies bore her. Also, she can't get out from her three year old on/off relationship with a guy who's good company but can't really understand her. She wants more than school, work and hanging out like this. The only really good things in her life are a few really close good friends who accept her that way. Unconditional love and all that stuff.

But she isn't satisfied. Anxiety, depression, social fears, and all the things you should leave behind with your teenage years are all around her neck, and the only thing that helps her feeling better is the glass breaking. The sound gives her a jolt, and the thought of destroying something is somehow uplifting for Rose. That reminds me of Fight Club, I say, and she agrees. Yes, she saw it and thought it's a classic that needs to be seen by everyone. At that moment when she says this, I feel a strange bond with Rose. For a young woman she's really like a cool and intelligent guy, dealing with most of the problems and pessimistic thoughts as I do. I'd love to have her as a sister. And damn, you can imagine how much I wanted to make her feel better. To help her. At any cost.

Now, wall-of-text-haters, here comes the interesting part. Twenty-few minutes passes when the boyfriend, Jerky Jim calls her. Turns out he's down there with the other friends at the table, but for now he's a bit concerned about where has his girlfriend gone. He really wants to meet her, so Rose tells him we're out there. The guy shows up, sits besides us, starts the caressing-hugging-howareyou-prettyone ritual with her girlfriend, and says to me "Go on, just keep talking, I love chatting, too" with the famous "Get away from my chick, go fuck your mother" look on his face.

Not the best feeling when a this kind of guy's girl pays more attention to you, says "You know, you don't understand me at all" to him and finally hugs you as saying goodbye. Whatever, the next few minutes were interesting. I gave away a few encouraging words to Rose, and some advices about life that she could fallow if she wants to. Jim was laughing at us in a poor over-the-top theatrical way, saying that Rose doesn't have any problems at all, and we are both way too young to know anything about life. He's at a university, and if I ever get there, I'll know more. With my 19 years I'm just a kid, pretending to know something. It's good that I'm thinking about rights and wrongs but that doesn't mean I have the answers. "I haven't stated that." This particular statement, he completely ignored of course. Otherwise, it was nice meeting him, too.

Alright now, here's a few nice things, simple manners in the case you want a relationship that won't ends up as a total waste. You know how it goes, I'm not offering anything more than my opinion. Advices that you can take, if you want to:

• First, if your girlfriend has any kind of problem, you don't ignore it. You can love it, you can make her do something about it (even if this leads to fights, think about the greater good), or just simply live with it, but do not pretend it doesn't exist. You know you lie. Your girl knows it. Not healthy to your mind/soul, the relationship and your circle of friends.
  
  
• That circle. If it's having a good time in a public place, and she is among your friends, you don't pretend like she wasn't there. Especially when her body language shouts "Hi there, I'm just about to snap, burst into tears and cut my wrists with shattered glass. And how are you doing?"
  
  
• If she does feel awkward, you ask her what's the matter, talk to and cheer her up, even pay for the glasses she broke (that's optional, of course. Rose said they were quite cheap, by the way :-]).
  

Simple things. If you like someone you should treat her/him this way. Even if she's just a kid who doesn't know anything about herself or the world. Or if she's a crazed psycho. That's a fact you definitely shouldn't ignore, though.

Whatever. I wish the best to Rose and good luck for Jerky Jim with keeping his girlfriend. At least there's two people on Earth who understand her more than he ever could.

Maybe even Randy would be better at that. Aw, that poor guy.

Dino Porn

Sometimes I try to write movie scripts when I'm drunk. Really weird, but somehow cool ideas come this way all the time. I've just made a teaser poster for the latest one, don't be shy, click on it:

Here's a link for the uncensored version - kids stay away, I mean it.

Yes, I'm thinking about making a dinosaur porn. Not a very original idea, but listen: It would be a hardcore sci-fi romance, set on Earth in the year 2293. It's a typical cyberpunk future with all the great skyscrapers, flying cars, underground gangs and walls of computers that look like they were made in the 1960s. But besides all this, mankind has finally cloned dinosaurs - mutant ones, who are really intelligent, capable of thinking, speaking like a human, and feeling real emotions, including love and lust.

Our main characters would be two cops/detectives (investigating sexual crimes of course), a young girl called Miki (it's a Japanese women's name, as a little tribute to the Heisei era of the Godzilla films, that's all the significance it has), who happens to end up as the roommate of her colleague, Gabriel (now I'm not sure why I chose this name - but I think it has a nice chemistry with Miki), an eight foot tall, genetically engineered, violent Deinonychus. Of course, as an inside joke, everyone would call him a Raptor, because of the infamous Jurassic-screw up with the species classification, first by Michael Crichton (RIP), later by the creators of the film, who modelled the raptors with Deinonychus scale. (Stan Winston was a real talent nevertheless, sad R, I and P letters for him too.)

Anyways, these two would end up together as the first human-dinosaur couple. Reptile and primate. Interspecies stuff, yes, but don't forget, I'm not talking about zoophilia. It's something futuristic, entirely fictional. And cool. A bit like the old dragon and virgin princess scenario, set in the future, with a surprising twist.

Oh, yeah, Miki should definitely be an Asian girl. I think they are the cutest specimens of the Homo sapiens, and would make an aesthetic contrast with those huge carnivores. Seriously, this stuff could be the new Twilight. Only that it would be really provocative, funny, interesting, and could easily earn a cult status. The Fifth Element on crack, or something like that.

Now I just have to write the script and find a producer who's crazy enough. Wish me luck, while you are calling me a pathetic zoophile nerd who should get a life. (I won't deny that last statement.) Hollywood, I'm coming.

Roar.

I Am Jack's Raging Bile Duct

Man, I'm ill. Was in bed all day long and still feel sick like [insert a non-clichéd word here]. I had to pass the opportunity to have a drink with two lady friends of mine today, because I couldn't even walk to the store right behind our house, not to mention the pub where I was invited. Life has a bad sense of humour, so I'm going to use good satire as a shield against it. Here's a quote from Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club. You know, just to post something here that's actually worth reading:

I've met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, "Why?"

Why did I cause so much pain? Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can't I see how we're all manifestations of love?

I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God's got this all wrong.

We are not special.

We are not crap or trash, either.

We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens.

And God says, "No, that's not right."

Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can't teach God anything.

Good book. Great movie.

Take care, my friend.

Weapon of Choice

Yay, hurray, it's election day! Should I explain what this means? Time has come to make a stand, choosing sides and deciding about the future of our beloved country. Again.

You know, for the last eight years we had the carnation-guys leading us, the party that constantly screws up things big time, in a lot of different ways - they were forced to change their prime minister two times during this eight years for this reason. (God, I want to live long enough to see the 'Őszöd Speech getting published in our history books, just for the joke of it.) With all respect to my left-handed friends, if Hungary gives a third chance to these guys, I'm going to laugh half a day long and try to kill myself with Diet Coke overdose.

Best way to die. Period.

Well, besides the carnation fraction, we can choose the orange-guys, heroes of our parents and probably the favorites of Alex DeLarge as well. Gosh, I love them. Mentioning the name of this party always reminds me the good old mid-'90s when I was a kid and life was pretty simple. Yes, they own the Granny-sympathy factor and could use nostalgia as weapon, but that's not enough. And come on, what did they exactly said to me in their public announcements besides how big of a junkyard "Fucking Country" Feri has collected in the last few years?

Few years and a few more. Eight, man. Eight years ago on election day I was listening to Conspiracy of One, the worst Offspring album so far. But I still loved it, and still love it nevertheless. Living in Chaos is my ring tone right now. Eight years have passed.

But whatever, here comes the best part: the national-radical guys. Wild teenagers dressed in leather and Hungarian flags love them, the rest usually burst into laughs or tears of fear whenever their name is spoken. They promise great things, if half of them was going to be accomplished, our land would become a better place already. But there's an awful truth about this world, a cliché that even I don't mind to quote: What seems too good to be true is usually not true. Sorry, guys. I don't have faith in you.

I don't think I'll take a step out of this house today. Right now I'm going to watch Christopher Walken dancing, then the latest Doctor Who episode, and finally, I'm going to take a nap right before they announce the so-called winners. Cowardly life, without any responsibility. It's always fun to wake up in a new world.

Frosted Delight

I can't get rid of the thought that one of the latest Gorillaz singles was inspired by my nickname. (Maybe without being aware of it, I was trollin' with Damon Albarn or one of the other guys on some forum?) Check it out:



Funny, how come I've never seen this video before?
Full of surprises, this day is going to be, I can tell you that.

What Happens When You Sleep?

How would you like it if, just for fun, I wrote here mini reviews about all those "first person screamer" mockumentary movies I've seen so far, then talked about the newest "found footage" sensation? Don't answer, read on.

Naturally the first one I saw was The Blair Witch Project from 1999. Great atmosphere, brilliant ending scene, shameful sequel. Back in those days filming something like this was a shockingly original idea.

In 2006 a Werner Herzog - Zak Penn production came out, titled Incident at Loch Ness. Hard to describe this one, I'd say it's a comedy-thriller-hoax, and I wouldn't call it a good film, but one that definitely worth a watch. Give it a try once.

Then came the Spanish [REC] in 2007, and its scene-to-scene American remake called Quarantine. The story is about zombies terrorizing firemen and a TV crew following them, trapped in a building estate. Don't watch this one if you can't handle jump scares, but otherwise it's highly recommended good fun, sometimes a bit predictable if anything. I should watch the sequel too.

Early 2008 Cloverfield was released worldwide, produced by J.J. Abrems, directed by Matt Reeves. It's a crazy, mindless giant monster piece, fast and exciting, a very nice tribute to all those Japanese kaiju eiga movies. Roland Emmerich should have done something like this with his American Godzilla. I can't deny how much I love this film, and would rather see a Clover-sequel instead of... wait, we'll get to that in time.

Probably The Fourth Kind (2009) has the most interesting concept. It's a thriller about alien abductions, set in Nome, Alaska, and it constantly shows allegedly real footages, interviews and audio recordings, while we are also watching a "regular movie" version of the story (they call it dramatization), with Milla Jovovich in the lead role. If it wasn't trying so hard to convince the viewer about the events being real, this film would be fine (as fake as it is, the story is bearable and the scares work - of course, this might be just me, since I was a kid I had an irrational phobia of little grey men.) . But the marketing's pathetic attempt to create a working hoax makes the whole thing look laughable. Universal actually ended up sued because the producers printed numerous fake articles about missing persons and murders in Nome's local newspapers. Does a half-assed marketing campaign worth this much?

The funny part is, some people actually do believe The Fourth Kind is real, and some think the same thing about the flick I saw tonight.

Useless trivia: while I was living in the UK I saw probably 10 buses a day with a huge banner on their sides recommending me Paranormal Activity with the tagline "Don't go alone." I didn't go to see it in a movie theatre at all, only now, months later can I tell that I've finished watching it - only a couple of minutes ago, simultaneously, but not together with that Faust guy. Watching creepy stuff alone in the night with lights off and headphones is good fun. Usually I prefer playing with Silent Hill, but movies could also be good choices. This time I was dancing with a womanizer demon.

Paranormal Activity is a low-budget production by all means, recorded during a 10-day shooting in director Oren Peli's own house with only one camera and about six non-professional actors (90% of the scenes contain only two of them onscreen). It was made in 2007, but not one studio bothered to release it until last year when Steven Spielberg himself saw a copy and allegedly ended up totally creeped out. His praise was good recommendation to DreamWorks, and last autumn the film finally hit the cinema screens, grossing 9.1 million dollars in the first week in the US - with a production budget only $15,000, this flick was definitely a good investment.

Is it a good film? Well, it has its moments. I don't want to talk about the story much (the less you know, the more you'll enjoy it), but here are the basics: the camera belongs to a young couple, called Micah and Katie who's home is haunted by a supernatural entity that becomes more and more violent by each passing day. We can follow their days and nights while they are trying to sort out what is actually happening to them, their attempts to capture evidence, fighting to keep their sanity as things go from bad to worse, and finally, to survive the nights.

I've sliced the film to three parts in my mind: a brilliant first half, a lame second half, and a cool ending. The first half reminds me of a clever quote by Swedish director Tomas Alfredson. The guy's critically praised vampire flick, Let the Right One In is one of my favorite movies, and honestly, I think it is the best drama, romance and horror film of the century so far. (Sadly, just like [REC], it is being Americanized right now, with Cloverfield's Matt Reeves as director. It's a real shame - good movies like LTR1I shouldn't be remade. Fun, brainless monster flicks on the other hand, should have fun, brainless sequels. Why couldn't you stick to the original "Clover2 in 2010" plans, Matt?)

In an interview Alfredson have said that "fear appears before the scary things happen." This is a great truth, and a fine description of how the first half of Paranormal Activity works. After the introduction, the unmissable "exploring-the-location" and "talking scary BS about ghosts and demons" scenes the film officially begins with its night sequences. From night to night, like a wingless guardian angel, the cam films Micah and Katie while they are sleeping in their bed besides the open bedroom door. The whole composition is somehow upsetting, it gives you an uneasy feeling while you are waiting for something to happen.

This is suspense at its best. You try to figure out what you are about to see, and when something does happen, even the most minor thing, your tension snaps. You feel yourself alright during the "thing" (just like Alfredson said), but when it starts, for a second fright gives a huge kick to your fear-level. Those adrenaline-pumper simple stuff like noises made by someone unseen's feet are what I consider good movie scares. For me, they are more disturbing than any roaring zombie that suddenly jumps towards your face. And Paranormal Activity uses them well. For a while.

The second half contains a scene that serves as a turning point from good to not-so-good. After an over the top Poltergeist-sequence, our heroes start to act way too silly and unbelievably toward their haunter and each other as well. The worst thing that ever could happen to a horror film: when scary things happen, we feel ashamed for how stupid our heroes are, and when there's no "action" going on, they start to bore us to hell. This part of the film should have been shorter and less "hardcore" from behalf of the supernatural presence. While it has a good take on the "people driven crazy by fear" scenario, the rest should be more subtle, leading to an epic ending. Because the endings (there are three different version) are neat, but could have been so much more impressive with a better lead-up. I smell a huge untapped chance here.

And this applies to the whole film. 20 minutes shorter, with a little more careful secret-revealing dynamics and smarter characters, Paranormal Activity could have became a classic. But in this form it's nothing more than a low-budget fearshow with some neat scares, that will shortly descend into the dark depths under your memory - and violently resurface every time a strange noise rouses you up in the middle of the night.

Six stings out of ten.

Les Dents de la Mer

Wanna do something fun? Let's sing-along about the worst hangover ever. If you don't know the lyrics, simply throw up every time the chorus kicks in, that will do it.

What should I tell you about last night if I want to be honest and clear? Well, I met the lead singer of 30Y. They are a pretty popular band (more by underground means, not in the media, which is a good thing), and they did a show in our city. When my Kurt Cobain-copycat friend pointed him out - they were just about to leave the place where they played, a pretty good little bar/pub/whatever - , I couldn't resist, had some kind of urge to talk to the guy. I asked him if I could shake his hand, he said yes, then if he really was that guy from the band. A second positive answer, and I told him something like this:

"Listen, I'm far from being your fan, but thanks for coming, people are glad because you were here, and this is kinda like an honour, you know."

He liked that. I think this is the kind of fanboyism what musicians (let me not say the word celebrity) deserve, instead of a bunch of alter-emo kids screaming and waving after the tourbus. That was a a sad sight. Well, okay, that hand-shaking bit was pathetic as well, but I was drunk, what do you expect?

Yes, I'll answer that one. Expect myself without my shyness, jumping in through windows (or aerators, while pretending that I was an unleashed Xenomorph), stepping besides and talking to people, celebs, hawt chix, former teachers, wasted, lonely drunk guys.

Also, while I was talking to a girl who learns French I came to realize that I know what the phrase "la mer" means. Literally, it's "the sea" and is also the title of a beautiful song by Nine Inch Nails, with very few lyrics, in French. (And obviously that's not Trent "Gawd" Reznor's voice you can hear on the record.) Another funny realization is that the French title of my all-time favourite movie, JAWS is Les Dents de la Mer, which means "The Teeth of the Sea". Groovy. So much more original than the Hungarian translation.

And speaking of favourite things, imagine what I was feeling when after Smells Like Teen Spirit (Cobain-wannabe companion, remember?) the jukebox started to play friggin' Defy You by The Offspring. Their best song. My favourite. Ever. Nothing surpasses it. Hearing it in a public place... damn. With these videolinks I can't let you feel the feelings I felt last night. I don't think you could even imagine it, my friend. Having a good time while little things make you happy, that's my post's point today. It's something you have to experience.

Now, before my blog grows a way too positive mood, here are the sad things:

My dad is on his way back to the UK.

Yesterday we should've taken The Fuck You Man with us.

Today my head hurts like hell.

)-: Would someone just kill meeee...? :-(

And how's it going with you?

Any Questions?

I'm back with a vengeance and a working PC, yay.

Just like last time we met, I can tell that today I tortured myself with a pretty good run and a workout session, about as long as the second half (speaking in nineties/MC fashion: the B-side) of Americana. I'm slowly floating towards complete exhaustion, yet the only thing I want to do is rollin', rollin', rollin' like a ball, jumping from rooftops and to beat shit up. Well, these aren't an "only thing", yeah. But I want do them all night long, I suspect partly because I've witnessed an hour long Bayonetta gameplay - get it? I wasn't even playing the thing but it gave me a long-term adrenaline rush - and partly because of Hollywood.

Movies are legal drugs, my friend. I mean, they take us to places. Good and bad ones, they all make us think, feel and even daydream. About attending to an acting school, killing some screenwriters, buying a camera, or jumping off rooftops and beating up shi... eh, I hope you got the point. What I actually wanted to let you know in this post's glorious fuzziness is that I saw the trailer for the film adaptation of the Scott Pilgrim comic books. Here it is:

I can't really decide if this is something very-very fun and cool, or the preview of this year's worst movie. It might be both. But that's not the point. The point is, I'm acting like a mouse on steroids, and I want to fight the world, just like this Scott guy.

Also, I could use some Diet Coke.

Any Questions?

Now You're a Man

What is the worst possible way to start blogging? Maybe killing your Windows comes close. It's a shame, but thanks to a system-reinstallation-goes-wrong scenario, I'm here without internet access and a functioning PC. Congrats, dear Micro-J.

I'd be cutting my wrists right now (or just drinking myself to death, who knows) if I wasn't living with minimal or without any online activity in the past five months. Err, no. I just like to overdramatize things. Hopefully my computer will be alright within days.

By the way I'm writing from my pal Mykee's place right now. We want to be fit, sexy and dangerous for the summer (could I sound any more homoerotic than this?), so we were jogging today and now torturing ourselves with anything that's good for the stomach. This song gives us inspiration.

Rock on, dudes. See ya soon.

Face Me

Longing to seem interesting, funny, instantly and insanely likable, we always waste too much time and energy with composing a nice introduction that we can say or write to random people. Most of the time they hardly care about what we say, but hey, we love to talk about ourselves. Maybe we should shoot a cheeky introduction-bomb every morning to our reflection in the mirror. (You know what? Starting tomorrow, I will do that.)

Point is, I'm no exception, but I like to keep things simple. I don't want to bore anyone, you see. So, instead of building up the Great Wall of Blogland, I'll just rip off the idea of Mykee and Faust, and post this visual guide to my fantastic life:


Groovy, isn't it?

One other thing you should know about me (if you are reading this, you possibly noticed it already) is that my English sucks, even though I just finished spending five months in Great-Britain. If you see a mindblowingly horrible grammatical screw up in my posts, please let me know about it. Feel free to comment, laugh at me, call me anything, I don't mind as long as you actually help me getting better with this foreign-language-blogging.

It's not just a hobby, you know. It's the thing some people got instead of a life.

Hooker

looks like i've got a blog.

yay.

seems like i don't have any coke at home.

damn.

--

and since i didn't use any capitals, you can't really tell which coke i was referring to, and without actually noticing it you start to wonder what kind of a person i am. this is my very first post's hook. hooked on my blog, you became interested in me, no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

congratulations, friend.

welcome to my life.