Obama’s Speech

So. Obama just gave an incredibly inspiring, well-written speech that avoided empty slogans and actually went to the point, no fucking around. Not only he’s once again proved he’s a hell of an orator, he has voiced everything that needs change in that country of yours. “Why do you care, you’re Brazilian”, you might ask. Well, not only the USA has enormous influence all over the world, I plan on living there in some years. So, I’d like the country to be better than it currently is when I get there. Preferably, if I have a finger cut off in an accident, I don’t need to pay thousands of dollars to have it sewed back.

It amuses me there’s actually people – half of the fucking USA – backing John McCain. Suddenly I can understand why most people hate Americans. You just went through eight years of shit and you’re asking for more. McCain has practically taped a sign on his forehead saying “I’m a bastard and I shall fuck YOU” and half of the bloody country still wants him as commander-in-chief. I could give a fuck about his age: he’s either a bastard or a moron or both. Anyone who backs George Bush and wants the Iraq War to go on is out of his fucking mind. And the fact half of the USA are out of their fucking minds is quite concerning.

I’m always careful with presidents. Even though Obama’s speech was amazing, he could still be a bastard – only one that doesn’t make that aspect clear like that moron McCain. But it’s a risk I’d be willing to take if I could vote on US Elections. He SOUNDS like change. And for the better.

I’ve never seen a case where the right choice is so clear. Who to vote on, a guy who promises change or another who promises the exact same shit from the last eight years?

On Frank Miller

I have a nagging doubt in the back of my mind: has Frank Miller really gone completely nuts or is he faking it to boost his present works financially? We know it’s working for All Star Batman and Robin. In the last years, the man forgot how to draw, then how to write and – after watching The Spirit trailer – he will very possibly find out directing ain’t his habitat either. And you know what’s the truly funny thing? I still prefer ASBR to Morrison’s current run on Batman, that undecided, piece of shit run that is destroying the essence of one of DC’s flagship characters. “Okay, in this issue, I’ll pretend I’m a novelist. Now in this one, I’ll pretend I’m Agatha Christie. Whoops, issue six-six-six, of course I have to go the obvious way and make an unrelated story about the antichrist or something. Now let’s dress Batman in stupid colors and make him say Zurr-ehn-Aarh all the time. Maybe his son returns in two issues or so, because a son is just so perfect for a character like Batman…” At least ASBR knows it’s trash. At least I hope it does.

What happened to Frank Miller? The man used to draw damn well, and if you think this isn’t true then read “Sin City – That Yellow Bastard”, which contains one of the best black-and-white narratives I’ve ever seen. Then I take a look at his covers in ASBR and I keep wondering if he lost his hands and is drawing with the pencil tucked in his mouth. This is the man who wrote “Sin City”, “Give Me Liberty”, “The Dark Knight Returns”… and he can’t seem to return to his former self. He embraced his own persona as a writer full of testosterone.

And I wonder whether he done this conciously or he’s simply lost.

Movie Review – Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Originally written in February 19th 2008

August 25th 2008 commentary: while there’s some annoying repetition, there’s not as much excess of adjectives, the text is more structured and I like the comparison with Edward Scissorhands and the analysis of Tim Burton’s recent career. But I should have given more examples of specific scenes.

Since I Am Legend, which had some serious flaws, I have watched some fucking great films, reviewed here. So, my latest reviews have been very positive. You’re probably thinking, “oh, he’s saying that so he’ll prepare me for a very negative review of Sweeney Todd…”. Wrong. I fucking loved Sweeney Todd.

Since the ultraviolent (and very good) Sleepy Hollow – nine years ago -, Tim Burton took a different direction on his brilliant career. Instead of being dark and gothic, his latest movies have been more colored and funny. Movies like Big Fish (a good adventure), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (unecessary remake, really), Planet of the Apes (weak) and Corpse Bride (dark but funny, and a great film). Now, Burton’s back to the world of shadows, gothic architecture and artistic violence. And what a return.

Well-written by John Logan (whose irregular career has been getting much better), the script tells the story of Benjamin Barker, a barber who lived happily with his wife and daughter, until judge Turpin, who wanted Barker’s wife, had him arrested under false charges. Fifteen years later, Barker returns to London wanting revenge, and finds out from piemaker Ms. Lovett that his wife poisoned herself and his daughter has been adopted by Turpin. Barker then changes his name to Sweeney Todd and starts planning a way of killing judge Turpin. He sets up a barbershop in which he kills his customers and has them cut up so Ms. Lovett can make pies with their meat.

The movie already impresses with incredibly dark cinematography by Dariusz Wolski, making a heavy use of light and shadow. It’s interesting to notice the movie gradually becomes more colored, reflecting Sweeney’s state of mind: the more he kills, the more “alive” he feels, in a sad portray of his deteriorating mind. But throughout the whole movie, every frame is beautifully shadowed and colored, no matter what Todd’s state of mind is.

Burton’s direction is probably the best of his career and that’s saying something. Composing every frame with care and intelligence, he creates excellent camera movements that enrich the story and characters. Also, he doesn’t cut the audience any slack: every drop of blood, every cut throat is shown in perfect detail, in a wonderful “fuck you” to politically correct.

Burton also puts up a show during the musical scenes, which he directs like a master. Joel Schumacher and his Phantom of the Fucking Opera have a lot to learn. Burton’s camera travels elegantly across the scene, using mirrors and inventive angles to make the mood stronger but avoiding melodrama (which Schumacher’s Phantom was full of). But the music is secondary, serving the purpose of enriching the story instead of calling attention to itself (once again, one of Schumacher’s mistakes in Phantom of the Opera) And the singers? Great, thank you very much. Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter sing as well as the film demands them to. They’re not professional singers, but they do a very nice job. If you think they’re as bad as Gerard Butler in Phantom, get your ears examined. Also, the soundtrack by Stephen Sondheim is great.

The cast is perfect. It’s great to see so many spectacular actors all in one movie. Beggining with my all-time favorite, Johnny Depp. Versatile, brave and brilliant in choosing his roles (it’s hard to find a bad movie with Johnny Depp in it), Depp adds another great character to his magnificent career. Depp’s Sweeney is utterly obsessed and, as the movie progresses, becomes increasingly psychotic, something Depp portrays in a haunting performance. His face when he finds out his wife poisoned herself and when he kills his first victim are the kind of face that stay with you long after the session.

Helena Bonham Carter proves her talent once again. Ms. Lovett is apparently a sweet woman with no talent at all for making pies… but under the surface there’s a monster in her, that hides behind her sad smile. An ambiguity that makes the character very interesting.

Alan Rickman, who recently offered a fantastic performance in Perfume, is, of course, excellent. Brilliant actor, really. He creates a hateful villain without being histeric or making Hayden Christensen as Darth Vader “look, I’m evil” faces.

The rest of the cast is also very good, with special mention to Sacha Baron Cohen (famous for playing Borat) and Timothy Spall. But Jamie Campbell Bower as Anthony doesn’t shine as much as the rest of the cast (he’s decent, though) and Jayne Wisener is the weak link in an excellent cast. They might aswell have replaced her with a wax statue.

I see Sweeney Todd as the opposite of Edward Scissorhands. While poor Edward was misunderstood and didn’t want to hurt no-one, Sweeney fools people into his chair and kills them very much on purpose, enjoying every second of it. Two sides of the same coin. Both movies are about the how rotten human beings can be, and both movies are magnificent.

Comic Review – The Punisher #61

Written by Gregg Hurwitz

Art by Laurence Campbell

Colors by Lee Loughridge

In a nutshell: lacklustre and with unconvincing plot elements, it’s a noticeable dropoff from Ennis’ enormously consistent work – but it’s still the first issue of a new run and can still improve.

After Ennis’ magnificent run on a character that, before he came, was a piece of shit forgotten in a corner, keeping this book’s high quality standards is a true challenge – and therefore I won’t be crazy enough to demand this from this series’ new writers. I’ll just demand they try, and in this first issue, Gregg Hurwitz doesn’t seem to be trying very hard.

Let’s start by The Punisher being followed. At first, despite cliched, it’s interesting. But soon Hurwitz makes it highly unlikely. So the guy is smart enough to change shirts as he follows The Punisher, but not his HAT? Yes, The Punisher himself thinks this is ridiculous, but it’s still TOO ridiculous. And why would this man in particular be following the Punisher when his intention was simply to talk to him? Answer: so Hurwitz could add some tension to the story and occupy the first twelve pages or so.

Then comes Frank remembering his family. And the way he “celebrates” the thirty-year anniversary of their death goes completely against Frank’s character: instead of going to their grave, he drinks a glass of bourbon, something a man with Frank’s discipline would never do. Not to mention Hurwitz using his family as a motivation, something that was already done to death.

And there’s the annoying similarity with the first episode of Ennis’ Barracuda arc, when Frank was warned of something wrong by someone and initially wasn’t interested in helping out, then something changed his mind. The same happens here, but while in Barracuda it all made perfect sense, here Castle’s refusal is incredibly strange, since there is a serious crime going on, something similar to what he’s already dealt with in The Slavers arc, and he refuses. And what convinces him to help out? His family, of course… which has no relation whatsoever to the crime Frank at first wasn’t interested in.

And the way Hurwitz presents these plot elements are no less flawed: Frank’s first captions are ridiculous in their attempt to be poetic (“there are a lot of things in a glass of Bourbon”? Seriously? The PUNISHER is an specialist in alcoholic drinks now?) and Hurwitz fails to make anything in it compelling. I forgot almost the entire issue seconds after reading it.

Laurence Campbell’s art is not bad. His shadowing is nice, he creates some good panels (The Punisher looking down at us with his gun pointed is great) and his visual narrative is interesting. But his art could use a little more detail and less sketchy lines. Lee Loughridge’s colors evoke the adequate mood and Dave Johnson’s cover has the right idea, but the wrong execution: his Punisher is too cartoony, miles below Tim Bradstreet’s excellent version.

It’s just the first issue, but I can already detect hints of mediocrity and I don’t like what I’m seeing. Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into something like Matt Fraction’s hideous Punisher War Journal.

Comics Review: The Punisher #60, Astonishing X-Men #26, Batman #679 and The Walking Dead #51

Pure awesom — I mean, Punisher #60

Written by Garth Ennis

Art by Goran Parlov

Colors by Lee Loughridge.

In a nutshell: the series comes full circle in a beautiful conclusion. The end to the definitive run on the Punisher by the magnificent Garth Ennis.

Dear Garth Ennis,

five years. Five long years. For most of this time, this comic is the one I looked forward to the most. Not a comic about yet another superhero fighting yet another supervillain over yet another girlfriend that eventually dies and is flashbacked for the next six hundred issues. No, a comic about crime. About human nature. About a man turned killing machine. This is a truly interesting tale. And this is what you managed to turn a difficult, lacklustre character like The Punisher into. From a simplistic murderous vigilante, you made him a powerful, iconic character that – apparently – only you know how to write. After seeing Frank Castle shooting upside-down from a chandelier in the Punisher: Warzone film trailer or Matt Fraction’s pathetic attempts in War Journal, I’m more and more convinced of this.

And of course, a masterpiece like this still didn’t sell as much as Whatever-The-Fuck-New X-Men. And a lot of people dismissed it, considering it a comic that relies on shock factor, blood and guts and forgetting every arc brought a carefully thought-out story with incredible supporting characters that made up for Castle’s rock-hard personality. But well, I have to respect opinions – EVEN IF THEY ARE TOTALLY FUCKING WR — sorry. Fanboyism attack. Aniway, it was sixty issues of genius story-telling. This is, without a doubt, the best run on The Punisher ever. No, I haven’t read them all. Yes, I doubt any of them could beat this one.

Unforgettable characters. Nicky Cavella, Barracuda, General Zakharov, Rawlins, O’Brien, Roth, The Mongolian, the widows, Nicky Barucci, Nick Fury (in one of his best portrayals in comics), Vanheim and so many others. Stories that absolutely nailed the Punisher and – at the same time – reflected the world he lives in, criticizing harshly today’s governments and hunger for profit. All this in an action-packed, beautifully-drawn package. So I wonder: how in the fuck this comic wasn’t more noticed? Maybe I have an extreme tendency to love everything you write, I don’t know.

In this particular issue, this long tale comes to an end. Instead of a climactic showdown, you followed the smartest route: concluding your portrayal of The Punisher through pages of prose and an almost quiet (except for a great twist and a brilliant conclusion) ending to the main storyline. You didn’t go for guns and guts. You went for a relevant, strong ending that is not just about The Punisher but the world today. And the scene with Nick Fury is the icing on top of the cake. Also, I should mention the prose is beautifully written, always elegant and clear. I look forward to the day you’ll write a novel.

Of course, credit also goes to the fantastic team of artists. First, Lewis Larosa, who drew one of the the best Franks I’ve ever seen: huge, scarred, with a broken nose and messy hair, and kicked off the series powerfully. Then Leandro Fernandez, who slipped a bit on his first arc due to lazy art but did brilliantly in the rest of the series with a new, darker (and beautiful) style, becoming its best artist. Dougie Braithwaite, with his clear visual narrative, made “Mother Russia” into a tense, adrenaline-fueled arc. Goran Parlov – with his cartoony but extremely expressive style – managed to adequate his pencils to a gritty, dark work (including in this final arc). And Lan Medina started well, slipped towards the ending (the quality of his art went to the depths of hell) but also did a good job. The colorists and inkers mostly also shone, especially Dan Brown (PERFECT coloring) and Scott Hanna (superb inking in “Up is Down and Black is White”).

Let’s not forget Tim Bradstreet and his covers. His Punisher body of work is a true masterpiece and captured the mood of this title with perfection. I long to see him drawing an entire comic, as he did (beautifully) in an issue of Hellblazer written by Warren Ellis. The team of letterers, Randy Gentile and Cory Petit, also deserve credit for their great balloon placement and clear caligraphy.

It’s a great conclusion to the best crime comic book in years. I’ll keep following this title to see if the new writers can keep it up reasonably, but my hopes aren’t high. Thank you for all the amazing stories in this title. It was a hell of a ride.

“The sun slipped away behind me, the last sliver seeming to pause on the horizon, then succumbing to the black. And I drove on through the shadows of America, through the long, cold dark night that I’ve made of my life.” – Frank Castle’s last caption, Punisher #54.

Astonishing X-Men #26

Written by Warren Ellis

Art by Simone Bianchi

Ink Washes by Simone Bianchi and Andrea Silvestri

Colors by Simone Peruzzi

In a nutshell: entertaining and promising, but a so-far unsurprising plot and Simone Bianchi’s weak visual narrative bring it down.

At first, Warren Ellis seemed like the best man to take Joss Whedon’s place and Simone Bianchi seemed like a worthy replacement for the magnificent John Cassaday, but so far, their work has failed to be as compelling as Whedon’s fantastic run. In the second issue by Ellis, this might be asking too much, but read the first two issues of Astonishing X-Men and see if the FIRST isn’t engaging already thanks to an interesting premise (a “cure” for mutants) and quick-paced but careful character development.

The plot Ellis came up with seems to be one of these plots that maybe will surprise eventually – maybe it won’t – but it won’t be in the first issues. The elements he’s introduced until now are nothing new or fascinating – and the villain acts almost exactly like William Leather did in his first encounter with Elijah Snow in Ellis’ Planetary: confident and arrogant. And I don’t know if I should be intrigued by the “ghost box” the villain is building, but I’m not. Especially thanks to expositional dialogue the villain keeps saying, like “I have to touch (to set stuff on fire)”. That’s right, tell the people trying to take you down they can keep their distance from you safely.

But there are some interesting concepts, like Emma “downloading” the local language to the team members and telling them of the local customs. And despite some bad dialogue as seen above, most of it is interesting and the typical Ellis sense of humor is present as usual. But those are not enough to make up for a plot that so far has failed to be interesting. In fact, it feels bureaucratic.

But my main problem is with Simone Bianchi’s art, which dropped ridiculously in quality. Bianchi shamelessly draws characters in the background poorly and dedicates himself to splash pages and action scenes more than he does to all the other scenes. His visual narrative is poor, never capturing the chemistry between the X-Men and there’s a simply horrible splash page where a deformed Emma points up to a ship in the air. His art is still above-average and pretty, but it’s clear he works better with pin-ups and covers and that he’s miles and miles below John Cassaday – who takes long to draw but delivers beautiful work. Simone Peruzzi’s coloring is good, completing Bianchi’s art well.

It’s not a bad issue, but not a very good one either. It’s entertaining, but never compelling. Wait and see, I guess.

Batman 679

Written by Grant Morrison

Art by Tony Daniel

Inks by Sandu Florea

Colors by Guy Major

In a nutshell: beautiful art, but Morrison’s formulaic script has no sense of ridiculous whatsoever.

So, in the beggining of this disastrous run on Batman, Morrison stated he wanted to do a Dennis O’Neal, blockbuster Batman and leave the dark gritty one to Detective Comics. Then he goes and completely contradicts this in his terrible prose issue (Batman 663) and in his even-worse Agatha Christie-ish arc. Apparently, Morrison is not yet sure WHICH Batman he fucking wants to write. In this arc, he’s writing the most ridiculous one he can think of. A Batman who can pull out a tooth with a knife in seconds moaning just a little and who somehow had a backup plan for something almost unpredictable. “Batman is prepared for everything”, his conscience says in a certain moment. And with this, Bruce Wayne’s humanity is completely destroyed. Batman’s uncapable of mistakes.

And if this is the worst portrayal of the Dark Knight I have ever seen, the rest of the script is even worse. Doctor Hurt is a laughable villain (he claims to be Bruce’s father. Can it get worse than this?) and the scene where Comissioner Gordon asks a cop how his son is only to watch said cop being horribly killed later is just pathetically manipulative. Morrison once again proves he’s one of the most overrated and self-indulgent writers nowadays. The only clever moment in the entire issue are the gargoyles.

Tony Daniel’s art, on the other hand, is quite beautiful. With a clear visual narrative, he’s kind of a mix between Jim Lee and Andy Kubert – and a good one at that. He excels at shadowing, and his art is nicely inked by Sandu Florea. Guy Major’s colors are efficient, especially the orange tones when Bruce is looking at himself in the mirror.

But Morrison’s writing ruins it all. Bring back the dark, gritty Batman. Someone. Please.

The Walking Dead #51

Written by Robert Kirkman

Art by Charlie Adlard

Gray tones and cover colors by Cliff Rathburn

In a nutshell: a touching character-driven piece with an emotional twist that’s like a punch in the stomach. A comic that worries more about developing the characters rather then the zombies trying to eat them.

“Don’t be silly, Rick. Of course it isn’t.” This is the best line of this beautiful issue, a defining moment that foreshadows a dark future for the protagonist and his son, as this series – which just went through some of the bravest, most merciless issues I’ve seen in comics – takes a quick breather and gets ready to return to its quick-paced, character-driven horror. Having to deal with the death of his wife and daughter – not to mention the slaughter of almost all his people – Rick is back at square one, lost in the wilderness with his son Carl. And suddenly, something unbelievable happens: the phone on the abandoned house they’re staying at rings.

From them on, Kirkman starts building the new direction for the series as Rick tries to convince the people on the other end of the line he’s worth their trust. As that goes on, the writer also establishes the relationship between Rick and Carl with the same skill he always did, and when you look back at the first issues of The Walking Dead, it’s amazing to notice how they have changed. Character development is something Kirkman absolutely nailed for this entire series so far.

But it’s the twist at the end that makes what so far had seemed like a set-up issue into a powerful single one. Kirkman inverts expectations and deals a powerful blow in the reader’s guts, establishing The Walking Dead once again as an unpredictable story – one of its best qualities.

Charlie Adlard’s art is excellent as usual. With masterful shadowing and sensitive story-telling, Adlard nails layouts and characters, not to mention the excellent facial expressions. He’s been putting on a show since he started in this series, also proving his skills with action scenes. Cliff Rathburn’s gray tones are also worthy of applause, helping to set the mood and make the art even clearer.

The Walking Dead #51 is a powerful issue that reminds me why I became a fan of Kirkman and Adlard’s zombie story.

Everything You Were Afraid to Know About Me

I saw this idea in a good friend of mine’s MySpace and decided to have a little fun: survey memes. This is the first one I could find on Google. I read it as I answered it.

01. Have you ever really cried your heart out?

Yes. Too many times.

02. Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?

Probably. I can’t remember.

03. Have you ever cried on your friend’s shoulder?

No.

04. Do you cry when you get an injury?

Are you fucking retarded? It obviously depends on the injury. Maybe a severed arm. Dipshit.

HAPPY SECTION

01. Are you a happy person?

No, and I don’t think I ever will be. But I’ll always try.

02. What can always make you happy?

Good movies, a beautiful woman’s smile, being with dear friends, listening to Bill Hicks, reading anything written by Garth Ennis, eating my favorite foods, finishing a project, making other people happy, even if for a short moment.

03. Do you wish you were happier?

If I didn’t what would be left for me in life?

04. Is being happy overrated?

No. I believe you’ll never be happy, but the wish to be is what keeps you going.

05. Can music make you happy?

Strangely, sad music makes me happily depressed.

LOVE SECTION

(question one was missing)

02. Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurt?

Yes. I got a little into it, thrusted it too hard and it came out the back of her head. The body’s somewhere in Guanabara Bay.

Come on, enough with the melodramatic questions.

03. Anyone besides your friends/family ever said they loved you?

No. I’m no celebrity.

RELATIONSHIP SECTION

01. Are you in a relationship?

No.

02. Are you happy?

(sigh)

03. Do you look at other guys?

Uh, yes. Like, when I’m TALKING to them?

(questions 04 and 05 were missing)

06. Been cheated on?

No.

07. Have a crush on a person?

Yes.

HATE SECTION

01. Who do you actually hate?

Whoever wrote this piece of shit survey.

02. Have you ever made a hate list?

Yes, for an Orkut profile, to make people laugh a bit. For personal use? I have better things to do with my time.

03. Are you a mean bully?

Oh, fuck off…

SELF ESTEEM SECTION

01. Are you good looking?

I’m getting increasingly satisfied with my appearance since I started a diet, if that’s what you’re asking.

02. Do you wish you could be someone else?

Someone really close to the author of this survey so I could sneak behind his back and throw him off a balcony.

03. What is your current hair color?

Brown.

02. Natural hair color?

Brown.

03. What color are your eyes?

Brown.

04. Current Piercings?

Br… I mean, none.

05. Straight Hair or Curls?

Cropped, aiming for straight.

CURRENTLY WEARING

01. clothes?

A blue shirt with a random pattern on the middle.

02. Shorts?

Beige.

03. Shoes?

No.

04. Necklace?

No.

HAVE YOU EVER

01. Hugged someone?

No, I’ve never had direct contact with any human being. I live in a cave. You really ARE a goddamn moron, aren’t you?

02. Been on the phone until the sun came up?

No.

03. Put a song on repeat for more than an hour?

Probably. I forgot the song was playing.

04. Laughed so hard you cried?

Yes. Probably listening to Bill Hicks or some friends of mine.

LAST

01. Person you talked to in person?

The maid.

03. Person you talked to on the phone?

My mother.

04. Person you talked to on msn?

I don’t even remember.

05. Person who made you laugh?

My mother.

07. Last time you had a shower?

Three hours ago.

OTHER

01. Do you like surveys?

If the author isn’t a dumb shit like you, yes.

02. What kind of shampoo do you use?

The kind that makes foam.

03. Do you get along with your parents?

Usually yes.

04. Do you have mental breakdowns?

I punched and broke a mirror once. So yes.

05. Did you ever fake being sick?

Yes.

CURRENT

01. Current Mood:

Bored and depressed.

02. Current love:

The Interwebs, movies, etc.

03. Current hair:

Cropped, you asked already.

04. Current Longing:

To find a better survey.

05. Current Thing I Ought To Be Doing:

Finding a better survey.

06. Current desktop picture:

New York at night.

—

Right. Better surveys. After the idiotic one above, I decided to get them from the aforementioned friend’s MySpace page.

At this moment in time, if you HAD to have someone’s name tattooed on you, who would it be?

My little sister’s.

How many states have you lived in?

If you mean country states, two.

Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

You’re getting desperate, aren’t you?

Is there anything you need to tell someone?

“Stop fucking smoking so much.”

“Move on with your fucking life.”

“Fuck off”.

Etc.

If someone you used to be friends with slashed your tires, would you call the cops?

It OBVIOUSLY depends.


Are you allergic to anything?

Dust and change in temperature are the worst.

What did you do to get your first detention?

I was wandering around the school when the Brazilian Hymn started playing. Not being in my classroom standing up and singing as everyone else, I got detention.

SERIOUSLY.

How did you spend 4th of July for the past three years?

Doing nothing. Not everyone was born in USA.

Have you ever been taken to the ER in an ambulance?

No.


Is your bathroom clean?

The maid shall suffer if it isn’t.

Did you talk to anyone on the phone before bed last night, who?

No.

Who did you last share a taxi ride with?

My grandparents, I think.

Do you try to start fights when you’re drunk?

I don’t drink.

Do you drunk dial?

See above.


If you had a sex tape and someone offered you five million dollars to sell it, would you?

If it was a sex tape of ME, I’d suggest the person went to a hospice.

How did you and your number one become friends?

Two introduced us. Eighty-five was also present.

Are any of your great-grandparents still alive?

Yes.

Where were you born?

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Is it more common for you to follow your heart or your mind?

My mind.

What were the last words you said to your Dad?

“Good night. Sleep well.”

Do you know someone in the war?

Personally, no.

What was the last thing you ordered when you went out to eat?

Couvert, then steak with roquefort cheese, then coffee.

Have you ever dated someone longer than a year?

No.

Do you still talk to the person you last made out with?

No.

Have you ever seen your best friend cry?

Yes.

Did you get any compliments today?

“You’re very cute”. By my mother. So it doesn’t count.

Have you ever thrown up from drinking?

I. Don’t. Drink.

Have you ever had a crush on your siblings friend?

No.

Have you ever gone to a beach?

Yes.

What’s the longest amount of time you’ve been on an airplane?

Can’t remember. Around six hours.


Have you seen your best friend(s) naked?

No. Thankfully.

Do you have a Honda, Toyota or Nissan?

I don’t own a vehicle.

Who was the last person to call you babe?

Possibly in a past life, someone did.

What time did you wake up this morning?

Six.

Has someone smacked or looked at your butt in the past week?

Not that I know of.

When was the last time you were really sick?

Two years ago, I think. Infected intestins. Messy.

What are you planning to be for Halloween?

Myself.

Do you like Grease?

The song? Yes, immensely. The movie? Didn’t watch it.

If someone liked you right now, would you want them to tell you?

I like people to be sincere with me, yes.

Can you do a split?

Not without ripping my crotch open.


Do you get along better with guys or girls?

I don’t separate the genders when it comes to friendship.

Do you think you have made a difference in anyone’s life?

My fucking parents, you utter moron.

—

And the last one for today:

Part 1: The Birth of You:

Were you a planned baby? No.

Were you the first? Yes.

Who was present at your birth? My mother, would you believe!

Were your parents married when you were born? Yes.

What is your birthdate? September 11th 1990.

Part 2: The Family

How would you describe your family? Nuts.

Are your parents married? Not anymore.

Siblings or an only child? A lovely sister.

If you have siblings are you oldest, middle, or youngest? Oldest.

What are your siblings names and ages? You want their adress and phone number too?

Which parent do you get along with best? My father.

What do you fight about? Current limitations due to problems, mood, etc.

Do you have step parents? No.

Part 3: The Friends

Do you have more than one best friend? Yes.

Who are your best friends? No-one you know.

What do you like to do when you are together? Take a shit. (sigh)

Do you share the same interests? Some.

Which friend can you tell anything to? Dunno.

Part 4: Your Personality

How high/low is your self esteem? It’s about 287,98.

Are you an extrovert or an introvert? I try to be polite.

Are you happy? No.

Do you live life to the fullest? No.

Part 5: Appearance

Are you comfortable with the way you look? I’m getting there.

Do you have any piercings besides your ears? Not everyone has piercings in their ears, you know. No, none.

Describe your hair… Right now, cropped. Before haircut, a curly brown mess.

What make-up do you wear? None.

How do you dress? Black shirt, black jacket, jeans and sneakers are my favorites.

Part 6: The Past

Were you a strange child? Yes, definitely.

What did you use to love that you no longer do? Dragonball Z.

Do you have the same friends? No.

Was there anything in your past that was traumatizing? Yes. About six years of it.

Part 7: The Future

What is your ambition? To work in Cinema.

Are you scared of growing old? No.

Do you want to get married? Time will tell. Not in a church, for I’m an atheist.

Part 8: The Outdoors

Do you prefer indoors or outdoors? Indoors.

What is your favorite season? There apparently are no seasons in Rio de Janeiro.

Do you like walking in the rain? Yes.

Part 9: Food

Are you a vegentarian? No.

What is your favorite fruit? Tangerine, I think.

What food makes you want to gag? Spinach.

What is your favorite dessert? Chocolate mousse.

What is your favorite restaurant? Don’t have one.

Are you a fussy eater? I eat fast, but politely.

Part 10: Relationships and Love

Are you single or taken? Single.

If taken who is the lucky guy/girl? See above.

Do you think love is the best feeling in the world? I think you should drown.

Do you believe in love at first sight? I could give a fuck.

Part 11: Experiences

What was one of your greatest experiences? Going to a Roger Waters show.

What was one of your worst? Being robbed in the same show.

Have you ever done drugs? I’ve smoked cigarettes. Still do, very rarely.

Have you ever thought you were going to die? Yes.

Have you ever suffered from depression? Yes.

Movie Review – Awake

It’s a real phenomenon. One in 14000 high-risk patients can be fully aware after receiving general anesthesia. They can’t move a muscle, but they can hear and understand conversations and worst of all: they have complete feeling in their entire body. Meaning if they cut your belly open, it’s gonna fucking hurt. Some people don’t recall the experience afterwards. Others fully do. “Awake” is about a guy who goes through this situation while having a heart transplanted – and aside from all the obvious suffering caused by this, he listen to a terrifying conversation between his surgeons, that puts his life at risk.

Nice idea. Unfortunately, director-screenwriter Joby Harold shits all over it. What could be a strong, tense thriller becomes a hugely dumb, plothole-ridden, badly-acted pile of crap. The movie already begins with a dishonest prologue that tries to mislead the audience shamelessly, and then with a shot that makes no sense: our protagonist, Clay (Hayden Christensen) – a man with a weak heart, mind you – submerged on his bathtub without going up for air while the initial credits fade in and out. And when he finally emerges, he does so breathing calmly, as if him – a super-rich owner of a mega-company – is also a talented diver. Let me remind you, he has a weak heart. Also, in a certain point of the movie, his mother mentions he has several terrible allergies. News to me, because for the entire film we don’t see a hint of them. Aniway, the weak-hearted (honest) Clay wants to marry the pretty Samantha Lockwood (Jessica Alba), but he’s afraid to tell his overprotecting mother (Lena Olin). When he finally does it, he marries Samantha and in the same night, his surgeon and friend Jack Harper (Terrence Howard) tells him a suitable heart has been donated and he can have his surgery. But the anesthesia fails to send Clay into uncounsciousness, and while paralyzed during the surgery, he finds out a terrible truth – somehow, since his chest is open and he’s in agonizing pain.

The “twist” presented during the surgery is painfully idiotic – the kind of twist that makes you think “how dumb this guy has to be to think this was a good idea?”. Instead of focusing on Clay’s desperating experience, the movie prefers to go another way and fails epically. But unsurprisingly, the film was already ruined before the surgery even started. The scene in which Jack Harper describes to Clay how he’ll “die in ten years” even if the surgery is successful and how the scalpel will cut Clay’s chest as if he “wasn’t even there” is laughable. What kind of fucking surgeon – friend or not – does this to his patient? “Here, I’ll let you know all this so you’ll totally freak out before the surgery”.

But what really destroys this scene, and the entire film, is the cast. Starting, of course, with the worst actor to appear in Hollywood since Orlando Bloom: Hayden Christensen. After somehow managing to deliver a bad performance as Darth Vader, Christensen is equally terrible in a dramatic role. In the aforementioned scene, his reaction to what Harper tells him is artificial and exaggerated (notice how he puts his hands in front of his mouth to denote anxiety). But this is nothing compared to the moments before the surgery, when Clay says “I’m scared shitless” and yet, his breathing is deep and slow and his voice is serene as a flute. Jessica Alba is the perfect pair for Christensen, and the two of them seem to be on a dispute of “who better portrays a wooden plank”. Before Clay is taken to surgery, Samantha keeps smiling as if everything is nice in the world – let me remind you this might be the last time she sees her husband. But what’s really amazing is that the worst actor in this film is Terrence Howard, who’s been in automatic pilot in everything he’s been lately. He is completely unconvincing and seems lost. At least Christensen and Alba are self-confident piece of shit actors. The only cast member who acts naturally is Lena Olin, who plays Clay’s mother.

Clearly unaware of how a surgery actually happens, Joby Harold wrote a manipulative script so full of holes you could use it to filter coffee. The “plan” some characters come up with and that represents the twist of the film depends on a huge number of coincidences to work, not to mention the difficulty of it working. And at a certain point, a character says to another character something like “I have the syringe you touched. Your fingerprints are in it.” and moments later the “another character” is arrested even though the policemen didn’t know of the syringe yet. And what to say of what Clay’s mother does in the third act of the film?

But the worst element of all is how Harold chose to portray Clay’s awareness during surgery: while at first we can hear his thoughts (which is fine), suddenly he – I’ll write this in caps to you won’t think you misread it – LEAVES HIS BODY AND STARTS WALKING AROUND THE HOSPITAL, SOME KIND OF LIMBO AND INTO HIS OWN MEMORIES WHILE STILL ALIVE. The height of stupidity is reached when he notices a photograph in one of his memories that he hadn’t noticed when the memory actually happened: well, if he didn’t notice it then, how the fuck could it be in his memory in the first place?

Not to mention the dialogue. In a certain point, a doctor interrupts the surgery only to say something I won’t reveal because it’s just too funny. A moment that should be depressing but caused me to laugh like a motherfucker. And here’s a line that makes Anakin-Padme’s romance in Star Wars oscar-worthy – “Will my new heart love you as much as my old one?”.

Harold’s direction, at least, is not hideous. He shows the surgery without reservations and the first moments after Clay realizes he’s awake are acceptably tense. Harold avoids fancy camera angles that most first-timer directors like using to show off. But his “I’m directing a serious, depressing film” style makes all the mistakes in the script sound even funnier: isn’t it hilarious how Clay tries remembering other stuff to take his mind off the pain? I’d like to see someone with his chest open considering this a good technique. Oh, and after having his chest painfully open – he just forgets about it until they touch it again! Yeah, just like that.

“Awake” is one of those suspense thrillers that considers itself much smarter than it actually is. In this case, it’s like the average PETA member considering himself Einstein. For all my enthusiasm while watching this piece of shit, they should have called it “Asleep”.

Comics Review – Crossed #0 and The Boys #21

New blog feature. Here, I review comics and try to convince you to buy as many copies as your wallet can of the ones I like. I’m not into mainstream superhero comics much, so expect more reviews of stuff from Avatar, Icon, Dynamite, Vertigo and the like.

“Crossed #0″

Written by Garth Ennis

Art by Jacen Burrows

Colors by Greg Waller

Published by Avatar Press

In a nutshell: an incredibly engaging prologue to what promises to be a brilliant apocalyptic tale.

Those of you who know me already know what I’ll say next. For those of you who don’t:

Garth Ennis is my all-time favorite writer. And I don’t mean just comics, but every story-telling medium you can think of. Okay? With that out of the way – by “that” I mean “Garth Ennis is a fucking genius” – let’s review the zero issue of Crossed.

The premise is much more powerful than the old “zombie story”: what if, instead of mere zombies, the infected from “Crossed” are alive, thinking human beings who are overwhelmed by a wish to do the worst acts of evil they possibly can? They can run, they can speak, they can think? In this prologue, Ennis shows us the beggining of the events that put the protagonists of “Crossed” in a world of shit.

Using well-written, elegant captions (Ennis is one of the few writers who can use this technique to enrich the narrative instead of sounding like lazy storytelling), he gradually shows the area around a bar becoming a near warzone… and the characters’ reaction to this is pitch-perfect. Ennis’ portrayal of the incredulity that came with the “YouTube” era is intelligent and relevant… so when a man with a bloody spleen on his hand walks into a bar, people look around for a guy with a camcorder instead of freaking out.

Another brilliant move is the old zombie movie cliche of “the characters trying to reach the helicopter before a nuke goes off” being thrown out the window even before issue ONE. The last page already makes clear “Crossed” will avoid any conventions of the “zombie” genre, and will show the consequences of an entire population going mad with terrifying realism. I couldn’t be happier.

Jacen Burrows’ art is, as always, an absolute delight. His ability with facial expressions is off the charts, as the scary maniacal grin of the infected people proves (just look at the cover above). His visual narrative rivals Steve Dillon’s (this is the highest compliment I can make to any artist in this aspect) and his backgrounds have excellent perspective: just take a look at the establishing shot of the bar in the last panel of the page where things start going wrong (hint: it involves a nose). Greg Waller’s coloring is beautiful as usual (I’ll never forget his and Jacen’s superb work in “303″, also by Ennis).

A powerful prologue to what promises to be yet another brilliant comic by Ennis and Burrows published by the excellent Avatar.

“The Boys #21″

Written by Garth Ennis

Art by Darick Robertson

Color by Tony Avina

Published by Dynamite Entertainment

In a nutshell: probably the best issue of “The Boys” so far: a defining moment of this excellent series.

Before this issue, “The Boys” had been an original, funny, outrageous and clever look at “superheroes in the real world” and at how corporate interests are ruling this world nowadays. While most works of this genre show superheroes being heroic as usual but in a realistic background, Ennis tries to show what they REALLY would be in the real world: celebrities, living breathing goldmines to be used by corporations to make profit. This take on superheroes has proved to be fascinating and interesting, with great characters and plot to boot. But it wasn’t a masterpiece like “Preacher” or “Punisher Max” yet.

It is now.

This issue alone is one of the best single issues I’ve read this year. It is almost entirely about “The Seven” trying to prevent one of the hijacked planes in September Eleven of entering New York and at the same time saving the people in it… but their lack of training proves fatal.

It’s amazing how Ennis can easily walk the thin line between drama and comedy. This entire issue is full of moments that are the two things AT ONCE. The scene involving the kid (on the cover above) is the greatest example of this. Thanks to careful, meticulous writing, Ennis reaches a perfect balance. For the first time, we see how unprepared and reckless “The Seven” are. The way they fuck up repeatedly is funny and depressing at the same time, because while their reaction to what’s going on is hilarious, what’s happening to the poor people in the plane isn’t. And the brief intervals showing us Hughie and The Legend sadly discussing the event are efficient in that as well.

The realism is insane: I think it’s the first time in a superhero comic that someone portrays how hard it is to talk with each other flying thousands of feet above the ground. The entire rescue sequence is carefully built as an utter clusterfuck, and the final result is not funny, but depressing… a defining moment that establishes The Seven as a real threat.

Some might criticize Ennis for referencing September Eleven… I suggest these people try reading between the lines, especially the last pages. Pay attention to what The Legend is saying. If you can’t detect the parallels with the real world and the commentary contained in his words, read it again until you can, because it’s there. I quote this: “No way Bob [the president] call off the fighters for Vought-American’s supes. The man who would is Vic the Veep [the vice-president] but he ain’t supposed to be in charge — ! (…) What the hell happened in the White House that morning?”. While most people are seeing “The Boys” as a superhero satire, what it really is about (besides an original take on the genre) is corporate greed – something this arc of The Boys has nailed.

Darick Robertson’s art is simply superb. This is a ridiculously complex issue to draw, but Robertson did it without breaking a sweat. His visual narrative is crystal-clear and the sheer beauty of his artwork is wonderful. He and Ennis go together like bread and butter. Tony Avina’s coloring is excellent: just take a look at the lighting in the panel Homelander and Maeve enter the plane.

“The Boys #21″ might be the best issue of this series so far. In my reviews in Newsarama.com (before they changed the layout to that hideous white thing), I kept saying “The Boys” would soon turn into a truly powerful story. I think it’s begun. The set pieces Ennis and Robertson prepared for twenty issues are starting to develop. And I’m glad I’m here for the ride.

Movie Review – Fast Food Nation

I never watched Super Size Me. Why not? Because when I asked a friend what it was about, he told me it was about a guy eating at McDonalds for a month and getting fat, therefore proving McDonalds makes people… fat.

Well, no shit! Someone hired this guy to research the cure for cancer, I hope!

But I can’t be too sarcastic because I didn’t watch Super Size Me, so enough criticizing an unseen movie. My point is that saying fast food is bad is like saying cigarettes are not healthy, water is wet and Jessica Alba is hot. Therefore, I wasn’t planning on watching Fast Food Nation, not just because it seemed to be full of things I already knew, but also because Richard Linklater doesn’t impress me. I should make it clear I haven’t watched “Before Sunrise” and its sequel yet, so let me correct the above statement: UNTIL NOW Richard Linklater doesn’t impress me. I hated “Waking Life” (but I’ll watch it again, an year later, to see if this impression still holds), “A Scanner Darkly” was good and “School of Rock” wasn’t that funny.

But my insane Spanish teacher decided we should do a schoolwork based on this film and forced us all to watch it. Fortunately, the movie turned out to be more interesting than I thought – but still very flawed.

Based on an acclaimed non-fiction book of the same name (which should be worth reading, so I’ll check it out), the narrative clumsily follows several ficticious characters:

Don Anderson, a vice-president of marketing from fast-food chain Mickey’s, was the main creator of the “Big One”, a hamburger that was an instant hit and quickly became Mickey’s flagship. But his boss, Mickey’s president, finds out the fecal coliform count in the frozen meat is huge (“There’s shit in the meat”), and sends Anderson to the meat packing plant that supplies them to find out what’s going wrong.

A number of mexicans illegally cross the border and are sent straight to work at the same meat packing plant Don is going to investigate. We follow the lives of three of them as their bloody job causes their slow decay.

And there’s a Mickey’s employee, Amber, that starts to dislike her job selling that food to people, and gradually decides to change her life.

There’s other less important characters, but all of them have something in common: they’re walking propaganda. Instead of acting like human beings, they act like people being interviewed in a documentary – and when they tell their point of view to Don, they might as well be looking straight at the camera. There’s an unintentionally hilarious moment when we see a guy who had so far been portrayed as a prick complaining at how Mexicans are just replaceable tools for the big corporations… just like that, out of nowhere. We’ve got a guy condemning Mickey’s, another one defending it (and making a commentary on the USA’s obsession with germ-free stuff), a character who comes in just to tell us — I mean Amber, “follow your dreams”… there’s even a discussion group that throws information around as if the audience is supposed to say “I don’t believe this is true!”.

And the fact these characters who’ve got something important to say are all known actors or personalities seems to prove Linklater’s decision of turning this film into an anti-fast-food ad. How do you explain Avril Lavigne showing up for about five minutes to say ten lines of (self-important) dialogue? Or Ethan Hawke being brought into the film in an surprisingly good character and being discarded after he had his say? And Bruce Willis interpreting the kind of laid-back, I-don’t-give-a-shit character he does so well? And the ironic thing: what Willis’ character says is actually pretty interesting (which probably wasn’t Linklater’s intention): the USA IS too obsessed with germ-free stuff. While meat shoudn’t have fecal coliform, of course, this is still pertinent. He talks about USA’s growing fear of everything. And this is one of the most interesting points in the film. Maybe Linklater added a character who opposes everyone else in the movie so people wouldn’t accuse him of propagandism. He failed.

Also, the edition takes too long to introduce important characters or to come back to them: they come and go as the movie needs them, and once they’ve had their say, they leave, just like that. Paul Dano’s character, for example, is absolutely ridiculous (despite Dano being an extremely talented young man), and so is his friend. And the Mexicans working at the meat packing plant are little more than an excuse so Linklater can show us the inside of the place and have the audience disgusted at… cows being killed! No!

While the way these cows are handled after death is certainly amateur… how exactly does Linklater wants us to pity them? You know, lions eat their victims without worrying about killing them first, and so do several other carnivorous animals. In the film, we see a guy shoot an airgun into a cow’s brain and it dies instantly, then proceeds to be turned into food. How is this supposed to be evil? They are fed and well-treated until they die (despite the transgenic food being doubtful), and then they become steaks. I do enjoy a good steak and when I’m eating them, I’m fully aware a cow was killed so it would end up on my dish. Why should I scream in realization when I saw the meat packing plant? That seems to be Linklater’s intention, considering the sad music that plays while we watch the cows being processed (in one of the most disastrous scenes in the film). What does he want, to turn everyone into a vegetarian?

The one thing (among many many many topics) Linklater actually portrays well is the mistreatment of Mexican immigrants and how poorly trained they are for their jobs, the way they are seen as replaceable tools. But this small ray of sunshine is buried under Linklater’s manipulative story-telling that tries to convince the audience every way possible of its point: “fast food is bad and it destroys lives”. And indeed it’s not healthy, but the few times I’ve eaten at McDonalds… mmmmm… I fucking enjoyed it. I’m not dumb enough to eat there every week, but every once in a while I go there and – you know – I never got sick because of it and in fact the burgers were damn tasty. And don’t Linklater dare blame ME for Mexicans being mistreated in meat packing plants. What, only fast-food meat comes from them? It seems Linklater himself is too obsessed with germ-free, clean stuff.

So far it looks like I really hated this film, eh? Well, no. It’s entertaining and has some memorable dialogue (“right now, I can’t think of anything more patriotic than violating the Patriot Act”), plus it’s very well-acted. Ethan Hawke once again proves his immense talent in a small but compelling “wise uncle” figure. Catalina Sandino Moreno does well with a terribly ill-developed character. Greg Kinnear is charismatic, and so are Kris Kristofferson and Bruce Willis and most of the cast. The only weak link is Avril Lavigne, who acts like… Avril Lavigne.

“Fast Food Nation” has some interesting information and message (like kids being conditioned to eat fast-food every day), but it’s too preachy. It’s like that self-righteous old guy who keeps lecturing you on how the world works. Yes, I could easily live without fast-food and it’s not good for your health indeed… but is it a great evil looming over the world? No. Not fast-food. Corporate interests are. Fast-food is laughably far from being the only thing turned into shit for profit. You want an example of something much more serious being ran by corporate interests?

How about war?

Breakthrough

I just cooked. For the first time in my seventeen-year-old life, I cooked something. In a stove. With a frying pan. And a wooden spoon. Without burning the entire building down. Without burning myself. Without making a mess in the kitchen.

What I cooked…? Ah. Well, a cheese omelet. Hey, I never said it was something epic! Just that I cooked something.

I always loved cheese omelets. My mother used to make them. I wondered, “how does she make something so pretty and tasty so fast?”. So, years later, after a bad night of sleep and with a headache – having also missed school – I decided to find out.

I knew the ingredients. Eggs, cheese and butter. I was supposed to put the butter on the frying pan and put the pan in the fire, then break two eggs on a bowl, mix them together and add the cheese, then spilling all that in the pan. Simple, eh?

Attempt number one:

First, I had to deal with the stove, which I never had to use before. I knew how to operate it, but this stove is older than sex. There is a glass lid on it with two hinges. I pushed it open but it refused to stay upright, the bitch. I noticed there was a plug even older than the oven tied on a valve at the wall, the dirty wire going from it to somewhere out of sight (no, I don’t know my own kitchen too well). Why the fuck would a plug be tied to a – ah, so the wire would hold the lid up! Yes, this is the half-assed way my father uses to keep the lid upright whenever he uses the stove. Yes, I live with my father. I did mention I’m seventeen years old, right?

Aniway, I put the lid behind said wire and it held the bastard upright, finally. It took me some minutes to come to the earth-shattering realization the stove wasn’t plugged in, time I had spent randomly flicking switches and gas valves. I plugged it in, and was immediately startled by the oven lighting up. I flicked the switches off and stopped to hear if any gas was leaking. Fortunately, no.

I decided to test the stove first. I wouldn’t go through the trouble of making the omelet without knowing if it was working. So, I turned a gas valve and listened. Nothing. I pushed it and turned it – gas leaked. The valve didn’t care much for the “off” sign written on it. As long as I pushed it then turned it, it would leak gas. Fair enough.

I pushed the switch that caused a spark so the stove would light up. Surprise, surprise: not working. I turned the valve off and got a pack of matches. Surprisingly, this deadly combination – me, gas and matches – didn’t blow up the kitchen. The stove was now flaming. In order not to waste gas, I turned it off again.

I picked up a dish and an egg.

Just for the record: I had never broken an egg in my life.

Well, what was the mistery? Break it, leak out the yolk out and done. Right?

So, I did as my mother used to do: I hit the egg on the counter carefully. Then tried opening it with my fingers.

Of course I crushed the fucking thing in my hand.

After picking up the little pieces of shell from the dish, I broke a second egg by hitting it with the spoon until there was a hole big enough for the yolk to leak out. I felt like a moron, but it worked. With two eggs on the dish, I decided to trust my skills and add the cheese later.

So, I turned the dish on the frying pan, lit the fire on the stove and put the pan on it. I carefully watched it. As soon as the bubbles began to form, I quietly panicked. The instructions clearly said, “wait for the edges to turn golden”, but my mind was saying, “IT’S GONNA EXPLODE!”.

So I grabbed a knife and tried turning it but, surprisingly, it wasn’t fried enough. The egg broke into several semi-solid pieces.

Cursing that fucking rat from Ratatouille, I removed the smaller pieces and let the bigger one frying. I threw two slices of cheese on it and folded the egg on it as best as I could. The result was a… golden mess. I ate it, and it was acceptable, but lacklustre and ugly.

Of course I wouldn’t give up.

Attempt number two:

I washed the dishes and the pan. This time, I would follow the instructions word by word, except the butter could go fuck itself. I broke the two eggs on the frying pan, mixed them and put four slices of cheese on them. I placed the pan on the fire and waited. I bravely endured the bubbles and the scary frying sounds that seemed to be the last sounds I would ever hear. I imagined myself dismembered and charred in the kitchen with egg all over me, and the firemen trying not to laugh as they attempted to find my fingers.

I poked the egg with a knife. Solid enough. I folded it on the cheese and — I folded it on the cheese! It didn’t break! I forced it flat with the wooden spoon and waited. When a bubble started to bulge threateningly, I turned the pan on the dish, took it to the table and started eating.

It was fucking delicious.

Really. I nailed it. I can now make my own cheese omelets (which are not bad for my diet, that made me lose more than twenty-two pounds so far). It’s easy, simple, intuitive. A tasty snack so I won’t go mad eating fruit all the fucking time. Wonderful.

Now, to wash the dishes. Hey, everything has a negative side.