Monday, January 31, 2011

CBR-III: Book #2: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

How exactly does one go about writing a review for The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo without reiterating what countless others have already said? How do you bring a new or fresh approach to the table? I hopped on over to Pajiba and read Prisco’s review from the glory days of 2008 and one line in particular stuck out to me: It commits so many errors that would normally piss me off, but it’s got such an interesting cast of characters, and such a disarming narrative structure, you drift along madly with the story.

That…that…is total truth.

Plot: We follow a recently discredited reporter, Blomkvist. It begins with a battle against Wennerstrom, delves into the family life (and search for the killer of a presumed dead girl) of the Vanger’s, and goes back to Wennerstrom. Along the way Blomkvist is joined by a detective/hacker named Salander.

The real star of the story is Salander. I wonder if Stieg Larsson intended that when he wrote the books (there’s a trilogy)...well, this book in particular. We can’t really ask him, because he died right after he turned the manuscripts in. I honestly don’t think so. I have a feeling he probably wished he was Blomkvist. In many ways he (Larsson) was as a political journalist who was known to receive many death threats because of his own work. Blomkvist is not only this fascinating 50-something journalist, but he’s also in good shape and quite the ladies man (he has 3? 4? Sexual partners in the course of the book). I have a feeling though, that when writing it, he realized who the more interesting character was. A lot of times when I write fiction (I don’t know if this is the case for everyone) I have a character that I determine is the lead. That character is my main character whom I love. However, as I write, I create another character that is wholly more interesting. They are more fun to write and rather fascinating. I fall in love with them. I got the impression, through the progression of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, that this is the case. In the beginning of the book we are really only given sharp snippets of Salander. As it progresses these are expanded until she is almost on par, face time, with Blomkvist. Picture it this way, when filming American History X, the film was supposed to be about Danny (Edward Furlong)…and ended up being more about Derek (Edward Norton).

Salander is 4’11”. She only weighs a little over a 100 lbs. Close cut red hair that she dyes black. She has tattoos, piercings, and for all due purposes is Goth. She is anti-social. Troubled. Despite being in her early twenties she is still considered a ward of the state. She’s also ruthless, cunning, and highly intelligent. Add to the fact that she’s an incredibly accomplished hacker, somewhat independently wealthy, and has ties in the underground…she’s dangerous. And hot. So hot.

My problem with the book was this…

The beginning is exceptionally boring. So much so in fact that I’ve actually talked to several people who stopped reading it…because the beginning is boring. If you can actually manage to get past it…woohoo…the book picks up like a bolt of lightning. It’s going to die again towards the end, but only because he tries to tie everything up into a nice little bow in about twenty pages. Until the very last few pages of the book. Those leave you…sad…yet optimistic.

Other than that it was little things. Like a guy who would compare prison to a vacation. Now, I’ve never been to prison…but I’ve been to jail…and jail was nothing like a prison. I can only imagine what prison is like, and I don’t care to imagine that.

Or a sexual relationship that ends on one page…picks up on another…and then ends within a few more. Too fast and rather unnecessary. Plus, I can’t understand why women fall in love with an asshole. Blomkvist…is an asshole. Then again this seems accurate to real life.

I also couldn’t understand why a rape victim would sleep with someone so soon after being raped. I can understand the need to portray Salander as a fucked up person. However, that seemed a little too fucked up. I felt she was stronger person then to convey herself through sex. In fact, given her standoffish nature and personal life…I considered her more of an anti-sexual person. Every time it mentioned her having casual sex I felt a little pinched. Here’s why. Look around you. Name one loner computer geek you know (male or female) , who spends most of their time alone and staring at a computer screen, who prides themselves on not letting anyone near them and always has their guard up…who gets laid…on a frequent basis. A person who is that anti-social simply does not have the necessary skills to get laid. On most occasions it seemed like Salander would just walk up to someone and say, “Let’s fuck.” Done. Game over. No questions asked. Granted…she’s a tiny little hot thing…but I’m not buying it. Also, the fact that he made her bi…it’s just…I really liked the character…I just couldn’t believe the character.

I will admit though...I'm looking forward to reading The Girl Who Played With Fire.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

A First Time For Everything

The other day at work I got in a conversation with a coworker on the topic of “firsts.” It’s amazing, looking back, at how much we can actually remember. I for one, can remember my first erection.

I’m not talking about morning wood. Morning wood was more of an annoyance as a kid. It isn’t until we become an adult that we actually realize the benefit of morning wood. Morning sex. My first erection, actually, was in 7th grade. I think I was a bit of a late bloomer. I say this because every morning at football practice I heard the guys in the locker room talking about a whole bunch of shit that I didn’t even know about. Jerking off, making out, fucking, etc. I mean, I knew about it, I just didn’t know about it. I was also one of the only boys running around without pubic hair…before we grew it out and then actually started shaving it off. Anyway, one day on the way to practice my dad stops at the gas station to get cigarettes, or cigars, or maybe just breakfast. So, I’m sitting there like always when this lady walks out of the gas station. ZING. I instantly looked down with this no doubt quizzical expression of what the fuck and said out loud…"shit." I thought I was broken, that something was wrong, and I panicked. Then it dawned on me. This was what the guys in the locker room are always talking about. I…have a hard on. My glorious moment into manhood faded when I realized my father was going to be coming back to the car. Quick. What do I do? I punched myself in the dick. That didn’t really work, but I tried it again anyway for good measure. I tried tucking it, but that hurt more than punching it. So…I simply crossed my legs…and prayed for the best.

I can still remember what that lady looked like to. Early twenties, shoulder length, straight, blonde hair. She was wearing blue jeans, flip flops, and a semi tight t-shirt. Ahhhhhh. The beauty of growing up in a college town.

He (the coworker) then told me the first time he got that boob grab. His was with the neighborhood slut. That older girl in the neighborhood that will let you feel her up…if you steal some of your parents alcohol. Hell, if she flashed you that was even better. Honest to god boobs, in front of your eyes. Without having to wait for that 28.8k modem. 30 second clip…3 minute download.

I honestly can’t recall which was my first boob grab (at least from memory, I can’t recall anything in my life that occurred before the 5th grade), it was either my 6th grade girlfriend JB, or my best friends (at the time) sister. If it was JB it was likely one of those instances where I kept crawling my hand up her shirt and she finally said, “It’s ok if you want to grab my boobs.” If it was the bf’s sister…well. Let’s just say the bf’s sister liked to have pretend sex. Which basically involved her sitting on top of me and grinding the holy hell out of my crotch until my dick was sore. We never kissed. No clothes were ever shed. There was no biting, or licking, or sucking. There were a lot of hands though, not on her part, on my part. I was constantly having to readjust, for one, so the same spot wouldn’t rub a hole in my cock. I can also distinctly remember my hands on her hips, feeling the motion…and the boob grab. She was easily an a-cup though, so I might have actually felt more if I grabbed my own chest. But goddamn’t…those were girl boobs.

Kiss? My first kiss? That was probably the single most romantic experience I have ever had in my life. It was actually with the bf. I was 15. 15? 15? I know some of you are probably saying…shit…I was already bone deep in some pussy (or handing out blowjobs like candy) by the time I was 15. Like I said, I was a late bloomer. Also, like I’ve been known to attribute to myself time and time again, I’m not exactly a ladies man. Anyway, where was I? I was 15, she was 16. We were at a park about a half-mile from my house. The park wasn’t secluded, but it kind of felt like that. It was around dusk. There was a slight rain falling. She was sitting on the back of her car. Glory be. I remember time standing still. Like there was no one else in the world but the two of us. I remember sliding my fingers along her wet face, tracing them through her slick hair. I remember the drops of rain splashing against my cheek, and it soaking my shirt and weighing it down around my shoulders. Her legs around my waist. I didn’t want that moment to end. Ever.

But it did.

We are not counting the little girl I apparently chased into the girls bathroom when I was in first grade and held down until she agreed to kiss me. At least, that’s what I’ve been told I did. Like I said, I can’t remember anything before 5th grade.

This is about the time we come to my first actual touching of a vagina. Here’s the thing. No matter how much porn we watch, no matter how much we brag as men, I don’t know a single man that probably fingered his first vagina properly. I was 16 this time, the day before I came to GA. This encounter killed everything but my first blowjob and first sexual penetration with a penis. I got to see boob, I got to feel boob, I got to bite boob. I got to finger a vagina. Finger…is probably not the best term. Prodding is more accurate. I got to prod a vagina. The first time my fingers crawled down the pants of a girl I was so goddamn excited I’m surprised I didn’t rip out her internal organs. My internal monologue went something like this:

Pubic hair! It’s soft, much softer than mine. Goddamn’t why won’t these pants give, I can barely get my fucking fingers down there. Wait. Wait. I think I’m touching vagina. I’m totally touching vagina! Where’s the goddamn hole? Finger search, finger search. There’s the hole! Isn’t it supposed to be wet or something? Isn’t that how people always describe it? Wet? Isn’t that what I always see in porn? Anyway. Fuck it. Slide the finger in and out. In and out. In and…wait…wet! Awesome!

Then it consisted of me…I don’t know…prodding at it with varying speeds for the next hour. I remember thinking, What the fuck! It takes me 3 minutes to jerk off. Why the fuck is this taking so long?. Ahhh, the ignorance of youth. She was a good sport though. I can’t remember if my penis ever even left my pants.

My first blowjob? I don’t even want to talk about it. Likely the most disappointing sexual encounter I’ve ever had (and likely the reason why I don’t like oral now) unless you count…

The first time I ever had sex? This…I…I don’t even know where to start. She was a whore, for one thing. Not a literal whore, mind you, I didn’t have to pay for it. Unless you count that half a bottle of Ritalin she stole from me. It wasn’t until later that I found out I lost my virginity, at 19, to a girl who had already lost her virginity…to 27 men. Yeah. There’s not much to say really. I didn’t get off (which I still haven’t), so no 15 second man for me. However, I did get to penetrate the pussy, therefore technically losing my V-Card. Woohoo! What a fucking waste of time.

So…there’s just a few examples of my firsts. I’ve been given the thought of doing this again in a less raunchy format. Something more along the lines of First Crush, First Love, etc. I might do that.

Anyone of you have any embarrassing/awkward firsts?

Saturday, January 15, 2011

CBR-III: Book #1: Full Dark, No Stars

I finished the book three days ago.
Everyday I come home I know I should write the review, this review, but I dread it.
I dread it because I’m a huge fan of Stephen King.
I dread it because I’m a huge fan of Stephen King…and I’m about to tear him to fucking shreds.

Full Dark, No Stars is a collection of short stories. Four, to be exact. “1922,” “Big Driver,” “Fair Extension,” and “A Good Marriage.”

In the afterword King says, “The stories in this book are harsh. You may have found them hard to read in places. If so, be assured that I found them equally hard to write in places.” See, the thing is Stevie boy…they weren’t harsh.

I hate to say it (because I love the guy), but I think the King is done. He says the stories were harsh and hard to write, yet none of them had the detestable qualities of Desperation. They didn’t have the soul crushing agony of It or The Long Walk. There was no mystery like in Christine. No macabre horror like in Misery. No suspense like in “The Ledge.“ Instead, what I was treated with, was a bag of cliché tricks. Full Dark, No Stars brings absolutely nothing new to the table. You can see the plots of the stories coming a mile way, some of them even recycled. The characters fall flat and are genuinely uninteresting. Sure, he gives us our little hints into the King world that the fans understand and appreciate…even then I almost felt cheated. I devour King’s books…it took me two days just to finish the last story.

The story takes place in 1922, on a rural farm. Cue the typical family. The hard working, loyal, dependable husband. The former rich girl wife who hates her simple life and dreams of bigger and better things. Their teenage son, who makes good grades, does as his father tells him, and respects his mother and God. When the wife’s father dies she is given his land, adjoining land to our poor farmer, and a lot more of it. He wants to tack it on to their property, give themselves a bigger spread. She wants to sell it to a rich company, take the money and run to the city where she can open a shop. You can imagine how that works out. And, ala Dolores Claiborne, somebody ends up down a well. Soon the poor farmer becomes convinced that his wife is tormenting him with rats (“Graveyard Shift”), shit goes down hill. The tale was boring, really, because you couldn’t even care about the main character. The son? At first he’s just a whiny little bitch, then he’s just the annoying anti-authority teen. His story, however, is the only slightly decent aspect of “1922,” so I’ll leave that one for you.

“Big Driver”
I really wish you could have just heard my audible sigh. “Big Driver” is a revenge story. Plain and simple. Tess, a mildly successful writer, mid-30’s, attractive, single woman, is raped one night after a speaking engagement and left for dead. Does she go to the police? No. Despite being an intelligent person who actually writes detective stories (albeit a freelance detective knitting circle group), she decides to get revenge on her own. Why? Because she wants the satisfaction, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with the public humiliation of being raped. You heard that right. A semi-celebrity…who could actually do some good by coming forward…doesn’t want to embarrass herself. So she tracks down the ginormous dude who raped her. It’s cliché. King even mentions The Brave One, the movie with Jodie Foster, in the fucking story. Tess watches it for “research.” Once again characters fall flat. You can’t care for Tess. Because of who she is and how she handles things, I never really adopted any sympathy for her. I mean, for fucksakes, the lady stumbles to a gas station after the rape and calls a goddamn limo to come pick her up. The plot seemed more of a ploy to show that King, who is notoriously technology retarded, decided to show that he’s figured out these things called gps and the internet.

“Fair Extension”
Dude dying of cancer sings a deal with the devil to extend his life. Using a kind of “pay it forward” principle, getting rid of the cancer means he has to give it to someone else (oh, and he has to give the devil a percentage of his yearly income). Who does he choose? His best friend. Why? Because his best friend is the guy that got everything. The high school stud, the college success, the guy who became filthy rich, had the amazing children, and the trophy wife. Oh right, the trophy wife who used to be cancer dudes girlfriend. So…go ahead and tell me what happens. The best friends life falls apart (really badly. I totally would have killed myself), Cancer-Free dudes life moves on the up and up, and through it all…Cancer-Free dude never gives a shit. Totally. The entire time he was happy to fork over that yearly percentage, and happy at seeing his friend decline and lose everything. Boring.

“A Good Marriage”
The story asks this question: If you’ve been in a loving, successful, idealic marriage for 25+ years, and you find out your husband is a serial killer, what would you do? Let me just say, like Tess in “Big Driver,” Darcy (the wife) can’t stand the thought of what this would do to the kids/her if it broke out to the world. I’ma leave it at that.

I think you’ve lost it Stevie. You no longer have that inventive world. You no longer have characters that I can believe in, characters that I want to love. You’re not surprising me anymore. Worst of all? You’re not scaring me anymore.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

My Top Ten Films of 2010

They may not be the "best" films of 2010. They may not have grossed the most amount of money. They may not have received the most critical praise. But I remember them. That's a key to me. To look at the list of all the movies I've seen from 2010 and go...I liked that movie. A hat trick to Valhalla Rising. It almost took over Easy A's slot. Like I said, the movie might not have been that great, but at least it was memorable. *Edit. You'll notice Easy A is gone too. That's because I watched 127 Hours.

My Top Ten Film Picks For 2010

1) Inception
2) How to Train Your Dragon
3) The Killer Inside Me
4) Remember Me
5) Perrier's Bounty
6) Shutter Island
7) Scott Pilgrim vs. the World
8) 127 Hours
9) Black Swan
10)Blue Valentine

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Christians In Porn!

Who doesn’t like porn?

Nevermind, I know several people who don’t like porn, but I can’t understand these people.

I personally don’t like some porn. I’m not into golden showers, two girls one cup, beastiality, or anything else that involves shit, piss, or vomit. However, I like porn.

What baffles me, however, are crosses.

Seeing a cross in porn instantly makes me laugh my ass off. Especially when it’s not in a role playing type of porn. I can understand the symbolism of it in porn that involves nuns, priests, etc. I can’t understand the people (in particular women…I couldn’t find many crosses in gay porn) who would keep their cross on while getting rammed from behind by a ginormous cock. Are they praying that they don’t get torn? That they survive the penis pummeling? Let’s take a look at why I find this humorous.

Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God In vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.
The bible doesn’t flat out define this in particular. Over the years it’s been inferred as encompassing symbols as well. The cross…totally fits in the symbol category. By wearing a cross while Jimmy dumps a load of hot, gooey, semen on your face, well, that’s taking the Lord’s name in vain. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t approve, the Lord that is…Jimmy would totally approve.

Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.
How many parents love the fact that their children are in porn? How many of them would approve? We’re going to ignore porn stars like Sunny Lane…whose parents actually work as her agent. Or the fathers that are happy their daughter is in Playboy. I wouldn’t want my hypothetical daughter in Playboy. Why? So I can go to the office and have my buddy say, “Hey Joe…Cindy Lou there is looking all growed up.” No thanks. Or Deb, talking to Janet at the water cooler. “I’m so proud of Mary Beth, that gonorrhea cleared up so fast!”

Thou shalt not commit adultery.
Do I…do I really need to explain this one? This now, apparently, also includes lust. So, I guess that means every time I masturbate to porn I’m breaking this one. Oh wait, every time I’m masturbating I’m technically breaking a sin right? Isn’t there something that goes along the lines of, “He knowing that the children should not be his, when he went in to his brother's wife, spilled his seed upon the ground, lest children should be born in his brother's name. And therefore the Lord slew him, because he did a detestable thing.” [Gen. 38, 8-10] Ok, wait a minute. So in that time if a man died his brother was supposed to marry the new widow and have his “brothers” babies? So this has nothing to do with masturbation? Whew! Glad I found that one out.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour's.
Heh…ass. What? Oh, right. Over the years this too has come to involve a wide variety of things. Basically you shouldn’t want anything that someone else has. So Bill’s iPhone? You better not look at that fucking iPhone and want it. Or the fact that Lilly over there has a 42” flat screen TV? Yep…you better not covet that shit either. So Ashley Blue? Yeah, you better not covet her either. Even though she only takes it up with the ass with other men, she keeps her vagina for the man she’s with. That girl that can deep throat a beer bottle? Do not look twice at her. That dude with the 14” cock…don’t even drool. Not even a little.

So why do I find crosses in porn hilarious? Well, there you go. You can not seriously consider yourself a good Christian if you’re spreading your ass for the camera and letting Cockhammer stick it in there using spit for lube. Can you really think the Lord is on your back while Ramajam is on your back…and Dingading is underneath you? Can you think that God loves you…while the thick gob of 8 men drips all over the cross from the bukkake you just received?

I tried to find it in gay porn…I really did…but you would not believe how many images I had to go through just to find the five you get to look at. No idea. I find this one lesbian shot…which simply just cracks me up.
18:22 Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.
20:13 If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.
There is only one reference to lesbians being bad, apparently, somewhere in Romans I.
So now…be gay and wear a cross in a gay porn? Well…well…well, that’s just fucked up. You done just fucked everything up. Way to go Amber, fucking Kayla like that. You don’t even have a penis.

Remember that thing I said about not liking beastiality? Well that shits in the bible to!
18:23 Neither shalt thou lie with any beast to defile thyself therewith: neither shall any woman stand before a beast to lie down thereto: it is confusion.

What’s the moral of this story? Of this tale I’ve weaved for you?

It’s a damn good fucking thing I’m not Christian. Or any religion for that matter that follows some code of conduct. So you wear your crosses you evil doers of porn! I will continue to laugh…while I masturbate with fervor. Such a good Christian you are.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Fuck You 2010, Hello 2011.

How was New Years Eve? Well, my New Years Eve lasted three days.

On Friday I headed down to Atlanta to meet up with Steven and a few of his peeps. Got there around…5? I think. Anyway, we drank a little at the house before heading out to pick up some more people, and the first bar of the night.

Mass carpool to Trader Vic’s. It was my first time at this bar, and might I add…we were certainly out of our element. Expensive. For one. We were by far some of the youngest people in there. Also? We were certainly dressed…different. On the plus side I got hit on by two of their hula dancers. I guess that is a reason to be one of the young people there.

From Trader Vic’s it was a cab ride to Flatiron. Bonus for the cabbie? No one was paying attention to who was paying for the cab ride. So, everyone started throwing $20’s at him. $47 cab ride= $100 for the cabbie. Midnight hit here. Drinks were spilled, shots were consumed, and we were off to Gravity.

I…don’t remember Gravity. Like…any of it. The only part I remember is leaving. It appears Steven was trying to round everyone up so we could leave. However, as often happens, every time he left one group to get another…the first group would disperse. I remember standing outside, holding on to his roommates murse (which has a gun and combat dressings) and two of the drink bowls we confiscated from Trader Vic’s. His roommate was searching the parking lot for his car…which wasn’t even there. People were yelling. I was alone. So I did the only thing I could think of. I walked. Apparently it’s not far from Gravity to Stevens place…only a few miles…but I walked in new boots, with a gun, and a drink bowl, through East Atlanta. They arrived later to find me sitting on the steps. More drinks were consumed. Cue unconsciousness.

Saturday. We wake up and three of us, Mr. Brian L. Murray, Steven, and myself, hop in my car to go see if we left tabs open the night before. What turned into a simple mission, kept the party alive (Thank god it was cloudy on Saturday. I think the sun would have killed us.) . Lunch and drinks at Flatiron, then to The Earl for more drinks, then to Gravity for more drinks. Mr. Murray up there decided to DD, so we were off to “Sister Louisa's 'Church' of the Living Room and Ping Pong Emporium.” Yup, totally, that’s the name of the bar. It was just the 3 of us for awhile, drinking on $3-24oz PBR’s, checking out the artwork, playing in the Confessional, Steven trying to climb shit. We went and got food, then came back. Pretty much the entire crew from NYE came out again, and the debauchery began again. When everyone was nicely fucking drunk we headed to Corner Tavern for some karaoke. I think Skip wanted to sing (Skip, btw, is HOT…a tattooed pinup. Her boyfriend, has a most epic beard.). I don’t remember much of Corner Tavern. I think I had one drink, that I didn’t even finish. I also want to say that I kept hitting on a cougar (likely there with someone), and then an Asian girl. I’m sure my flirting was fantastic. House…unconscious.

Sunday it was sushi, chilling at the house, a little pre-game drinking, and then Southern Comfort, with Murray, Steven, and Ramona. It took me awhile, and a few shots, to get in the mood, but then we were flying. All systems go. Green lights. Back to the casa (which garnered me a new rear-view mirror adornment. A bra), stayed up till about 6, then left. Coreys (Steven’s roommate) dog, Lt. Dan, would not quit laying on me. A three legged, deaf, dog. Very loving. When I was sleeping on Steven’s floor he would spoon with me.

So I was home around 6:30am. Took my first shower in two days. Spent a little time checking up on the internet. Then passed the fuck out.

All in all I would have to say it was a fantastic way to start the New Year. I may be extremely broke (which is totally the truth), I may or may not still have a job (I find out in a week). I have little gas in my car. I have no clean clothes. But…I’m happy…really happy.

So Happy New Year motherfuckers. Keep your fingers crossed that this happiness becomes a trend.