Do not see this movie. Please.

The trailer will have you believe this movie is worth watching. Time, The New York Times, and Rolling Stone will also have you believe this movie is worth watching. But listen to the voice of reason (i.e.: me), and avoid this at all costs. It runs a little over two hours, but it felt twice as long, and will certainly ruin your evening with the potential of giving you a headache. Basically, if you decide to see The Hurt Locker, after reading this review, then you deserve to waste your money.

The Hurt Locker Movie Poster

The film follows a three-man bomb squad in the Iraqi war (circa 2004), with several scenes of how the unit disarms various bombs. Or, if you want to look at it another way: it’s basically a video game that you have no control over. Staff Sergeant William James (played by Jeremy Renner) is the wild renegade in charge of this unit, who doesn’t like to play by the rules; they make it painfully obvious that he gets a rush out of disarming bombs. Sergeant JT Sanborn (played by Anthony Mackie) is sick of duty, and does his best to stay alive so he can get back home, while Specialist Owen Eldridge (played by Brian Geraghty) is a giant pussy that should have never been a soldier.

Even though these three are the main characters, we learn virtually nothing about them, and there are only two scenes of “bonding” between the three soldiers, who we are supposed to feel for. Aside from the scenes that are inconsequential tangents which the Staff Sergeant creates, the bomb scenes were genuinely cool and suspenseful. But even those started wearing on me, since it was just more of the same, with slightly different variables. You never really get a handle on what drives the Staff Sergeant to do what he does, or to think what he thinks, which creates a giant bubble of confusion as the story progresses.

Explosion Scene from The Hurt Locker

I had no qualms with the acting, and the sets / visuals were very realistic; imagine Jarhead, but not entertaining. There were points where I felt like I was being tortured for continuing to watch – a really long sniper scene, and a sub-plot between the Staff Sergeant and an Iraqi boy. The whole theme was to explain that some soldiers (the Staff Sergeant) are driven to war for the adrenaline rush, and to avoid the mundane; even though the theme was conveyed, it didn’t keep you interested. Oh, and if you think “hey, it can’t be that bad with Guy Pearce and Ralph Fiennes” then you are in for a bad surprise, since they were each in the film for a total one scene each.

Really, I’d love to say something positive, but I just can’t. The story was as flat from beginning to end; you’d have more fun off pulling out your pubic hair, one by one. Please watch something else.

As any psychologist will tell you, men have a need to quantify everything. Be it how many stars there are in the sky, or how hot a woman is, a man isn’t content until they can put a number to it. And while we’re still working on counting the stars, we’ve definitely got attraction figured out. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” To an extent, that’s true. But, fear not! Even taking that into account, there is a scale that every man can agree on.

Unholy Ugly – 1

This is a one.

The attraction scale, of course, goes from one to ten, and the lowest on the scale is a one. If you meet a one, you will probably be haunted for the rest of your life.  They are the things of nightmares, and chances are they aren’t human. A one might have a great personality, but you’ll never find out, because you’ll never be able to look at it. Fortunately, not many of these exist.

Pretty Damned Hideous – 2 and 3

Going up from this, we have the twos and the threes. Twos are questionably attractive. As in, you question whether or not they’re the proper sex. If you ever have to ask yourself if it’s male or female, chances are it’s a two. Threes are getting a little better. You’d date them if someone paid you a lot of money, but you wouldn’t be happy about it. Drug addicts and people down on their luck tend to end up with threes.

Okay, I guess – 4 and 5

Babies are mild deformities

If you’ve ever seen someone and said, “She’s all right, I guess,” chances are you’ve met a four or a five. While a five, by definition, is average looking, a four might still have some minor deformity. Maybe their smile is too big. Or they’re cross-eyed. A five, on the other hand, isn’t really that bad. If you’re unsure if the girl is a four or a five, ask yourself, “Do I need alcohol before I want to make out with her?” If you do, she’s a four.

Mmmm – 6 and 7

Sixes and sevens are arguably the most attractive of all women. They’re not blazingly hot, but they have a certain sense of attainability. The GND (girl next door) tends to be a six. Sevens are a class above GND, but still approachable. If you manage to bag yourself a seven, you’ll probably be inclined to keep her. At least, until you meet the next group.

Holy Hot! – 8 and 9

The Queen of Jordan is an 8. But she's a queen, so maybe she's a 10.

Here’s where I take a moment to say something really important. The attractiveness scale is exponential, much like the Richter Scale. That means a six is a hell of a lot more attractive than a five. It also means an eight is a rare find. If you found an eight in a store, you’d buy it no matter what the cost. A nine is even hotter than that. If you meet a nine, chances are you’ll forget your name, and that you have a wife. And then your wife will smack you… As an unfortunate side effect of being around a nine, if she does ask you out for a drink, you’ll be too dumbfounded to accept.

Indescribable – 10

As far as I can tell, tens don’t really exist. Some people think certain celebrities are tens, but they’re just not thinking straight, which makes perfect sense since both eights and nines can affect male intelligence. If you disagree, send pictures. I’ll be glad to look, but chances are you’re wrong.

Too much to read? Here’s a quick recap:

1. Die before dating
2. You’re not sure if it is a man
3. $200/date
4. $50 or lots of alcohol to date
5. Okay to date
6. Happy to date
7. Lucky to date
8. Distractingly hot
9. Leave your wife/girlfriend for her
10. Mythical

Of course, looks aren’t everything. Personality means a lot when it comes to deciding whether or not a person is attractive or worth your time. But, from a purely physical point of view, I think most (if not all) males can agree on this scale. As for a woman’s scale for judging men, it turns out they’re not really big on numbers. It’s been theorized that they use a poetic scale. In fact, it’s not uncommon to hear, “He’s as attractive as a moonlight on the summer sands.” WTF does that even mean?

INT. STARBUCKS - 24/7

It’s a known fact that LA is littered with screenwriters. Lots of them. Tens of thousands to be exact. Some are professionals, some are hobbyists, and others are uninspired goons trying to cash in on the illusory spec sale lottery. Anyone who lives in Los Angeles and has walked ten paces to a Starbucks knows that there is a good chance the coffee shop chain will be infested with amateur and professional screenwriters penning the next summer blockbuster or quirky-ironic indie cult hit.

Taking some time to investigate this topic, I came to realize that simply saying Starbucks was integral to so many screenwriters‘ writing processes was as much of an understatement as saying Richard Simmons is simply chipper. After starting to investigate, what I found was a much scarier, horrific, monster. Something so shocking and revealing that I knew immediately I had to share it with the rest of the world. What follows is my multi-part expose on the present state of “Starbucks Screenwriters.”

Gone are the times when writers sat outside restaurants and bars sucking cigarettes and downing glass after glass of brown liquor, exhausting themselves over their next novel or screenplay. From Hemingway penning  The Sun Also Rises amid cafe hopping among some of the great Parisian cafes of the 1920s, to Diablo Cody scribing “Juno” at a Starbucks inside of a Target, the times are a changin’, my friend. Honest to blog? You have no idea.

Walt Disney gets dethawed and writes new Disney characters at a Starbucks on Melrose.

“It’s a known fact that screenwriting at Starbucks has increased significantly in the past several years, and one of the giveaways is due to the recent barage of screenplays with music written into the script… music from artists like Norah Jones, Paul McCartney, John Mayer, and Feist, Starbucks audio favorites.”

This is what Hollywood producer Thomas Glen (Titanic 2: The Iceberg Takes Manhattan, Rocky VII: The Metameusel Chronicles) had to say about the topic, who I met at a Starbucks on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood, where I was going to scout out local screenwriters and try to get the inside scoop on this recent phenomenon. He was waiting to meet Lindsay Lohan to discuss a future film project, but had just recieved a text saying she’s running a little late, so he granted me a few moments to discuss the state of “Starbucks Screenwriters.”

A budding, novice screenwriter working on prequel to "Freaky Friday", titled "Wacky Wednesday." Currently a work in progress at 600 pages.

“First off, whenever one of our readers gets a script that’s starts with music from the likes of Feist or Lily Allen, we immediately throw that script in the trash. It’s not so much that it’s a bad song from the artist, it’s just we as the industry know that whatever follows is not going to be quality material. It’s obvious the writer has written this screenplay at Starbucks and we know that he or she is just going to be too hopped up on caramel macchiatos to write anything close to coherent.

Mr. Glen than immediately pointed to a man in his early thirties, pounding away at a netbook in the corner by the bathrooms. “See him in the corner? He’s on his third act. See how much he’s shaking rom the caffeine? The script is not going to be consistent.” Thomas than went on to say: “We see it all the time. The scripts start off very slow, and develops a faster pace, then by the end of the second act, the characters are talking ten times as fast as the were in the beginning and scenes last no more than twenty seconds. It’s from the potent mixture of the espresso and the sugary syrups. By “FADE OUT” all the dialogue is ending with exclamation points and the action sentences are just one word fragments. And they don’t even make any sense at that.

Something else noticed by the upper rungs in Hollywood is the amount of scripts coming taking place in a Starbucks. Thomas pointed out several examples of scripts he’s recieved in the past month… “It’s like ‘Snakes on a Plane’ but in a Starbucks. It’s ‘Waiting’ at a Starbucks. It’s ‘Armageddon’ at a Starbucks. See what we have to deal with? When you’ve been living off vegan scones and pumpkin bread for the last five weeks, you’re not in a stable enough mental state to choose what shirt you’re going to wear that day, let alone write a screenplay.

I want these motha fuckin' snakes off my motha fuckin' breakfast sandwich!

Just then, Mr. Glen turned his attention to the door where it was no other than Lindsay Lohan, stumbling inside. Mr. Glen muttered “Fuck my life,” and I extended my hand, thanked him for his time, and swiftly left the table.

Oh, my friends, my investigating as only begun. Stay tuned ’til next week where I interview local Starbucks baristas, assiduous screenwriters, and a special celebrity about the current state of “Starbucks Screenwriters” in Tinseltown.

This week on Burn Notice Michael meets an old foe named Brennen (played by Jay Karnes), an arms dealer with a grudge. He isn’t alone though, he brought a notorious serial killer with him and has decided to ‘kidnap’ Michael brother, Nate. The setup is pretty clear, if Michael doesn’t do exactly what Brennen says, he’ll kill both Nate and Michael. What he requires Michael to do is steal several items; a memory chip in a secure building, the voice of a gun nut, and a mystery box from yet another secure building.

‘End Run‘ was by far the worst episode of Burn Notice I’ve ever seen. Its not bad enough the Brennen isn’t intimidating in the least bit, but the entire episode has Michael going around fucking with average, normal people. There really isn’t a bad guy per-se in this episode. Burn Notice has always been a show about wits, not action. So when Michael isn’t matching wits with anyone the show seems pointless. It’s like if Arnold Schwarzenegger made a movie about beating up retarded people, it’s just an unfair fight.

Michael Weston, AKA Macgyver 2.0

I will say the last ten or so minutes of the episode was decent. My complaint with the ending is the way Michael eventually defeated the Brennen. He just kind of walks away with out a real fight and it’s very anti-climactic. But as bad as this episode  was there were some slightly enjoyable moments. Michael acting like an inept, drunk janitor was really funny. And hearing him talk ignorantly about guns to a gun nut was also really funny.

Another complaint I had was with the story involving Paxton (played by Moon Bloodgood). What the hell is she supposed to be doing? She just walks in at random times trying to one-up Michael but Michael always ends up fooling and outsmarting her. Then 20 minutes later she returns only to get fooled by Michael yet again. She is retarded and useless. But she is better looking than Fiona, so I’m willing to give her another chance to get more interesting.

This episode was bad. Really bad. Burn Notice is better than this. Since the season premiere there have been 3 episodes and 2 of them were pretty stupid. If the show continues down this road then it may be the end soon.

Score – 4/10

I don’t even need to get into my love for The Mars Volta with you all again. Sure their review for the Ventura Theatre show wasn’t all gold, but it was on the fault of the mighty Volta. And while I’ve been listening to it for a few weeks now, today marks the release of their 5^th studio album, Octahedron.

It’s been called their acoustic album, but “there’s electricity throughout it!” as they band has quoted. By acoustic, they mean that it is mainly a chill guitar playing the whole time, with the majority of the album taking a more structure approach than usual.

The lineup this time around remains at Omar Rodriguez- Lopez on lead axe, Cedric Bixler-Zavala with the nutty mic antics, Ikey going insane on the keyboards, Juan Alderate playing bass with that badass Mexican flag on his amp, my homeboy Thomas Pridgen kicking ass but showing restraint on the drums, Omars brother Marcel on the synth and percussion, rounded out with John Frusciante of the Red Hot Chili Peppers on the guitar (mainly in the studio though).

Cedric and Omar

Personally, I didn’t like the album at first, but after a day or two it started to grow on me. After about two weeks I figured my favorite tracks to be highlighted (or is it highlit?).

The intro track, Since We’ve Been Wrong, sets the initial tone for the claim to this album being an acoustic album. The guitar play is gorgeous, both acoustic and electric. What’s more, once Thomas kicks in towards the end with the drums, the synth joins in to lead to an epic conclusion of the first track. Mixed with sultry and strong lyrics, this song made it to the top of my favorites for this album.

Halo of Nembutals, the third track was a great song all around , but really got me hype with the drum outro at about 4:52, mixed with Ikey getting a beautiful and disorganized piano exit of his own.

Cotopaxi, one of the singles and the sixth track on the album was a big surprise to me, because this song starts and finishes hard, and obviously is well outside the bounds of acoustic traits. It’s also the perfect partner to get your heart racing, after the calm ending of With Twilight As My Guide. It also has a kick ass video taking place (I believe) south of the border. Take a look.

Finally, my favorite track that sticks to me every day for the last two weeks whilst driving in my car has been the second track, Teflon. I don’t know if it’s the smooth echoing guitars in the beginning, or the strange drum timing of the song, but its addictive. The chorus has been ringing in my head, and paints a simple but powerful picture.

Let the wheels burn,

Let the wheels burn,

Stack the tires to the neck,

With a body inside.

The simple chorus and title of the song I believe are allusions to certain political officials, as the word Teflon is usually clamped to political officials who are not taken seriously, with a tendency for their criticism to be glue less.

Overall, The Mars Volta still has that edge that I’ve loved over the years, and with this acoustic album, they re-solidify their place in the Progressive Rock game. Go out and get the album, and let it grow on you. I promise after about a week, you’ll be singing choruses too.

Until next time my friends,

~Flak

Let me preface this by saying: Don’t nobody love Woody Allen more than me (at least in California). Regardless of my devotion to this man, there was something mildly disappointing about his latest film Whatever Works. And I think that something was the fact that Woody has maintained the same three gimmicks in all forty of his films: Older, undeniably unattractive man is somehow able to be with a younger, much better looking woman, Jewish guilt galore, and the abnormal fear of death. All three characteristics were present and accounted for in film #40.

Promotional poster for Whatever Works

Boris (Larry David) and his daffy southern belle (Evan Rachel Wood)

Boris "ekes out a living" by teaching chess to incompetent children (aren't they all?)

Woody Allen instructing Larry David on how to embody Woody Allen

Boris’ attachment to Melodie starts to concern her when she admits to herself how attracted she is to Randy. In the midst of all of this, Marietta has transformed herself into an archetypical artist of 1960s Greenwich Village: Dressing in black, creating erotic art exhibitions, and living in a menage a trois. The arrival of Melodie’s father merely adds to the screwball comedy nature of the story.

Forced enthusiasm is common when reunited with a family member

I’ve never been too into porn. Maybe it has to something to do with my irrational fear of penises, which developed soon after Red Man that Could scarred my brain when he gave me my first gay porn starring the very talented Cody Cummings.

Aside from the sporadic Hotel Erotica or Cathouse episode, my exposure to adult cinema has been fairly lackluster. Additionally, I’ve never gotten into it– maybe it’s because I’m not ultra fond of watching ugly naked people go at it. Just not my cup of tea– I guess.

That is– until now. Turns out I do enjoy me some voyeurism, but reading about it, only. Maybe it’s a terrible side of effect of all that book learnin’ I did in my youth.

Ashley and me details the salacious affairs of a married man with graphically meticulous play by plays — deliciously sinful literary porn if you will.  Think Danielle Steel meets Dave Sedaris meets hard core sex. It’s like nothing I’ve ever read before, and it’s pretty freaking amazing.

Riff Dog is the adulterous star and “me” of Ashley and Me, who blogs his lascivious trysts with the various women he meets on AshleyMadison.com.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Ashley Madison (AM) (like I was), it is a co-ed dating (or affair, if you want to get technical) service for those who are married or in relationships. The clever tag line reads: Life is Short, Have an Affair. This service, which essentially advocates adultery, has been berated on numerous television and news programs for trying to destroy relationships and families. See a clip here.

CEO Noel Biderman denies any wrong doing, and insists that the site is totally legal and legitimate.  In fact, in a recent interview, he claims that adultery can save a monogamous relationship. Nearly 4 million members worldwide seem to agree.

Membership to AM is free and you basically pay for upgrades, such as virtual gifts (think Facebook gifts), personalized messages, and premium memberships.

Riff Dog, a premium member, describes himself as a 6’5, handsome, athletic, white professional in his 40′s.  Married with children, he paints a sob story of how his wife is ill and how he would never leave her for any of his other girlfriends.  Clearly, he’s quite the gentleman.

What is so addicting about Ashley and Me are not only Riff Dog’s numerous sexcapades, which read as easily as an X-rated version of Twilight, but the Dog is actually a really talented writer.  Even when he’s not describing wet hot sex, his humor, charm, and wit really come alive in his entries.  You feel like you’re right there with him as he’s making some girl climax for the tenth time.  It’s strangely surreal, and gross, but still kinda cool. Additionally, his self critical jabs– he readily admits to being a dog– somehow makes him seem more human, likable, and forgivable.

Not that I condone adultery or anything. In fact, I wouldn’t hesitate to go Lorena Bobbit on a boyfriend should he decide to join AM one day.

Oh yeah, and apparently, he is quite talented in the bedroom, or pool table as well:

She puts her arms around me. As I suck her tongue into my mouth. My fingers making their way once again into her hair. Pulling her head back again. So I can kiss her neck now. I open my mouth against the front of her neck and slide my lips up and down it.

Her moan is different now. Lower pitched. This is her spot. I keep sliding my lips up and down her neck, but a little harder. More moans. I grab her hair a little tighter. And keep sliding my lips on her neck.

While my other hand reaches down to the hem of her dress. I pull it up with my thumb. And put my hand on the inside of her thigh. Then up. Until my index finger is just to the edge of her panties. And already making it’s way under. She’s already so wet. I run the tips of my fingers between her pussy lips. Up and back. So, soooo wet.

Then in one motion, I push my middle finger deep inside her, all at once. “Oh, God!” she gasps.

Breathe. Yes. That just happened, and there’s more here.

A convenient sidebar organizes Riff Dog’s affairs into chronological chapters, so new fans can get up to date easily.  Users are also invited to comment on posts– surprisingly, he has a strong female fan base as well.

In fact, Riff Dog’s latest conquest, Gabriela, was an avid blog fan, before she joined AM and met the Casanova in person for a NC-17 rated lunch date. Here’s a taste:

Gabriela now turns towards me, no longer worried about any passers by. She starts unbuttoning my pants. Looking so focused. And succeeds in “freeing me.”

I’m not sure how good an idea this is. There are no tablecloths in this restaurant. We’re pretty “out in the open” should anyone else walk past.

Naturally, as an investigative journalist, I felt compelled to delve deeper into Riff Dog’s dogly persona and try to find him myself. After signing up for AM with my own secret identity, I set myself up to find this literary sex god lover… for research purposes only, of course!

Based on the physical description he gives about himself on the site, the feat has proved rather difficult.  There are thousands of over 40, white, and professional cheaters over 6 feet tall in Los Angeles alone.

But I’m not the only one searching for a lover. After I set up my profile, which basically reveals nothing about me except that I’m 5’7 and live in the Valley (both of which aren’t exactly true), I get 7 winks (which are kinda like pokes from Facebook), get added to 2 favorite lists, and receive messages from 10 interested users. I don’t even have a picture up.

This is after I’ve been a member for less 24 hours.  Turns out that Riff Dog isn’t the only dog in town. Apparently anonymous sex with strangers is still a guy’s favorite past time.

I suspect it will take me a while (if ever) to learn the true identity of Riff Dog. In the meantime, we’ll just have to wait and read.