Showing 1 - 5 of 5 Movie Blogs
I'll start this journal with a blunt statement: I cannot sing. My singing voice was once compared to a parrot being choked by a towel. That's not completely accurate though; replace "towel" with "electric eel" and you've got something closer to the truth.
So, if I can't sing, why exactly did I sign up for "St. Mary's Idol", my school's version of American Idol? That's right. Because I'm an idiot.
Well, the truth is, I thought I had a good shot. I got an insider tip that only 8 people had signed up, and since they were having a live Top 10 concert, I figured they'd at least give me a spot by default. A few days after I signed up, the audition sheet appeared, and I was quite shocked to discover that there were nearly 50 contestants vocally battling it out. This, in addition to the fact that several of the contestants were direct descendants of Michael Jackson, was enough to make me realize my chances were nil to nil.
But, on the day of my audition, I was determined to sing. So, I chose a song (Mr. Blue Sky by ELO) and began practicing, in a washroom during my lunch period. Much the way girls do to cover up the sound of their business, I had the handdryers on so nobody would hear me singing and mistake it for the sound of a chemical explosion, possibly alerting the police. At one point somebody walked in and I piped down almost immediately, but the look he gave me seemed to indicate "I heard that...". I ran out of the room, only to hear my name on the school PA system, being called down to audition.
When I got to the room, I discovered the awkward set-up. Eight, that's right, EIGHT people on chairs, facing me in a semi-circle.
"Sing," they suggested in a demanding tone.
And I sung, and I sung, and I sung. And afterward, they didn't do anything. No applause, no comments, not even eye contact. They quietly sat there, looking at their notes on my performance, apparently sending telepathic messages to each other, such as "did anybody else just hear a chemical explosion?". So I left the room.
On a positive note, I will say this: I was one of the Top 50 contestants that tried out! And despite that merit, I've opted to never sing again. It clearly wasn't meant to be, I have many other talents that I should choose to pursue, such as amateur dentistry.
I was proud that I signed up, and I got a lot of support from friends. But, I think with my singing career, it's time to throw in the towel. Or in this case, the electric eel.
Through a decidely sickening study these past few weeks, I have unlocked the key to man's biggest and most taboo domain: the urinal. I know what you're all asking yourselves; "Just how do you unlock a key?". Well, that and other related questions will be answered in an upcoming study, but for now, let's focus on the results of my Urinal Study Account, USA for short.
First and foremost, I have discovered a disturbing trend: over 103% of guys are homophobic, the extra 3 percentiles coming from extra-homophobic individuals; these people tended to use the stalls for urination (although the effect given off was that these people had incredibly hostile diarreah). This homophobia can be directly linked to a common trend: going to the farthest available urinal away from anybody else. I would not be suprised if space aliens observing our species came to the conclusion that, due to the gaps in between, bathrooms were actually gradeschool dances in which people stand on opposite sides of the room, awkwardly digging their feet in the ground in a state of worried angst.
The second finding is one that I made personally, and based on the assumption that I am a regular guy, I have decided that it is true for all men. The discovery was: guys like to piss on things. For example, if there is a urinal cake, it will almost always be targeted for attack. Other typical objects being pissed on include papers, pencils, textbooks, and, my personal favourite, plush toys (although its a rare delicacy).
The third, and possibly most chilling discovery, is that guys think other guys are just out to look at their wieners. This is revealed by the fact that many guys, in an attempt to hide their wieners, either burrow themselves deep into the outer walls of the urinals so that there are no open cracks, or turn sideways to block someone's view. It occasionally gets as extreme as guys turning completely perpendicular with the urinal, to the point where you wonder just how they're not actually peeing all over the tiles (actually, maybe this explains the constant stickiness of men's room floors). The truth is GUYS, we're not looking at your wieners! We have much better things to do, such as looking at your face to make sure you're not looking at our wieners.
All I'm saying is, this study has revealed to me just how afraid we are of each other. I think it's time for the urinal companies to realize this and invest in more emotionally comfortable restroom appliances, such as personal soundproof booths. And of course, for the extra timid, you'd be able to lock your booths shut. Just be sure not to accidentally lock your key.
In my last journal entry, I spoke of a short screenplay competition and the script I'd have to come up with in a matter of 2 days, not counting federal holidays. Well, just as I knew I would, I completed it before the deadline, although it's much more brief than I would have preferred (translation: it's way too short). However, I feel the somewhat abrupt ending leaves the door open for a sequel, although I could be mistaken and the open door could in actuality be a gaping hole.
Now comes the part where I read and critique all the other posted scripts (it's part of the entry guidelines, I have to). In the end, people vote in various categories, and the winners are announced in a triumphant gala thread, where people dress up in virtual tuxedos and virtually boo Michael Moore. Hopefully I completely sweep, although it isn't likely (I would prefer a few more categories that favor me, such as "Best Use of 'Banana' as a Swear Word").
Anyway, here it is, my script, in Adobe Acrobat format, so you need that reader thing: http://www.rottentomatoes.com/vine/attachment.php?attachmentid=25621
If you don't have the program to open that file, you can find my script among other entries in this thread, near the bottom: http://www.rottentomatoes.com/vine/showthread.php?t=284706
I must go now, to continue reading people's entries. Also, I have to find a date to the winners thread. I'm a player like that.
Probably more than a month ago by now, I signed up for a little something I like to call a screenwriting competition (This occured in the filmmaker section of RT forums). If any of you are unsure what a "screenwriting competition" is, allow me to explain: it is a contest to see who can procrastinate the most and write a 25 page script in under 2 hours on the deadline date (at an average speed of 532 words per second).
The deadline is THIS SUNDAY, and I still HAVEN'T STARTED. Many of you who have been through highschool (probably a suprising few) will contend me in saying that you ALWAYS used to put things off till the last moment, and you ALWAYS got them done. Let me tell you a little something about writing screenplays: it just doesn't happen. Just when you think you have a good idea and start to get it on paper, you very suddenly realize, much to your dismay, that it is an online screenplay competition and the scripts must be typed in order to be, well, read by others.
Around the time of this realization, you would have thought about your idea more, and come to the conclusion that it sucks, and/or has been duplicated in such movies as "The Wizard of Oz". Naturally, these obstacles make screenplay writing an extremely daunting task, right up there with rocket science and removing gum from your hair.
I seriously better get started on my script now, though. And just so you can all read it and comment on it's similarity to "Armageddon", I'll be sure to post my finished screenplay in this here journal.
Just not anytime soon.
Late last night between periods of playing video games and picking our noses, a couple of my good friends and I suddenly had a life-altering realization: "We should be out killing pumpkins".
And out we went, armed with crowbars and novelty-sized sledgehammers, gayly laughing and trotting along as we stole pumpkins off people's porches and crushed them on the road in front of their houses like soccer rioters crushing the heads of opposing fans.
It wasn't until early the next morning, when we ventured outside to appreciate our work, that we discovered that every bit of pumpkin goodness had vanished, with only a seed or two where shattered pumpkin shells lay last night.
I've created a timeline of events to further investigate this disturbance:
11:00 - 11:30 PM
Pumpkin smashing ensues.
12:00 - 9:00 AM
Pumpkin remains mysteriously gone.
Perhaps this is simply the result of all three of us having a similar dream late last night. This event has been known to happen, commonly refered to in medical circles as a "group dream".
Perhaps there is a pumpkin clean-up crew, hired one day a year by the city to patrol the streets and scoop up the messes of teenage hooligans like myself.
Perhaps in a state of drunken unawareness, we were actually smashing carved blocks of orange ice which melted overnight.
These are all reasonable explanations. However, the most stunning, and decidedly most logical, is this:
Pumpkins are being genetically engineered to break down and deteriorate at exactly 12:01 on November 1st. Think about it: on November 1st all the jack-o-laterns are simply gone. You never see a pumpkin the day after Halloween.
Or do you...perhaps the cloning of "super-pumpkins" hasn't reached your town yet. I suggest extensive experiemention next year.
I'll bring the crowbars.