DUDE MOOD

By Michael S.C.

With an afternoon off, I decided to take advantage of my AMC Movie Watcher privileges and get the Wednesday free popcorn. I’ve seen all that I want to see right now, and judging since it’s March, there wasn’t much in the theater (I’ll hold off on 10,000 BC for a night out with the fellas). I settled on Semi-Pro, the latest installment from the Will Ferrell factory. Like a cheese of the month club, I expect a new Will Ferrell effort every season or so. But, at least, with a cheese of the month club, I get some variety. Perhaps a soothing muenster. Maybe a dignified camembert? Even a sexy gouda. Yes, they’re all essentially fermented lactate, but they’re special in their own right. But Will Ferrell and the “Will Ferrell character” has grown to be more of an iTunes update than a fine cinematic cheese. You always get one, you install it, but then you never notice a difference. “Oh hey, cool, look at the burn spiral. Is the window more of a brushed pewter now? I can’t tell, does my bootleg Hannah Montana soundtrack sound any better?” It’s still iTunes and it still does what you expect it to.

And for a while, that worked. I mean, come on, who didn’t think Will Ferrell was funny? My mom loved the “More Cowbell!” sketch while my Dad cried at his impersonation of President Bush and James Lipton on SNL. I laughed at basically anything he did, like a proper American youth should have. His first few movie roles were great. Steve from A Night at the Roxbury (1998), Mugatu in Zoolander (2001), Mustafa in Austin Powers 1 & 2 (1997/1999), and his various cameos in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (2001), Family Guy, and The Oblongs were all spot-on Will Ferrell. He’s a virtual twelve-sided dye of humor that shines through in any role, big or small. Will Ferrell is not only brilliant physically, but he has a strong command of the dark, slimy side of comedy, a side that seems to resonate strongly with late teens and early 20-somethings. Every group of friends seems to have their favorite “weird” Will Ferrell character. Maybe you like the “Shaq Plaque,” “Dog Show,” “Janet Reno’s Dance Party,” “Gouuulet!” or the classic “Get off the Shed!” For my group of friends, it was always the “Bad Doctor” skit on SNL. It aired as a throwaway right around 12:45AM. It culminates with Will Ferrell telling Chris Parnell and Molly Shannon that he did, in fact, misplace their newborn. (“…and son of a vondruke, if I didn’t just completely LOSE him!”) You could tell it was an idea Ferrell had been sitting on for years, a magazine of bizarre ammo for when the show needed filler. And further proving my point, I’m sure there is some sketch I’m not including and you’re already laughing now that you’re thinking about it.

When Will Ferrell left SNL in 2002, he arguably held the title as the most diverse and/or greatest cast member ever. I eagerly awaited his leap to leading man status along with the rest of the 14-72 age bracket. We knew SNL would suffer (more like die) without him, but it was worth it. Or was it? Well, at first, it was…I think. 2003’s Old School was a smash, instantly asserting itself as a college culture staple. How many effing times did you hear the sloppy douchebag next to keg say, “It’s so good. Once it’s hits your lips!” Yes, it is so good and, of course, I WILL fill it up again! Now will you stop sweating on the solo cups, Frank, so I can pour my Mountain Dew. Thank you. Elf (2003) made everyone feel good, unless you didn’t have a soul. It was a simple film that encompassed Will Ferrell in all his goofy glory.

Then came 2004’s Anchorman. The movie, I feel, that he had sizzling on the backburner for much of his career. It is off-beat and dizzyingly absurd. It’s a movie that delves so deeply into the Will Ferrell psyche, that it would spark a string of bootleg, half-premise scripts trying to juice out the same confidence and originality that Anchorman did. After that, even his cameos were weak; seemingly unscripted post-it notes from Will Ferrell’s Trapper Keeper. 2004’s snoozefest Starsky & Hutch, amidst its many flaws, attempted to beef up the street cred with a five-minute jail scene, purely written just so Ferrell could use the term “Two Dragons.” 2005’s Wedding Crashers was funny, but not because of the ill-placed “Mom, Meatloaf!” scene. Not only did Owen Wilson’s encounter with “Chazz” come about 70 minutes too late into the plot, it actually pushed the movie toward that comedy danger zone of 120+ minutes, something even Judd Apatow & Co. struggle to justify. After that, Ferrell had leading roles in Talladega Nights (2006), Blades of Glory (2007), and finally, Semi-Pro (2008).
Semi-Pro is exactly what you think it is, based on the trailer. In 1976, Will Ferrell plays Jackie Moon, an overzealous, pompous, and clueless basketball franchise owner, who bought his team off the royalties from his love-making one-hit wonder, “Love Me Sexy.” Jackie owns the Flint Tropics, based out of Flint, Michigan (naturally), who are fighting for their place in the NBA before their screwball league is shut down. Andre “3000” Benjamin is the star forward and the cast is loaded with the regular crew of flunkies you’d expect to see, those guys who you think are funny but can never remember their names. Will Arnett is mustachioed, which is always funny. Tim Meadows has about three lines. David Koechner (who does nothing outside of Ferrell movies), Andrew Daly, Andy Richter, Matt Walsh, and Rob Corddry all round out the cast… kinda. The gags and stunts don’t seem linked to anything. Jackie jumps a line of cheerleaders on skates, Jackie dresses the team up and performs a dance number, Jackie wrestles a bear. There is also a full-scale fight between two teams on the court. If it sounds like they are outtakes from Old School and Anchorman, that’s pretty much what they are. Same shenanigans, different roll of film. Then, they trade a washing machine for the aging Celtic, Monix, played by Woody Harrelson. Monix finds his passion reignited by the team, and with the hopes of getting back with his ex (ER hottie, Maura Tierney). I guess that technically qualifies as a plot. Monix helps coach the team and eventually leads them to a convenient ending. I won’t spoil it for you, but you probably just spoiled it for yourself.
My concern is this: I write this in 2008 with an attitude of indifference, one that I never used to have concerning Will Ferrell. In 2002, if I was told I’d be sick of Will Ferrell, I’d have kindly asked you to “shut that dirty, whoreish mouth.” But his recent films seem void of any creativity. It’s all formulaic at this point. Now, given, he’s a cash cow, and I don’t blame him for one second on cashing in on his personality. As of 2005, Will had Ferrell’d his way into the “$20 million-a-movie” club. Not bad for an ex-SNL alum. Here’s the thing, though, Semi-Pro was the NINTH worst opening for a Will Ferrell movie, pulling in a lousy $14.3 million on opening weekend. This, coming from someone at the height of their career? What this means is that people, not just me, are catching on. For sake of career, I would like to see Will take a breather, regroup, hang out with his hot Swedish wife, and really start planting some new seeds in that brain of his. I know he has untouched territory, synapses that are lock and loaded. What he doesn’t want to do (if I may quote Yacht Rock) is become an irrelevant joke. In 1998, Adam Sandler enjoyed the success of two $100+ million grossing movies, The Wedding Singer and The Waterboy. The stink bombs that followed, Big Daddy (1999), Little Nicky (2000), and Mr. Deeds (2002) began displaying a downward trend, showing that, no, you cannot make endless movies based on “Schlobbity-Doooo!” dialogue. Because of this, Sandler changed his plan and awoke the hidden depths of his talents with surprisingly touching roles in Punch-Drunk Love (2002), Spanglish (2004), and Reign Over Me (2007). He was even considered for Jamie Fox’s role in Michael Mann’s Collateral (2004), which pretty much establishes you as a “capable actor” in my book.

That being said, Will Ferrell has taken on some very intriguing roles in recent films, such as Woody Allen’s Melinda & Melinda (2004) and the undeniably endearing Stranger Than Fiction (2006). I mean, Will Ferrell cried on camera and it didn’t make me laugh. That’s saying something. These movies help to diversify his portfolio and he needs to make sure he keeps at least one in his rotation per year. What he doesn’t want to do is to slowly migrate the way of the SNL buffalo, a la Rob Schneider, David Spade, and even as far back as Chevy Chase. You never want to have your audience make fun of your movies simply based on their premise. South Park’s merciless lambasting of Schneider’s movies isn’t just funny, it’s the by-product of what happens when the creativity and ingenuity of your “schtick” is compressed into a Hollywood caulk gun.
After seeing Semi-Pro, there is an eerie resemblance to the path Rob Schneider took years ago. Just imagine the sushi-laced pitch sessions out in LA: “Will Ferrell is.. a masseuse! A meter maid! An astronaut! A Chia pet!” I guarantee you one of those has been pitched before. I write this as an avid Will Ferrell fan, someone who wants Will Ferrell to make me laugh for decades to come. I don’t want little asshole middle-schoolers to grow up and consider him a dinosaur, like so many of us see Robin Williams, Chevy Chase, and Whoopi Goldberg. Will Ferrell needs to know that he can’t expect people to laugh just because his belly button is showing.

Mr. Ferrell, if you’re listening, we’re still here, but the show has gotten stale. Our tabs are kinda maxed out and we’re calling a cab. You’re even looking a little apathetic about the whole thing, too. Take some time off. Maybe host SNL or even re-join the cast for a season to sharpen up. No one in this country would think any less of you. Who wouldn’t want to see another sketch with “More cowbell?” And this time, you won’t have Jimmy Fallon giggling like a 7th grade girl every time he delivers a line. Then again, maybe you’re enjoying your life just where you are. Who am I to judge? I don’t pull down $40 million a year.

By J Copponex

When, in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve bands with their preconceived notions of what a certain medium is and should become, inevitably, many will put forth wrong answers to these questions. We stand at the beginning of a revolution in video games, one in which games will become the new way to tell a story. Since most video games—the brilliant trifecta of the Halo, Madden and Guitar Hero series being the main exceptions—are relegated to the same greasy Melvins who, one-and-a-half generations ago, were playing Dungeons and Dragons in their basements while listening to Rush’s Fly by Night, the depth and scope video games have achieved recently is basically unknown to the public at large.
For the longest time, large-scale video game epics were exclusively Japanese in origin and exclusively for those of us nerdy enough to give a crap, but that’s all going to change; and the change has already begun with titles like the American/Australian masterpiece BioShock. You would think with BioShock’s stratospheric critical acclaim that people were finally starting to get it, that well-educated young men with discriminating tastes finally had a new and exciting medium to study and scrutinize, and the same game critics who had been reviewing visceral games with stunted plots all these years also knew a good story when they saw one. Then came No More Heroes.
No More Heroes for the Wii did not garner as much attention as BioShock, but was praised by critics, nonetheless, for, above all, a “good story.” Critics will tell you it’s “a satire” and use phrases like, “loaded dialogue” to give the impression that there is actually an ounce of metaphor or coherence to this game. Let me be clear: there is not. Character reversals and supposed plot twists occur without any kind of foreshadowing and with absolutely zero significance to the sense-deficient plot. The dialogue is even worse. Exchanges between the characters reach a level of retardation I only thought possible for people with 47 chromosomes. The main character, “Travis Touchdown” has this to say while fighting the first boss:

“I thirst for selflessness. Hypocrites lusting for their own desire to get killed by young rookies like me. This is how it goes down.
And for the old killers? They’ll croak anyway.
I guess you can call this a comedy. I realize there’s nothing here for me. But what else can I do but keep going? Maybe I should have been a little bit more careful before I jumped in.
Gotta find the exit. Gotta find that exit to paradise. But I can’t see it. Can’t see anything. There’s a sense of doom running down my spine like its… like its trying to suck the life out of me. I need to get rid of it before I bail. Something deeper. Deeper than my instincts is taunting me. Can’t find the exit. Can’t find the exit. Can’t find the exit. Can’t find the exit. Can’t find the exit.”

The whole mess is heaped onto a structure of repetitive gameplay and janky visuals with copious amounts of blood (à la Tarantino), in the worst way possible, although as uncool as Quentin Tarantino and his movies might be, at least their dialogue is understandable. Where this steaming pile of Japanese shitake falls short on style is in its desperate attempt to be cool, not with the traditional introverted anime hero, but with a quasi-American anti-hero, whose coolness is out-shown by his Lebowskian buffoonery. To be sure, the influence of The Big Lebowski can be felt throughout the game in the lazy protagonist and the setting of a Southern California town full of feigned sophistication, in which we are supposed to find charm in its starkness. However, the graphics are beyond stark and the only real workout presented for the Wii’s Hollywood GPU comes when it has to process five fountains of blood at a time pouring from your decapitated enemies’ necks. Still, with graphics this boxy fights should not lead to lag, yet sadly they do.
The suckfest that is the free-roam system merits its own thesis about falling into video game cliches. Not every game needs a sandbox to explore with boring side missions, traffic and pedestrians. Getting around entails driving the obligatory giant anime motorcycle which is cool until you realize it’s not a giant motorcycle at all but a giant moped, the controls for which are inexcusably lazy in execution. Bad controls, coupled with a 3D map that has invisible objects everywhere, lead to frequently falling off your giant gay moped, which involves a five second process of finding a spot around it that will let you get back on. Using the map to find where to go is pointless because the game so faithfully sticks to its retro 8-bit interface that the map becomes a mosaic of huge pixels which looks cool but is entirely illegible.
The pseudo-literary writer/director for this game is, the aptly named, Suda 51, a citizen of Japan who thinks he has an idea of how to be as cool as an American. NO ONE outside of America knows how to be as cool as us, especially not the Japanese. There is a gap as wide as the Pacific Ocean between our ideas of cool. A word of advice to him and his like: stick to your hilarious nut-checking, ass-exposing, incredibly dangerous and offensive game shows which we could never have in America because of our laws against criminal negligence and invasion of privacy. Stick to idolizing us but not trying to be us and we’ll tell you what’s cool, we promise.
But this is not entirely about No More Heroes, nay, not even about the bastardization of our awesomeness by evil foreign powers, it is about starting off the new generation of games on the right foot. It is about victory for good taste. As I said, we are at the fore of a revolution in gaming, and No More Heroes is just a last act of aggression, a Townshend Act against our discretion. May this serve as a Declaration of Independence from those holding us back, holding video games back, from what they could and should be.

By Jon Vico

I don’t know too much about Greece or grease or what exactly shaved meat is, but I do know I like it. I don’t have much experience with Greek food, except for the tasty, bowel-busting gyros they serve at the fair, the surprisingly funny “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”, and the age old debate over the exact pronunciation of ‘gyro’. In an attempt to broaden my food horizons, I recently visited Café Agora on E. Paces Ferry in Atlanta. It was the balls.

Located across the street from the Capital Grille in Buckhead, Café Agora is easy to miss. It fills up one store window and its blue & white sign is brutally small. Inside, there’s a small bar, tables, and a television showing what I can only assume is Turkish soccer. But, really, who cares what it looks like inside? I’d eat in a cardboard box if they were serving crawfish or double chee’s, or some other food I like.

It’s tough to say whether the menu is extensive because the only thing I know about Greek food includes shaved meats, sweaty, hairy, mustachioed men who serve it, and some sort of sour peanut butter called humus. Everything on the menu is numbered, for easy ordering, but it is actually a lot of fun saying the names. “Yes I will have a Cacik Salad,” “Yalanci Dolma, no, I think I’ll go with the BABA GANOUSH!”

I had the Agora Mixed Grille and it was delicious. The ‘mixed’ in Mixed Grille is chicken, ground pork, and shaved beef. The plate was full of awesome, tasty salad, rice that tasted like some sort of rice pilaf, and grilled pita bread. I was starving before I went and I couldn’t even finish the whole thing.

Around the restaurant I glanced at what everyone was eating, (OK, I really went up behind them and sniffed their hair as I stared into their plate). But, bottom line, it all looked delicious.

Before leaving I tried the baklava. It’s a delicious dish where layers of fillo dough are cooked in syrup and topped off, with sprinkled pistachios. It was so good, I somehow took a crap while simultaneously sporting a semi-erection.

Apart from the food and the ambience, there is one aspect of the visit that has to be addressed: the owner. I think his name is Big Al. He is an absolute disheveled mess. He seems like the sort of guy who, when he was little, walked around with his books under his arm, rubbing his hand through his hair with his head down, rushing around and looking lost. Like a pothead in a maze. Like a pregnant chick in Home Depot. Like a gay guy at a rodeo. He speaks exactly like what you think a Greek restaurant owner would speak like. I closed my eyes and distinctly remember hearing the exchange, “’I’m a vegetarian.’ ‘Ok, I make lamb.’”

He was nice enough, but I had a hard time understanding him. He motioned us and spoke in some foreign accent. I assumed he wanted us to sit down. Then, he got really loud and said, “I bring sampler platter!” I missed the part where we asked for it, and apparently he even offered to split it six ways for us. Wow, thanks so much for offering to bring us food and charge us for it without us even asking. Also, when we asked for menus, he brought us one, for six people. When we asked for the bill, he pointed to each one of us, in turn, and said, “10, 10, 10, 10, 12, 10.” Upon reflection, I guess this isn’t such a big deal, but I don’t think I’ve ever been out to eat and not at least gotten a bill.

Even though Big Al is a mess, his food is delicious. I couldn’t get enough of it and when I finally did I was glad I wore stretchy pants to work. After looking over his website, it looks like he stays open until 4 AM on Friday and Saturday. This fires me up and, after a night a lascivious, drunken debauchery, I will totally stumble in, hug Big Al, go do the ‘Urban Destroyer’ on his toilet, and then sit down and enjoy a gyro the size of my face.

By Jon Vico

Although only weeks old, Dudemood has yet to conquer what can be considered the bane of all men: the female period. You’re probably thinking the same thing as I was, “Come on Dude, that’s gross. I came here for insight on being a Dude, not to throw up my sando,” but I think this is a necessary evil that can serve any Dude, from the Cocksman to the Virgin-who-has-yet-use-his-penis-periscope-to-fire-his-seminal-depth -charges-into-Blood-Lake. I feel so ardently about this that I am sacrificing a half days hard work at my job to tell you all you need to know about the wonderful world of female menstruation.

Invented sometime around the turn of the century by the French, female menstruation is commonly known as “menses” or “period.” You might hear girls say, “My Aunt Flow is visiting.” We Dudes have called it many names ranging from “Blood Gulch” to my personal fave, “Shark Week.” It’s when the uterus’ lining is shed and the vagina bleeds for 3 to 5 days. Contrary to popular belief (just my own, really), women do not actually bleed gallons and gallons of blood so as to fill a lake that could be called Blood Lake. It’s actually only about 35 ml, which is about 1.2 oz.

Some women experience cramping in their abdomen and migraine headaches, depression, feelings of being bloated, and a change in the sex drive. Sometimes their breasts hurt too. Scary emotional side effects include mood swings or “weepiness.”

[Check out the chart for graphical reference]

I feel like I can read and read everything there is to know about periods but I still won’t have the whole story. So, I went out and found a woman willing to dish her bloody secrets. The following is a conversation on vaginas with my friend, and resident Dude-Girl (or Dirl), “Jables.” She’s 24 and has been bleeding 12 times a year for at least 14 years which means she’s done it around 170 times. That sounds like a period expert.

Vico: When you’re on your period are your senses heightened? If so, which ones and do you feel like a superhero at all, a sort of Spidey-Sense?

Jables: Hmmm, food tastes pretty good and I am super horny!

Vico: Do you feel like a different person, like a different Jables when you’re on your period?

Jables: Well that depends. Right before I start my period I want to have sex, lots of it! Then come the cramps. When I get those, I turn into evil whiny Jables. After that’s over, I go back to normal pretty much.

Vico: Were you fully prepared before you had your first period, like did you know what was happening, or did you think you had a splinter in your crotch from running through the woods.

Jables: No, my first period was traumatizing! First of all, my mom started preparing me for the situation months before its occurrence, and would send me on trips with a “special” brown bag packed with pads. That was humiliating. Then one morning I woke up and I felt like someone was driving knives into my stomach over and over again.

Vico: Wow, that’s frightening as eff. But seriously though, does being on your period give you any sort of super strength? But with the super strength, also comes the childlike inability to handle certain tasks such as “answering a Dude in a normal tone.”and “putting on jeans without crying.”

Jables: [WTF]

Vico: What advice would you give a guy to survive the whole PMS and menstrual cycle period of the month?

Jables: I really liked it when my [douche bag] ex would lay his head on my stomach. It would relieve some of the discomfort. When you know the woman in your life is going through PMS, try and take the crazy things she may say or do, with a lighter heart and try to cut her some slack.

Vico: Do you think some girls use it as a crutch for just being crazy in general?

Jables: Oh definitely! I mean, come on! I have had a period since in was in fourth grade. It comes every month, and I know to expect it. How can someone try and make an excuse for erratic behavior once a month, twelve times a year, quite possibly lasting a week or more at a time!

Vico: Does your vag have any other uses besides bleeding and sex?

Jables: WTF? Seriously?

Vico: Just wondering

Jables: Let me think…having babies…I guess that’s it. Oh, and I do hide my flying monkeys up there too!

So as you can see there is a lot to know about women and their periods. Some friendly advice is to find out when their period is, count 7 days back, and be on your best behavior and stay out of their hair. And what Jables said is true, cut them some slack. Life has got to be tough with the bleeding and the emotion and the all around grossness that is the female period.

***Jables side note: Remember, if a girl is not having her period, she is either really old, or knocked-up. So, try not to complain about them too much! And please please please don’t use that joke about “not trusting something that bleeds for five days straight and doesn’t die.” That’s just ignorant and annoying.

By Johnny Dakota

Chick-fil-A is delicious. I love their chicken, whether it is on a sandwich, a biscuit, or wrapped up in a breakfast burrito, and it goes great with a side of waffle fries and an ice cold lemonade. It is competitively priced and readily available in the Atlanta area, seemingly everything you would look for in a fast food restaurant. It also makes me sick. To me, Chick-fil-A embodies everything I hate about sports and the direction it is taking today, a loss of tradition.

The Peach Bowl was first held at Historic Grant Field in 1968. Since then, forty games have been played, making it the 9^th oldest game in college football. This game has grown into one of the premier bowl games in the country by consistently producing sellouts and great match-ups between top conferences. Now, granted, it is by no means the Rose or the Sugar Bowl, and I doubt if it has ever played a role in determining the national champion. It is, however, played in my home state of Georgia about thirty minutes away from my home. I was very proud of the game’s increasing success and the recognition it brought to both Atlanta and Georgia.

I emphasize ‘was,’ in the previous sentence, because in 1996, in an effort to raise money and the game’s profile, the Atlanta Chamber of Commerce sold the title sponsor rights to Chick-fil-A. On the face of it, this looked like the same thing every other bowl game was doing, but in actuality, it was the beginning of the end for the Peach Bowl. In 2005 Chick-fil-A plucked the ‘Peach’ from the name entirely to create a self titled bowl game.

This renaming of the game reinforces the fact that almost everything is for sale in sports these days. Do we really need three different sponsors for the pre, halftime, and post game shows? I’m not saying that there should be no corporate sponsorships for bowl games, they are a necessary evil. The corporation can use its resources to cross-promote itself with the game and increase the payouts each school receives, making it more attractive to conferences. Players are also treated to generous gift package known to have included DVD players, iPods, and even mountain bikes. You would be hard pressed to find someone who feels that these are bad things for the game.

The problem arises, however, when the corporation feels it is bigger than the game. A bowl game should be a representation of the state or city that hosts it, and the corporation should support that game. The Peach Bowl was played in the capital of Georgia, the Peach State. The Orange Bowl is played in Miami, Florida, a state that grows groves of oranges. The Rose Bowl Game is so named because its roses are blooming in California while the rest of the country is stuck in the middle of winter. The Sugar Bowl took its name from the Sugar plantations that existed in New Orleans. The Fiesta Bowl name was chosen by popular vote in a Phoenix newspaper. Viewers across the country can identify with these games and instantly understand the connection to the host city.

The Peach Bowl was a symbol of Atlanta, and now that symbol is gone. It can now be thrown in the ever increasing pile with the Outback, CapitalOne, and many other bowls that have stripped their respective game and host city of the tradition and recognition it deserves.

It is for these reasons that Chick-fil-A has lost me as a customer forever. Sure, I will graze a nugget tray at a party, but you will never see me support them with any of my money. And you also won’t find a CapitalOne card in my wallet.

By: Hoss

So it’s Oscar season again, and all the movies that are supposed to be “good” are flooding the multiplexes. I anxiously await the Oscar telecast each year because I enjoy movies. I also enjoy filling out my ballot before the show begins. I do my best to gauge the nominees and pick the winners. It keeps things interesting, and I’m usually in the 60-70% range. This is the first year in quite awhile that I’ve made a conscious effort to view all of the Best Picture nominees ahead of time. Along with Michael S. C., I’ve viewed all five films recently. And I’m going to have to say that I don’t entirely agree with some of the “experts” when it comes to the big ones this year.

Now I know that I’m supposed to come out here and spray my shorts about the supposed “Best movies of our generation” or whatever craziness people are describing them as. I shall not do so. I watched There Will Be Blood, Atonement, and No Country for Old Men. And quite frankly, I’m not sure that they all deserve to be vying for Best Picture. Don’t get me wrong, these movies are well-directed, well-acted, and at times well-written. I do not hate them. But I am not sure that they are worthy of the high praise continuously heaped on them by the critics.

1. There Will Be Blood- Yes, Daniel Day-Lewis is amazing as the dastardly oil tycoon. The epic landscapes look fantastic. The costumes and sets are as authentic as can be. However, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to take out of it all. The movie leaves you feeling kind of empty - it’s the most depressing thing I’ve seen in a long while. Am I glad I watched it? Yes. Do I want to watch it again? Nope. Next!-

2. Atonement- Whew. Those damn British people and their prim-and-proper clothes. The pretentious accents. Kiera Knightley in her 34^th period piece in the past 12 months. This movie, as Michael described it, is “a scattershot.” It’s all over the map. It does contain a 5-minute tracking shot that was pretty amazing. That’s all I’ve got. I won’t be sitting through that one again. Next!-

3. No Country For Old Men- This movie builds some serious momentum. It was very interesting for the first 2 hours. The problem is, that’s where it stops. Did the Coen Brothers run out of ink or paper? I’m not sure. I know that the story didn’t end. And the last time I checked, stories (and movies) usually have endings. Whoops.

As I stated before, I don’t hate these movies. All in all, I’m glad that I watched them. I might give No Country another shot on DVD. I’m just not sure if they are mind-blowing, amazing achievements. Out of the big five this year, there are two movies that I genuinely enjoyed. I would watch them again in a heartbeat. Those two movies are Juno and Michael Clayton. In fact, I’ve seen Michael Clayton three times in the past two weeks. I actually enjoyed them - not because I was supposed to. Not because I read that they were good. I enjoyed them because they were good. It is tiring to read these reviews over and over again:

“There Will Be Blood is an absolute masterpiece! It is an instant classic!”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down there, Roe-bert. Who’s to say what will end up being a “classic” mere days or weeks after its release? Check back in about 15 years and we’ll see what is considered a “classic” and what has fallen by the way-side. The “instant classic” line is thrown around far too often and much too easily these days. Everyone is quick to give a knee-jerk, immediate reaction to everything. And the overwhelming critical acclaim simply feeds the whale. It’s a self-perpetuating machine.

I also do not understand why some critics refuse to enjoy a movie simply because it’s an “event” picture. It is possible for the same person to enjoy say, Atonement and Transformers. They aren’t mutually exclusive. Its not likely, but it should be possible. I loved Transformers. I realize that it isn’t going to be nominated for Best Picture anytime soon. On the flip side, I also loved Chicago. And I hate musicals with a passion. Go figure. As a regular contributor to dudemood, I should probably keep a lid on that. But after Vico’s revelation today that he enjoys Failure to Launch, amongst other romantic comedies, I don’t feel too bad revealing this information. It might cost me some dude-points but I’m trying to be honest with you here dammit.

I need to recover some points after that. So I’ll finish by saying that I used to love Melrose Place. It, it had a ton of hot bitches on it and stuff. And they were always having sex. That’s manly, right? Right?

By Jon Vico

It’s my quest to be age seven once more. To not think about bills or work or my car and to think girls smell like poop. When I was seven my mom picked me up from school every day at 2:30 and we’d come home, eat tomato soup and then I’d go throw the baseball against a wall because I had no friends.

I tell you this because its the basis for my love of every movie played on ABC Family. I dig it. It is me. No, I’m not their target audience, being twenty five and male I’m probably the farthest thing from it. Despite that, there is nothing that can keep me away from the television during the 25 Days of Christmas or the two reruns of the Gilmore Girls a night. Yes, I know who Rory is going out with in season three. Yes, I think Lorelai is the ultimate hot mom. This extends to the movies ‘The Fam’ plays too.

I love romantic comedies. They’re funny, light-hearted, and I can watch them over and over again. Here’s a list of family and romantic comedy films any Dude can feel comfortable watching. Buckle up.

FAMILY

1. Swiss Family Robinson: It’s a Disney movie with tigers, Great Danes, a hot mom, and pirates. It’s a little long and lacks gratuitous sex scenes, but it’s one of my faves. You can often catch it on Saturday mornings on channels like UPN. I recommend watching the television version so you can get up to make soup and sandos at the commercials.

2. Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey: Yeah, the first one from ‘93. This movie is a film. Michael J. Fox, Sally Field, and that old dog make me want to get lost and search for my family like every day. Don’t waste your time with the second one though, it’s weak.

3. Bedknobs and Broomsticks: Another Disney atom bomb. Starring Angela Lansbury as an old witch. It combines animation with live action in a soccer game. A. It’s hilarious. 2. They kill Nazis.

4. To Kill a Mockingbird: Robert Duvall’s first role and second best movie. Scout fires me up and her little gay friend turns out to be Truman Capote. Now that’s fun. “Pass the damn ham.”

5. Cheaper by the Dozen 1 and 2: It starts slow but Bonnie Hunt and Hillary Duff steal the show with their girl on girl scene. Ok, that doesn’t happen, but there is LeBaron, wax, and Ashton Kutcher hilarity. The second one has Carmen Electra.

ROMANTIC COMEDY

1. Failure to Launch: Seriously funny. It’s got Justin Bartha from the Treasure movies. It’s got awesome nicknames like ‘Ace’ and ‘Demo’, animals, boats, a chick that looks like a foot, BB guns, and technology. It’s biggest asset…Kathy Bates, ’nuff said.

2. The Notebook: Yeah, I’ve seen this one about 15 times. It was always on Comcast for about six months. I can quote it, recite it, act it out, and direct it. It’s got some sex and some pretty good lines if you ever want to have some sex. Plus, it’s a guarantee your girlfriend will cry at the end and then you’ll have sex. It’s not a comedy but it is romantic.

3. How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days: It’s got Lt. Dangle from Reno 911 and Kate Hudson in the yellow dress. I didn’t like it the first couple of times but it grew on me. I often mute it during the painfully awful karaoke scene, yet I own the soundtrack. I don’t understand it either.

4. 50 First Dates: I know this should probably be in the Adam Sandler category and Drew Barrymore is not hot, but it’s pretty funny. Rob Schneider and Sean Astin spend most of the movie topless, in tank tops, or in mesh tank tops. That’s awesome.

5. You’ve Got Mail: On the outside this movie appears to be about as useless as those 3000 Free Online Hours CD AOL gives away as coasters, but it’s actually superbadass. Even with her ugly chick, frumpy, ‘I live in the late 90’s and I dress like a hobo’ chic Meg Ryan is still hot. Plus it’s got Tom Hanks and Dave Chappelle. Had this one on VHS, used to play it in my VHS player before they both wore out.

I might be half-way gay and have a weird movie taste, but there are a few movies I can’t even watch.

BRUTALITY

1. The Holiday: Oh my, I’ve actually seen this movie. It defines the word ’shitty.’ To make it even more miserable, watch it in the summer with the A/C off and the house closed up.

2. Kate and Leopold: On principal, no. I haven’t even seen this but I can tell you it’s probably a vomit factory.

3. Music and Lyrics: Typical Hugh Grant fare. He stutters, he mutters, he’s from Britain. It just can’t get worse

4. 4 Weddings and a Funeral: It gets worse

5. Notting Hill: I have nothing to say about this. It makes me sad there is a dude in this movie even.

So check some of these out on ‘The Fam’, or don’t, either way you know what I’m doing weekday nights, Saturday mornings, and during the month of December,

By Sevy

Saturday evening had great potential, but quickly spiraled out of control. After a disappointing afternoon, I joined G. Charles for some drinks at a friend’s place on the upper west side. Shortly after entering the apartment, I immediately noticed that G. Chuck spent his afternoon purchasing a pair of shoes that I had desperately had my eye on. Fortunately for me, he had not yet worn the shoes; therefore, hope remained that I may be able to coerce him into returning the unworn shoes so I could then purchase them for myself.

I cannot say that the news about the shoes was the catalyst to the events to come, but was simply the retro-active cherry on top of the shit sundae that was my Saturday night.

After downing a tall, and quite stout, gin and tonic prepared by G. C., we all headed to a local Cal-Mex restaurant. Throughout the meal, the drinking continued, only vodka was the replacement for gin. I’m not entirely sure how many I consumed—I simply know that I stopped counting when they started tasting like water.

After settling the tab with Juan-Steven (Oh, “Cal-Mex,” now I get it) it was back to our friend’s apartment. I was about to break off from the group to meet some co-workers at a social function for some drinks when I was Roped in for another G & T…and some subsequent shots of tequila. For many, the tequila would have been the red flag. For me, it only enhanced my fervor for more drinks even though I could not convince G. Chuck and his new shoes to join me.

Being unsupervised after that point was simply not a great choice. I was, however, determined to meet up with my colleagues—albeit two and half hours late.

I bid my farewells and began heading southward in search of a cab. I finally flagged down my unmarked charcoal chariot, but not before a ten block stumble-fest in the freezing rain and a quick price negotiation with the driver. Upon my entrance to the bar, people immediately embraced my arrival and began buying me drinks. I get it. I am the young one. Everyone wants to see test the new kid’s strength.

I embrace this challenge.

Things were going great. Unfortunately, though, somewhere between the vodka and impersonating my boss lies the point in time where in my memory said farewell and good luck asshole.

!!:47AM - I shot up from a comatose state. My throbbing head weighed a thousand pounds. I scanned my bedroom for possible clues. Questions start flying through my head. First of which, why am I fully clothed? How did I get to bed? Most importantly, how did I get home from Lower East Side Manhattan to Park Slope Brooklyn? I check my wallet for some insight. All I find is that my wallet is folded inside out and I am missing $80 dollars. Damn it. I am guessing a cab driver probably got a really good tip after having to wake me up from the back seat, but there’s no telling. For all I know I might have given the money to a stray Cat.

Next, I interrogate my roommate. He was the last person to have seen me awake He said that he heard the building door opened, but no one emerged at our door until about 15 minutes later…that said person was me. I apparently was scratching at the door, unable to decipher which key to use to get in. I then apparently proceeded to throw my ipod at him after some insult/insight was hurled at me.

Monday morning. I’m sitting at work now just waiting to see someone from that night. Waiting for someone to cross by my office wearing the scarf I left at the bar. Hoping and praying that they will not be able to provide any incriminating details in regards to my behavior. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Maybe I continued conversing with people in an intelligent manner, then made a graceful exit. Yeah, I’m sure that’s probably how it happened…

By Justin Perez

Wow, what a magical Super Bowl. The big plays were made, offensively and defensively. Eli Manning came through in the clutch. David Tyree went from an unknown 5th Wide Receiver to Michael Bloomberg status in New York. The Giants defense could not be contained. There were sacks left and right, and the secondary of the Giants refused to let up a big play.

The Giants, who ironically were in the role of David, took up the task of facing the “greatest” team in the history of the NFL, Goliath, or better know as the New England Patriots. Amid allegations of cheating in Super Bowl XXXVI against the Rams, the Patriots seemed destined to win their 4th Super Bowl this decade and becoming only the second team since the ‘72 Dolphins to complete the season undefeated. But, unfortunately for the Patriots, the Giants wouldn’t go quietly. After quite possibly the greatest 4th quarter I have ever watched, the Patriots finally got what they deserved, disappointment. The Patriots could have been classy in defeat, something you would expect from an organization so used to winning (a la, the Braves, Yankees, 49ers, Steelers, Cowboys), but instead, Bill Belichick walked off the field before the snap, ignoring the referees request for the teams to return to the sidelines. Tom Brady and Randy Moss also backed out of the Pro Bowl just because of their loss. You would think the Patriots would be gracious in defeat. I mean, COME ON, they have already won 3 Super Bowls. I understand the one reason for playing a season in the NFL is to win the Lombardi trophy, but the Patriots should have congratulated the Giants and walked off the field graciously in defeat.

The NFL is better off with the Giants having won the Super Bowl.
That’s all I have to say. I’m going to go spend endless hours on Scout.com looking at the same names of the players who are going to take Georgia Football to the next level

By Michael S.C.

As a citizen of the United States, you should vote.

As a functioning member of society, you should vote.

As an opinionated reader, you should vote.

As a snobby academic, you should vote.

As a disenfranchised youth, you should vote.

As a Leader of Men, you should vote.

As a divorced forty-something, you should vote.

As an ex-con, you should vote (assuming your state allows you to).

As a successful restaurant owner, you should vote.

As a two-years-shy-of-retirement assembly line worker, you should vote.

As an 18-year-old Army recruit, you should vote.

As a 300-lb Level 67-Human Rogue on World of Warcraft, you should vote.

As an angry artist, you should vote.

As a gay conservative, you should vote.

As a liberal Sunday school teacher, you should vote.

With a mustache, you should vote.

Without a mustache, you should grow a mustache, and then vote.

With tattoos, handicaps, emotional baggage, $62 hair product, engine grease, chili stains, seven minutes left on your lunch break, a hangover, an inherent distrust of the government, a reason for living, a reason for dying, friends or yourself, wearing women’s clothing, an IQ of 100 or 160…

With no idea

With some idea

With all the ideas.

We all live in the same house, the same community, the same 3.79 million square miles of the Earth.

We drink the same water, we eat the same food, we visit the same internet, and use the same toilets (most of the time).

As a teacher, you should vote.

As a student, you should vote.

As a Democrat, you should vote.

As a Republican, you should vote.

As a loser…

As a winner…

As a Dude…

You should vote.