Chances are, you’re probably bored with the same ol’ selections on the tube. (That is, if you can find any worth watching that haven’t been played to death, or if any cable channels are actually showing horror flicks during the Halloween season.) Sure, I love Freddy, Pinhead, the (original) Wolfman and all those other homicidal old friends as much as the next nut case, but sometimes, you gotta switch up the menu.  With a few weeks left until Halloween, there’s still plenty of time to scout out some unexpected treats to gobble up on DVD - or VHS… for the really obscure films - to host a horrorfest of your own.  After all, you can only sit through Friday the 13^th so many times. 

While there were a few movies I would have loved to plunk in here, they were either too commonly shown on the television during Halloween (i.e. Psycho, Bram Stoker’s Dracula), too ecclectic and expensive to track down (Clive Barker’s Rawhead Rex… The cheapest which it can be purchased for is $76 on VHS! Hello, economically feasible DVD re-release already?!) or they weren’t straight-up horror, but more along the lines of film noir (Sunset Blvd. and Whatever Happened to Baby Jane). Regardless, I attempted to pull from a wide variety of horror subgenres when compiling this list, so hopefully, there’s something for everyone’s tastes!

That said, here are some of my recommendations for horror films you may not have seen that are worth digging around for (in descending order with the most recent films listed first).  Happy Halloween!

 1.  The Devil’s Rejects  (2005)

It’s hard to classify Rob Zombie’s The Devil’s Rejects as strictly a horror film.  It’s more like a buddy picture/road trip movie with a shitload of violence.  Kind of like Bob and Bing hit the road and go on a killing spree or The Wild Bunch meets Natural Born Killers. With its grubby, grainy film quality, there’s a stylistic ’70s feel to the film even beyond its period setting. 

The Devil’s Rejects is one of those rare films that’s better than its predecessor, in this case, Zombie’s House of 1,000 Corpses.  It continues the saga of the demented Firefly family, focusing on its patriarch, clown makeup-sporting Capt. Spaulding; his psychotic, thrill-killing daughter, Baby; and his adopted son, Otis P. Driftwood, an eloquent, yet utterly batshit maniac who may enjoy killing even more than Baby.  The Firefly family is oddly likeable, in spite of the fact that they kill for no real reason other than for kicks.  Then again, it’s hard not to like a bunch of lunatics who converse about “Tutti-fuckin’-Fruity” ice cream, lament being labeled as a fornicator of poultry, and stress the importance of “Top Secret Clown Business.” The Devil’s Rejects  is easily one of the best films of any genre - not just horror - in terms of character development, writing, story, and direction.  If you haven’t seen it, it should definitely make its way into your Netflix queue. Read the rest of this entry »

Courtney Love is at it again! Just when you thought she could run out of people to sue and/or threaten, the voice that launched a thousand syringes has uttered forth yet another shrill caw in the direction of Activision. Apparently, the video game giant that produces the popular Guitar Hero game has committed a serious no-no by making Love’s deceased husband, Kurt Cobain, a playable character in the game’s fifth installment. What makes this such a terrible, horrible infraction of all that is right and good in the universe is that, by making Cobain a playable character, he can be forced at the gamer’s bidding to commit unspeakable acts. Unspeakable acts such as lip-synching to “Play That Funky Music” and “Sultans of Swing”! Somebody please call Amnesty International!

According to Courtney Love’s mad ramblings on Twitter, she claims that although she agreed to allow Activision to use the master recordings of Nirvana songs “Lithium” and “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” she did not allow them access to her husband’s likeness. Activision counters this claim, stating that Courtney Love signed a contract giving them full rights to make a playable character based on Cobain’s image.

Adding fuel to the fire, in a Tweet from her personal account, Courtney notes: “we get NO money for this, travesty, Frances gets NO money for the rape.”

Wow. There’s just so much wrong with that statement that I don’t even know where to begin. Apparently, it’s a demeaning “sell out” if her dead husband’s likeness is shown lip synching to Bon Jovi or Queen, but it’s perfectly justifiable “rape” if she receives some money for it. In that case, the “rape” would be upgraded to “surprise sex” and not nearly as harrowing since there’s a pay day in there somewhere. Leave it to Courtney Love to tug at the heart strings as only she can, lumping her offspring, “rape,” and “money” into the same sentence together. Read the rest of this entry »

~ for my friend, MB

It’s been a few months since I’ve turned 30 and, so far, no magical Maturity Fairy has descended to drop some serious knowledge on my ass. It’s not much different from when I turned 18 and the Adult Wisdom Fairy failed to put in an appearance. It seems only fitting that 30 is as equally anti-climactic as legal adulthood, what with the current cultural trend of “30 is the new 18.”

In this youth-obsessed culture, more and more of us are rapidly regressing towards our teen years. Everyone I know, including people younger than me to people 65+ years of age, have feelings that aren’t that far removed from high school. There’s something about 29 – that onus of being on the cusp of something potentially bigger, brighter, and perhaps more solemn – that makes that second wind of adolescence all the more poignant.

It’s not much different than the feeling you get when you’re (to cop a phrase from The Sound of Music) “17 going on 18.” You believe you’re going to set the world on fire and break free from the tyrannical rule of your teachers, principals, and parents once that status of legal adulthood is granted. At 30, it’s a different sort of tyranny you find yourself railing against, still wanting to make your mark. Compared to the world of responsibilities that come with “adulthood” such as jobs and “serious” relationships, life at home with Mom and Dad seems like an unappreciated sanctuary you wish you could crawl back to.

Considering the economic climate of the times, that feeling is only exacerbated. That love/hate relationship with your oppressive employer in the downright shitty job market is further complicated. Greener pastures are ready to be sought, but they’re nowhere in sight. At the same time, you find yourself thinking, “Shit, I’m lucky just to have a job,” while still hoping you can someday live out your dreams as your 401K goes to shit and the prospect of cat food becoming a large part of your “Golden Years” looms ever-closer.

When you’re 29 going on 30, that three-decade milestone makes you wonder why you’re not where you envisioned yourself being at 30 when you were 17. It seemed so simple with no roadblocks on that map to success. But now… The clock is ticking. The race is on to make your mark and achieve the elusive happy ending. And sometimes, except for the lucky few, those things are harder and slower to come by than you would have ever dreamed.

Contrary to what you were fed in high school and/or college, it’s a much bleaker picture. In this day and age of bicycle crash helmets, pet therapists, and all manner of molly-coddling, the harsh truth isn’t discovered until you’re out there shopping resumés, manuscripts, or even your telephone number at a club during last call to anyone who may seem even remotely interested. That, my friend, is the much-vaunted “pursuit of happiness.”

I’m sure everyone has, had, or will have their own take on 29, but as for me, I found it to come with euphoric highs and bottom-scraping lows. That whole thing about reverting to a teenage state of mind? It came back in spades during my Trials of 29.

For instance, I found myself searching for deeper meaning in some seriously weird shit…like the sound a computer makes as its shutting down. Read the rest of this entry »

Is America sick of John and Kate Plus 8? TLC doesn’t seem to think so as evidenced by their ad nauseum marathoning of the show this weekend in 24 hour blocks. As if the steady stream of online tabloid reports on the fertile philanderers’ daily doings wasn’t enough, TLC has gone into John and Kate overload, hyping the newest season of their reality TV show by airing back-to-back-to-back episodes.

I’ve been sick of John, Kate, and their unwieldy horde for awhile now. Mind you, I’ve never seen an entire episode of the show, but have been exposed to dozens of commercials for the series. I would cringe every time I saw one while watching Miami Ink, L.A. Ink or some of the other tattoo-related shows that used to air on TLC. Miami Ink however, has been cancelled to make room for more shows about people with Ma and Pa Kettle-sized broods like the new Table for 12 and 18 Kids and Counting. There’s yet another new show devoted to “little people” called The Little Couple which seems more like a prelude to Little People, Big World.

You can practically see some programming exec sitting in his leather swivel chair at TLC headquarters saying “Let’s get some more midgets up in this piece!” (Need I mention that the executive is probably some 40-something, uber-white yuppie attempting to incorporate what he believes to be hip, urban slang into his boardroom vernacular?) Read the rest of this entry »

Philly may be known for its cheese steaks, soft pretzels, and “water ice” (the Philadelphia terminology for the food item most people everywhere else refer to as “Italian Ice”)… but it sure as shit isn’t known for its sense of style.

To be fair, each section of Philadelphia has its own unique vibe. In that sense, it really is “the city of neighborhoods.” In addition to the distinct brand of ambiance native to each part of the city, some areas of Philly have a better sense of fashion than others.

You’ve got your uppity, Main Line society types, many of whom plan on dousing themselves with pastel shades of Lilly Pulitzer with the onset of Spring. North Philly has its streetwise, uptown thug style and West Philadelphia follows suit, with some “hipster” fashion thrown in for good measure, depending on if whether you happen to be up or down from 34th St. South Philly is also an enclave of hipster-attire, as is some of Center City, although, as a rule, Center City is something of a melting pot in terms of people and fashion for Philadelphians. South Philly (and the parts of Fishtown swarming with fresh-off-the-boat Albanians) favors the neo-Guido look of nylon tracksuits and gold chains nestled on a bed of thick chest hair. Read the rest of this entry »

Okay. I think I’ve seen it all now. I’ve heard of foot fetishes, BDSM fetishes… Hell, even scat and water sports fetishes. But a CHEESE FETISH?! More specifically, a SWISS CHEESE FETISH!? You gotta be fucking kidding me!

Craigslist, that great provider of hilarity, gifted me with this utter gem this morning: (As a word of warning, this link includes some very NSFW photos, one of which is this weirdo’s dong wrapped in a slice of Swiss cheese. I kid you not.)

Jesus. I couldn’t even make this shit up.

For the link-phobic and those who are lactose-penis intolerant and would prefer to read without visual accompaniment, here are some highlights from the original Craigslist posting, complete with commentary:

“What my fetish is, is considered a food play fetish. What that means is food is use in either a sexual or non sexual way to provide sexual stimulation and or arousal and pleasure. I like when cheese is use in a sexual manner to provide arousal and pleasure, specifically Swiss cheese, although I am open to any cheese as well.I love the way Swiss cheese feels against my penis. Either as slices of Swiss cheese being wrapped around my penis or a chunk of Swiss cheese being rubbed against my penis. I love even more when a woman uses the Swiss cheese to pleasure me. Or simply wraps Swiss cheese slices around my penis and allows me to hang out with her as I wear the cheese.”

BWAAAAAHHAAAAHHAA!!! Oh, boy!  That’s rich!! Can you imagine hanging out with this dude, thinking you’re going to just watch TV, grab a beer or something and he’s got his junk wrapped up like Chicken Cordon Bleu?

But wait… It gets better: Read the rest of this entry »

This past week, I received word from back home that my favorite high school teacher was busted for possession of marijuana. On one hand, it doesn’t surprise me as my former teacher was quite a free spirit, but on the other, it bugs me that small town cops have nothing better to do than shake down a 66-year-old man with a lighter and a dimebag.

Although I never knew my teacher used to blaze up, nor did I ever smoke with him back in the day, I used to chat with him a lot about friends, students, teachers and life in general.. “D” (as his students fondly referred to him) was/is an incredibly bright, charismatic man saddled with the job of teaching kids who didn’t really share his enthusiasm for his classes subject matter. As a teacher, he tried to make things as interesting as possible. As a person, he was so real, funny and insanely cool that I would bail on gym class to hang out with D and hear his thoughts on things… As did a lot of other students and former students.

I was pretty bummed hearing about his arrest and definitely want to write to him and wish him well. D was always very supportive of me during my high school years and just an all-around good guy. Hearing this news from back home, it made me think about my teen and college years. During those days, barring a handful of adult figures important in my life, music was a big part of getting me through rough patches.

In college, I found myself taking up the habit of indulging in the sticky-icky. Back in the day, my favorite thing that I used to do to unwind was to smoke up, kick back on my bed with my stuffed pal Sammy, plug in the headphones and crank up some music as loud as it could go. In my Purple Sticky Punge haze, I would hear subtle nuances of vocals and instrumentation in the music. Once, I thought I had heard Motley Crue speaking directly to me from the confines of their Generation Swine CD…But that’s another story.. (That must have been some really good shit that night!)

It’s been almost a decade since I’ve smoked up, but I felt a tribute to D was in order. As an adult rolling up on 30 whose job piss-tests randomly, there was no way I could go back to my carefree days as an aficionado of that green goodness. I did the next best thing, however, and plugged in my headphones, grabbed Sammy, and sat back to soak in a shuffled playlist and the knowledge it brings. Reassured that with close to 8,000 songs on my iPod, this would truly be a venture into randomly uncharted territory.

Kneeling at the Tree of Knowledge that is Bell Biv Devoe’s “Poison”, I pondered the insightful nature of the group’s suggestion: “Never trust a big butt and a smile.” While this certainly holds true for males of the species, if this New Jack Swing classic were to be covered by females, perhaps the granule of wisdom to women would be to “never trust a pretty boy with child-bearing hips.” (True dat, BBD. True dat.) Read the rest of this entry »

After seeing the exorbitant amount of taxpayer-funded bailout cash that has been abused by AIG, it’s unbelievable just how ballsy these financial institutions can be with their bullying tactics towards average citizens.

As if it wasn’t bad enough seeing that FreeCreditReport.com douche rag and his loser friends on TV every 10 minutes complaining about why their lives suck because they never cared to check their credit scores, now you can look forward to an onslaught of harassing phone calls from your credit card company.

You know the drill. They call every hour on the hour during weekends and sometimes at your place of work. Sometimes they attempt to disguise who they are by trying to sound like they’re your friend (provided they can actually pronounce your name correctly) or by blocking the number they’re calling from. Thanks to the miracle of Caller ID, the 1-800 numbers these tyrants favor is a dead giveaway not to answer the phone.

A little over a month ago, I realized just how out of hand this credit card crap had become. Read the rest of this entry »

You think a recession can stop me from gettin’ my drink on?  Oh, hell no!  If the constant flow of doom and gloom on the news and worries about the ol’ day job going down the crapper, it’s all the more reason to suck down some sauce.  Responsibly, of course.  (Which is a nice way of saying “I take public transportation anyway because I be po’.”) 

That’s right!  The Booze Review — Home of the Three Drink Minimum — is back like Jordan with the scoop on the Where, What, and Why(nehouse) to drink!  This time around, the Booze Review makes a pit stop into the Devil’s Alley at 1907 Chestnut Ave. in Philadelphia, PA. 

Read the rest of this entry »

To paraphrase a certain television theme song: “You take the good, you take the bad and there you have the Watchmen.”

For years, there had been talk about translating Alan Moore’s classic 1986 graphic novel to the big screen, much to the chagrin of the eccentric author himself. To be fair, Moore has never been a fan of seeing his work on the big screen, raising a stink the size of a sewage plant for each film made from his stories regardless of how good or bad the end result. Moore was full of equal ire for both the excellent Wachowski Bros.’ imagining of V For Vendetta and the suck-fest that was League of Extraordinary Gentlemen — a film so craptastic that not even Sean Connery’s presence could redeem it.

Watchmen, however, holds a special place in the heart of comic book fanboys (and girls). The 1986 graphic novel attained legendary status for its story of a disbanded team of superheroes bonded together once more when someone sets about murdering or discrediting the surviving members. Set in an alternate universe in which Richard Nixon is a multi-term president well into the 1980s, matters are further complicated as the United States teeters on the brink of nuclear war with the Soviet Union.

Zak Snyder, who previously directed the screen version of yet another graphic novel, 300, was the lucky cat to inherit the task of capturing Watchmen for celluloid posterity. Read the rest of this entry »