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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Friday, July 22   >>

HOW HOLLYWOOD PULLED A FAST ONE ON ME

Just when I thought the movie machine released an original flick today, I was slapped in the face by rolling credits that snarled, "HAHA, SUCKA! WHAT, YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS GOING TO BE, UH, FRESH????!"

I caught The Island this afternoon. It intrigued me from the time I first saw the trailer. Looked promising.

Little did I know it was going to be 2005 version's of Logan's Run with a twist of a Michael Bay edge.

Oh c'mon. You haven't seen Logan's Run? Man, give me a break.

Anyway, while there were many parallels, I must say that I still managed to enjoy the movie. It was, in fact, fun. It wasn't an attempt at being this generation's THX1138.

Oh c'mon. You haven't even seen THX1138? Well, that's okay -- it wasn't that good in the first place.

And now, a segue!

This summer's releases are so disappointing. Nothing original's comin' out except that one called Stealth, starring Jaime Foxx in his post-Oscar-winning-"I can now do it the Cuba Gooding Jr. way"-downfall. THUMBS DOWN.

Last night I had a dream with George Carlin. I think he may have come up in my dream because I was reading his book, Napalm and Silly Putty before I drifted off to sleep.

In the dream, he and I were talking over lunch in a hotel restaurant. It went a little sumthinsumthin' like-a this.

I'm, all, like, "So, George..."

George was, all, like, "Yeah?"

"Does the title of your book allude to the classic War and Peace??"

"Why, yes, Hugo, it does!"

I woke up and realized how odd the dialogue was -- it hasn't escaped me since. I bet I would've said the same thing in the dream had his book been titled "Black and White" or "Dead and Alive" or "Analog and Digital".

It was a strange dream. But nowhere near the strangeness that came about in a dream with Radiohead's Thom Yorke:

HUGO: FUCK, I forgot my wallet.

THOM YORKE: Perhaps I could interest you in some dollars and cents, fellow subterranean homesick alien.
It's the weekend. Do something. We out.