i don't care what anyone says, i like fall out boy

Today's Sweet Link:
If this doesn't cheer up the emo kids... nothing will. (suddenly Google Video doesn't seem so stupid and pointless.)

This Week (last week?) in Poker:
I've been working all weekend and playing Magic all week, so I haven't had the opportunity to play as much poker as I would like, save for a set of 12 pokerstars 6.50s where I picked up one third place... in the 12th game. I am, however, much luckier than ZeeJustin; then again, I wasn't cheating.

Derek posts on 2+2. In other news, meteors strike and buttered toast now lands butter-side-up.

My goal is to play 72 1- and 2-table tournaments this week. I'll be playing the cash game at Seven Clans in Thief River Falls on Friday night, to celebrate the 18th anniversary of my brother's birth. I hear their poker room is nicer than Shooting Star, and also that they have a waterpark. First I splash my chips, and then I splash small children. Perhaps the other way round.

I Like Movies!:
March of the Penguins: B+ / Penguins are cute, and make cute noises. Their mating/cute-baby-penguin-rearing ritual is long, deeply involved, and remarkably unpleasant (reminiscent of me walking to campus in the wintertime, except ^10). I was skeptical, fearing a long episode of a Discovery Channel show, but it turned out to be the show I never knew I really liked.

Broken Flowers: C / Bill Murray was freakin' sweet in Lost in Translation. The same character (well, equally minimalist) doesn't play so well in Broken Flowers, a Jim Jarmusch joint *snicker* about a man's discovery that he may have a 19-year-old son, and his quest to determine who the boy is and where he may be. The writing is alternately boring and clever, and the cinematography is ... well, somnambulant. Jarmusch loves to give us reaction shots of Murray's character, whereupon Murray does his best to conjure up an image of a still, landlocked water hazard with just the slightest breeze blowing over it. The resulting effect is as easily digestible as the excessively saccharine and grandiose language used in this review, with about as much charm and entertainment value.

The Aristocrats: B-* / I haven't seen the special features yet, and I hear they are the highlight of the film, so I'll hold off final judgement until then. I was a little surprised at how seriously the film took itself; it's an actual documentary, and tries to give itself some credibility despite the depravity of the subject matter. Bob Saget is a highlight, as is Sarah Silverman, and I was extremely disturbed to find out that I actually sort of liked Dana Gould. (Gould, along with Ian Haxtone--- uh, Maxtone-Graham, was a writer for The Simpsons during their four- or five-year slump between seasons 9 and 13/14. The highlight of his tenure was an angry Gould telling angry fans that they didn't know what they wanted, and that their opinions mattered little because "none of them could ever write for The Simpsons." Maybe not, but they can sure watch the ads that provide for your paycheck, you ungrateful.... uh... never mind.)

That's all for this time, kids; I have to get re-medicated in the morning, and it's already ten past two.