Wherefore art thou, Hollywood?

Esses and señoritas,

Highlights from the nights out during the week are scarce. Thursday night we (the same 2 gringas, the same gringo and I) went to the same bar we had been to before, Pekados. Things were peachy until Kelsey ordered herself and I a shot of Tequila Nacional each. Let me tell you a little something about Tequila Nacional. You know that blue pill in the Matrix? The one Neo doesn’t take? It’s made of Tequila Nacional. Fortunately, not everyone in the group ingested this concoction of liquid Alzheimer’s and alcohol and they were able to relocate Kelsey and I to our respective abodes.

After going out 4 of the week’s first 5 nights, I decided that a calmer night was in order. This was probably a good thing, if I got home again at 6 in the morning my señora would have killed me. I know this because she told me so before I went out last night.

Saturday night the 2 girls and I went to see the Argentine film XXY at Village Recoletta, a building consisting of 4 stories of small theatres and a food court. In case your Movie Title cognitive ability is about as acute is mine, XXY was about a hermaphrodite. Despite what the critics, Canne’s Film Festival and my fellow movie-goers may say, do not watch this movie unless you feel like you do not deserve to be as happy as you are. This movie makes Schindler’s List look like an Olsen twins’ Christmas special. If I wanted to be this depressed when I go out, I’d go to WNBA games.

Because we hadn’t had our share of foreign films, we decided to watch Yesterday Again. It’s basically Mr. and Mrs. Smith if Pitt and Joley were Asian and filthy rich in the movie. However, we got there late and had to settle for Flandres (which I’m convinced is French for “91 minutes you could’ve spent watching competitive Tic-Tac-Toe”). The movie’s director describes it in a pamphlet I wish I'd read before the movie started. And I quote: “Demester, a young farmer from Flandres, is dating Barbe, but seems unable to commit or articulate his emotions. The night before he leaves for the war, she, in an act of anger, sleeps with his friend Blondel, whom has also been drafted…”

Fortunately, I am now fully versed in Incompetent French Directoria and can translate for you.

It’s the age-old story of boy and girl that are born in Hickville, rural France. Girl becomes crazy after she has sex with 3 premature-ejaculators who know each other through their sexual malfunction support group – I made that last part up. Boy and fellow idiot leave for war. Idiot dies. Girl is pregnant by idiot. Boy cries. Audience wishes French directors could be bitch-slapped over the Internet.

I will say the movie had two parts that captured my attention. The first was a close-up of a plowing tractor’s six, shiny, 4-foot guillotines set in spiral formation. The second came after aforementioned Idiot shares the news of his relatively new girlfriend’s unplanned pregnancy with his fellow troops and gets called “the quickest gun in the west.” Zing.

Rest assured the next movie I watch will feature girls whose breasts cost more than their cars and explosions that would make Wile E. Coyote blush. Where are James Bond and John McClane when you need them?

'Tis all for now.

More to come,

grego

P.S. The Rap lyric of the week is "Bounce like you got hydraulics in your G-string."