The Informers.

It's hard to believe it, but someone is making Bret Easton Ellis' The Informers a reality. The pic will star Kim Basinger, Brandon Routh, and Billy Bob Thorton. Basinger will play Thorton's wife in the flick, Thorton playing a movie executive, and Routh playing a vampire who lures his victims care of a night club scene.

Now, I read the book. I've read all of Ellis' books. They're all film-adaption-worthy but this one isn't. It's a great book, but it's a collection of short storys that intertwine. I honestly don't know how they're going to play it off. I'll definitely fucking see the flick, but I'm curious to see a script on it.

Gregor Jordan, who directed Bufallo Soldiers is directing it, and a few more names being mentioned to star are Jon Foster, Lou Taylor Pucci, and Ashley Olsen (yes, that Ashley Olsen).

Thats it. If you haven't read the book, I would seriously recommend doing so. It's worth the read, and you could probably get it off of Amazon for like a penny with $3 shipping.

Vicks new Jersey number 921FDSA98.

Mike Vick recently (today) pleaded guilty to "helping murder 6-8 dogs." Well, la-de-frickin'-da. You know what, it's not like he's out there killing babies. He "helped" kill 6-8 dogs, which could me he was sipping a mohito saying "Strike it in the butt! Strike it in the butt!" a few times to get them riled up enough.

My problem with this is that everyone and their mother has been saying: "I hope he gets raped in jail." And I'm sitting here fucking astonished that someone could say that. I mean, the guy (like I said) "helped" kill a few dogs. I don't know if that's punishable by rape, but I don't think it is. Rape is a serious fucking offense against a "human being." If he raped the dogs first, I'd say sure...why not? But according to reports, he just "helped" kill 6-8 dogs. People everywhere make it seem like Vick is the one who strapped Jesus to the Cross, but you know what they're just dogs. And that might sound heartless and mean, but so be it.

This whole thing is rediculous. Slap him on the wrist, make him pay twenty-million dollars to a bunch of animal shelters (who will undoubtedly rename the shelters "Vick's Dogs For Less") and be done with it. Think about it in terms of what kind of flack the guy is already going to take without prison time. He's going to get shit thrown at him, he's going to get heckled, he's not going to star in any more fucking Nike commercials or Gatorade advertisements. All because some people jump on the bandwagon and start believing something that's ultimately ridiculous, that animals are just as important as Humans.

Now. Whoa. I'm going to get lynched for this shit. And just to be completely honest, I love my dogs. I am just not that angry about people killing these dogs. They weren't mine. Apparently Vick still owes some guy a trillion dollars for his dogs. I'm just saying that this is all crazy. Ruining a guys career over a couple of fucking dogs.

If you're terrible at your job, you deserve to get fired.

Such is the case with Bob "I blow saves like hookers blow cock" Wickman. The Braves (JD's favorite team) cut ties with Wickman today after he went 20 of 26 in save opportunities with a 3.92 ERA. Two options for the Bravos are Manny Acosta (Triple A 20+ saves and an amazing ERA) and Joey Devine. Acosta is apparently one of there stronger prospects, and could definitely fill the role. For now, the Braves will use Soriano as a Closer even though he's been a little sketchy as well. Honestly, this scares me.

JD's Solution to Movie Piracy.

Recently there was this article on Wired.com's blog. I skimmed it (I don't read Wired.com, because it sucks) and found out that the culprit behind those Transformers copies has been charged (he plead guilty). Whatever. Listen, you want to stop people from copying shit in the movie theatre? Stop upping the God-Fucking-Price. Jesus. In my lifetime, movies have gone from 6.50 to 11.50 and so on. It's fucking crazy. If people didn't demand such a high price to see a flick, people wouldn't download/videotape/pirate it. Piracy is costing studios somewhere in the vicinity of $18.2 billion dollars. Well, lets put it this way, if you stopped charging $11 dollars for movie tickets, and just charge, lets be reasonable, $6-7 bucks, then you wouldn't be losing money, because unless you're a really bad fucking scumbag, you can afford that. Plus, kids tickets are cheaper anyway, Senior Citizens get to go practically for free. I mean, $6-7 bucks for a flick is a reasonable price to pay. If I was a pirate (har-har) I wouldn't film if all I had to pay was $6 bucks to see a new flick. Of course, if you're seeing a flick in IMAX you're going to pay more (I don't know why...fuck it). Just be fucking reasonable, people are doing this, because other people would rather pay five bucks for a bootleg than $11.50 for a movie ticket.

Fuck the MPAA too. Christ.

JD

Damn it.

Of course after I wrote that I found that I had an e-mail from Dashboard Confessional stating they have a new song off their new album (In Stores October 2nd) called "Little Bombs" up on their myspace page it's actually pretty damn good.

Sorrrrrrrrrrry
jd

Three bands that have changed my life for the better.

Seriously, it just dawned on me how much I've loved these guys, and they've been around for a fucking decade! Holy shit. I remember when they first came out with their song Push and Thomas was sporting the black nail polish on the finger nails. I thought to myself "What a fruit...?" and then the band came out with one of my favorite songs ever written "3AM" God. Jesus Fucking Christ. I might sound stupid and immature, but Jesus Christ, the song is amazing. I can't explain why I love the song, and I shouldn't have too. The music came at a time in my life, when I was influenced upon by everything around me. Matchbox Twenty, Third Eye Blind, and Eve6 were all influences on me. Therefore, within the next three days, I'm going to write three separate entries for these three bands. All unique in their own way. Some aren't around anymore (Eve6), Some have fought the test of time (Third Eye Blind), and others have disbanded and come back together (Matchbox Twenty).

Matchbox Twenty will (hopefully) come tomorrow. Whereas I throw out there my love for a band that is seldomly remembered because Rob Thomas went out to do pop music, only to come back and put out a fantastic single called "How Far We've Come." I would write this first article now, but I am tired as hell. Therefore it wouldn't be as good if I did it now; And I want it to be good.

Thanks.

The Farmingdale Trip: Part 3 (The Finale...I hope)

I've gotten sick of writing this recap bullshit, honestly, I have better things to do, and the fact is no one reads this shit anyone, but I'm going to do this recap regardless.

I don't actually know where I end in the previous installment, but we'll start with Marc and I arriving at Theresa's party on Saturday Night. Basically, we're there and we know three people. Theresa, Gina and Lauren (very briefly). There is beer pong played, and this night JD sucked at Beer Pong. I couldn't hit a cup to save my life, and Marc couldn't hit a cup to save himself from the utter humiliation. I hit most cups, Marc hit a few, but basically we got our asses handed to us.

Now, the fact of the matter is, I do not suck at Beer Pong. In all actuality I'm pretty damn good at Beer Pong, I've beaten my brother "The Barry Bonds" of Beer Pong on more than one occasion, but that Saturday I was borderline gimp. Tossing that ball around, I felt like a complete jerkoff, three inch wide cups with an inch wide ball. Christ.

Anyway, to move on, the Party was Theresa's it was for her birthday which happened to be last Monday. Marc, however, began to get utterly obliterated. He was tanked by the time he left, and to be honest, I don't remember what time that was. He was hitting on everyone, this girl Charlie (whom had the palest legs I've ever seen) and Theresa's friend Lauren, not only that, but he hit on Gina too. Now, I say "Hit on" in a very relative way. Hitting on someone is an art, and Marc is not nearly and artist. If you could count slurring antagonist things at people, hitting on someone, then Marc was definitely doing that. Marc will probably be pissed at me for writing this, but there was a moment where everyone was saying that "Marc is going to fuck " and he would giddishly smile and give a half-hearted wave. The object of Marc's offection that night was not a woman, however, it was Jose Cuervo's signature blend of Tequila.

The night was over, people were packing shit up, and there was this ass clown who I'll call Fatrick, because I don't remember his name, but he reminded me of the nerded guy on The Class from CBS last year. He had this whiny, and apparently wants Theresa. He came up to me and asked me if I was with Theresa, whereas I aptly responded yes. He went on to say that he is friendly with everyone and that I shouldn't take what he does seriously. I said "Alright, man" and walked away. I spent the night at Theresa's house, and the next morning I find out that this Fatrick fucktard was asking all kinds of questions to Theresa's brother about me, here, and us. And basically, her brother wanted to hit the kid, but he didn't. Oh well.

After an awesome breakfast, I split, because I feel like total shit. I know I got some people sick while I was home and I apologize. I drive around with Marc or whatever to do lunch, and try and find out of if I can buy this Dwight Gooden auto jersey, but the guy had just sold it. Fuck. Anyway, prior to that, I bought a signed Canseco ball, and a Superbowl 25 vintage helmet. Whatever.

That day pretty much ends in blur for me, because I was feeling like total ass. I don't know if I was the change in temperature, or something, but Christ, it's carried over to PA. I brought this shitty LI plague back with me, and I still wake up feeling like shit every morning. I'm sure it has something to do with Marc's house being a trillion degrees every night, while my house (at current time is somewhere between 55-70 degrees. It might be Marc's room that doesn't get circulation, but who the Eff knows. All I know, is that after the first night I felt like I woke up swimming a marathon. A marathon of sweat.

I know I left some shit out, but fuck it. I can't even remember back that far.