Jesus christ. Not only is the idea for a Candyland movie bad enough, the ever elusive “they” decided to add Adam Sandler to the mix. Do his movies still sell? Seriously, who is going to watch this? I can’t even imagine a parent wanting to take their child to this.
I truly love my neighbors. I love how they work 9-5, so they are never awake and making noise during ungodly hours. I love how I never have to yell out my window or call the cops on them.
I love my upstairs neighbor. I love how he never stomps around like he weighs 5 million pounds, especially never between the hours of 12 and 5 am. I love how he never blasts Shaggy, Sean Paul or Sean Kingston out his window between the above hours. I love how he never brings his girl(s) over and how they never, ever, have loud sex. I also love how he doesn’t sound like a thug-wannabe.
I love my downstairs neighbors. I love how they never have friends over and they never hang out on their patio. I love how they’re never outside on their patio shouting with their friends, or singing R. Kelly or The Fray a cappella. I also love how they are never coughing incessantly because the pot they smoked was too strong, and I love how the smell of said pot never invades my room.
I should thank my lucky stars.
Playing tennis in Vans. I will be having difficulties getting to my car tomorrow.
Desperately need sleep. Or a beer. Unfortunately, neither is readily available.
I was going to post about how much I love Djokovic. About how amazingly ridiculous that match was—though I only caught the last two sets, it seriously was one of the better I’ve seen. About how much Djokovic smiles when he plays, which is adorable. About how whenever I watch him play, all I want to do is get on a court and play better. And about how whenever the cameras panned out to Djokovic’s box, all I could think of was how horrible it must be to be sitting behind floppy Vlade Divac.
And then I came across this.
Is Djokovic Bruce Banner? Is he turning into the Hulk here? How necessary is this, really? Once again, I find myself questioning why I root for him. Just a little.
Especially when I’ve had little sleep, been out in the sun most of the afternoon, had next to nothing to eat all day, and when something stupid is being watched on my TV. I actually hear Gene Wilder, so it can’t be that stupid.
Especially when dudes use them.
Oyster Boy – “Waiting For Magic Mountain”
When someone told me to listen to their friend Oyster Boy (whose nonexistent Wikipedia article would describe an independent unsigned punk-folk artist from the great state of New Jersey), they told me that “he’s really talented and he hates everybody.” That’s the best description I could come up with, too.
Give the guy some love, he doesn’t have a big fancy label to short him on his royalties yet.
Wow, this is quite good.
I’ve seen this movie more than once and just now noticed Dave Chappelle was in it.
College basketball is so boring, no matter how hard I try. I guess at least I’m making an effort.
