When it happens, you will know it.

David Lynch. Rabbits. See it before it disappears...
P.S. Yes, a selection of this short film was in Inland Empire. Most of it was not used there, however. This is the piece in its original form...thus it has nothing to do with Inland Empire here. Or...does it...?
P.P.S. Sorry the audio and video quality is awful, but this is the only full copy I could find. It doesn't matter, though...you can still hear and see everything well enough. And I was fucking terrified after watching, so it doesn't diminish it's power...

Ok, watch it already. All two of you. :P

"Shockumentary": The Blog: Part Two. The Awful Truth

Well folks, it is done. And let me get the suspense right out of the way: my theory has definitely been proven. Or at least, part of it has. Sort of. Okay, let me let the numbers speak for themselves:

-2 Flirtatious Glances (made at me, not made by me...made by me I'd guess there would have been 127)

-2 Conversations

-2 Aborted Conversations

-3 Disapproving Looks (from women, who cares what the men think)

-4 Beers (hoo boy, I went hawg wild)

-1 Mass rejection

Success: Kinda. Personally, I was successful. Professionally, I got my ass handed to me. Allow me to explain what that means by recanting the night's events...

So, I changed my mind about the Corner Bistro (still want to go, though) and went for a nice steak at good ol' Outback Steakhouse. Leaving fully satiated, I saw The Ten, which is an excellent film and if you enjoy the brand of humor that David Wain and Co. manufacture, go see it immediately (At one point Paul Rudd is arguing with his wife Famke Janssen and he starts to insult her: "Go-" he says. Famke says "Don't you dare say something you regret." Paul continues: "Go...fly a kite!" and Famke acts like this is the most horrible thing that's ever been said to her. If this is funny to you, you will enjoy the movie).

So, as planned, the movie got out about 11:20 pm and I headed straight for B-Side. Upon entering the bar, it was love at first sight and my optimism increased tenfold. Echo and the Bunnymen's "The Killing Moon" was playing on the jukebox and Hot Fuzz was playing on the tv. Throughout the night the bar jukebox continued to play nothing but top shelf music. The beer is quite cheap (5 bucks a bottle) and even though the selection is lax it's not bad. Overall I would go back to B-Side in a second.

It's a pity, then, that the place filled up quickly last night with a bunch of dead weight. At 11:30 the bar was barely populated, and I was wondering if I missed the crowd. I hadn't though, and this became evident around 1 am. Unfortunately, the crowd consisted of none other than members of the Safety In Numbers brigade! Yes folks, I am one hundred percent correct that nobody goes out to a bar or club (to have fun) alone. I added the "to have fun" because there was one other solitary man there at the bar, but he was clearly not there to meet people or have a good time. He was there to drink, as he barely moved the entire night and kept his eyes glued to the sweet sweet Hot Fuzz (and who can blame him for that). But all the other musician and hipster types (and they totally were hipster types...one dude even had the Beatles haircut...is that coming back or something?) came in either big ass packs of 15 or compact sets of 2. Yes, couples were there, complete with the so-annoying-to-single-people public make out and grope session. My prospects at this bar were incredibly dim, which is sad since the atmosphere was so ripe for me to reach out and take control of some young hipster girl (um, that doesn't sound right...oh well). I did strike up a conversation with the female bartender, whose name was Amy and who oddly enough looked a lot like Amy Lee, but that was eventually aborted.

So, there I am at 2 am and all I've got to show for it are 3 beers consumed, one aborted conversation and one disapproving look. I thought briefly of packing it in and going home, but I knew I could not leave you, my faithful readers, with such a dull tale of my travails. So, dragging myself out into the muggy NYC night, I went in search of another bar in the name of Blogdom.

After passing a very indimidating tatoo/goth bar and a lame looking kareoke bar, I stumbled (literally) upon a bar that didn't look half bad. I know where it is (a block down Avenue A off of 14th street) but I have no idea what it's called. That doesn't matter, however, because the reason I went was due to what I saw in the window: Single Women were there! Attractive Single Women! I got in there as quick as I could after sharing a few yuks with the bouncer. Buying a Stella Artois at the bar (sadly, neither bar this night had my preferred beverage of Newcastle) I sipped liberally as I scanned my surroundings. Turned out there weren't as many single women there as I had thought (indeed there were, but most had already been cornered by the fratty guys there). Sadly, this bar's clientele was very frat/sorority...and I don't mean they were people from actual frats or sororities, I'm just referring to their mindset and appearance (and most likely, IQ).

But then, after dismissing a few potential targets, I spotted what all men know as the Mt. Olympus of dating groups: The Table Of Girls. Yes, that large group of girls who have decided to go out to the bar with each other, no boys allowed! Many men have tried to breach this force field of estrogen before. They tried and failed? THEY TRIED AND DIED.

About this time I struck up a conversation with 2 not-so-fratty fellas at the bar. One was named Matt and is a teacher in Connecticut, the other was named Pete and is an accountant in the city. We laughed and joked around for a bit, trading barbs with the nearby bouncer (who, if you can't tell, was very cool). Three single guys coming together in understanding of the hardships of being single guys, I brought up the dreaded Table of Girls. Matt and I being properly intoxicated, we were game to go storm the wall (indeed, we had a good laugh about the Table being like the Great Wall of China and us being like the Mongolians...which is a very telling analogy). Pete, being a pussy, was having none of this. Not to be deterred, Matt and I hobbled like bobbleheads over towards The Table, and found ourselves there, forcefully entering the conversation and making introductions.

Matt was very keen on the brunette at the table, whose name I didn't catch, and I was very keen on one of the blondes at the table, whom I promptly sat next to. Her name turned out to be Laura, from West Virginia, who had just recently moved to the city and gotten a job working for Glamour magazine. Jokes were told, small talk was made, and drinks were...er...drunkened when finally Matt decided he was never going to get his brunette and he and Pete took off. This could also be because Pete was being a buzzkill and hovering over the table not saying anything and looking noticeably awkward.

Which of course meant that I was now there sat at the table of girls...ALONE. Me versus 4 women. I never had a chance.

But I still thought I did, which is what kept me there. Eventually I found out that these girls were waiting for a friend/co-worker of one of theirs. This fella, whose name I don't remember, had apparantly been promised to have Katelyn's (another blonde) breasts shown to him. For what concieveable reason, I don't know. But it gets better! Because he had never met Katelyn before this night, Laura had agreed (very recluctantly) to pretend to be Katelyn, thus causing all sorts of hilarious confusion. Are you laughing yet??!

So this douche finally gets to the bar, more jokes are made, and many knowing smiles, laughs, and winks are exchanged between the 4 girls and I as the scheme gets underway. A few of the girls head to the bathroom, and I take this opportunity to notice my incredibly full bladder. Laura mentions that she is hungry, and starts to get up to leave when the rest of the group hesitates for a moment. The pressures on my bladder no longer controllable, I get up and tell Douche Boy that I'll be right back. He says he'll save my seat for me. This, of course, is complete bullshit.

I go to the bathroom and do my business, which takes all of 2 full minutes. I walk out of the bathroom...and the bar is virtually EMPTY. A few stragglers here and there. Most importantly the Table of Girls is GONE, without a trace. I rush out to the street, desperately searching the adjacent few establishments, but no luck. No visual of their group trotting off in the distance, either. There are rejections, folks, and then there are flat out desertions!

Due to the fact that it was now 3:45 am, I kicked a few garbage cans in frustration and caught a cab back to my apartment.

So there you have it, folks. Definite proof that Safety In Numbers is the rule around here, and that single guys by themselves are generally treated like shit. However, starting up conversations and being successful is not entirely impossible...you just have to work hard at it. I have confidence that if I had taken on a smaller group of girls or ideally just one girl, I could have been very lucky. Instead, I was tempted by that which has tempted many a man before me...the forbidden delights of the Table. I, like Icarus, dared to spread my wings and fly off towards the sun...only to have the sun disappear while I was in the fucking bathroom.

Rest assured, this will not be the final chapter of the "Shockumentary"....as long as I am single, as God as my witness, I will keep you Big Nose Bloggers updated! The fight is over, but the war lives on...there'll be a rematch!

"Shockumentary": The Blog: Part One. The Rules of the Game

Here it is folks, the beginning of the night of truth. Allow me to set the stage, if you will, by describing the situation and how I plan to record the nights events.

First off, my attire. I have put together what I consider to be a bar outfit suitable for the Lower East Side/Hipster set. The look is as follows:

-A new pair of American Eagle Bootcut jeans, complete with the trendy deep blue "faded, worn out" look. A belt to keep it around my waist...guess I lost a little weight.

-Regular white socks.

-A new pair of black Nike sneakers that don't quite look like sneakers.

-A tasteful pair of boxers with a plain, unoffensive pattern. In case things go REALLY well.

-A brand new Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof t-shirt, sized small to show off my pecs, also black color. Hopefully it will be a talking point during the night. (Note: one of my previous conversations with a single girl in the Lower East Side area regarded Reservoir Dogs.)

-A new American Eagle blue and black striped white collar shirt, used as an overshirt. Untucked. Might possibly be partially buttoned later in the evening.

-Deodorant, obvis.

-Loreal Extreme Hold hair gel applied liberally...otherwise my hair looks like a big bushy mess.

My plan is to travel down to the Village and eat at a new place called the Corner Bistro. Supposedly they have the best cheeseburger in the city, and I aim to put that to the test. Don't worry, faithful readers...I am bringing along a small container of mint Tic Tacs for afterward. Then I plan on seeing the comedy movie "The Ten". The film has gotten good reviews, and it is written/directed from some members of the comedy troupe The State, who also did Wet Hot American Summer. After the movie gets out it should be approximately 11:20 pm, which allows me to skip over to hip East Village bar "B-Side" to begin the night. I plan on spending at least an hour there, and hopefully within that time I will find someone(s) to talk to. In the event the place is horrible, my tentative backup plan is to travel to the Lower East Side stop, where a plethora of hip bars reside.

Now, the rules: I plan on keeping score, as it were, for how the night goes. I will tally the numbers using a pen and post-it, and position them in the following categories:

Number of Flirtatious Glances

Number of Conversations had

Number of Conversations Aborted (this includes attempts at conversation...I expect this will be the highest category)

Number of Disapproving Looks

Number of Beers Bought (this should not exceed more than 4)

Number of Successful Encounters (really, this is just wishful thinking)

After the night is over, I may be too tired to post the results immediately, but I plan on having them up by Sunday night. The numbers will be posted along with my description of how the night went. I put myself out there in the name of scientific study...here's hoping science doesn't fail me.

*Puts on shirt and hair gel* Time to get geared up...

New York City to single people: STAY THAT WAY

So here I am, Friday night, New York City. Writing on my blog.

What's that you say? That sounds sad and pathetic? I've been indoctrinated by society/religion/peers/parents to think that's sad and pathetic?

OK skip that, that's an essay for another time.

No, what I'm here to talk about tonight is the bizarre nature of being a single man in arguably the biggest city in the world. Namely, that there are very few options for one such as me. Many people still have the romantic or naive notion that on a weekend night, a fella can just mosey on over to a pub and strike up conversations with any number of people, not the least of which attractive females. This, friends, is very much not the case.

I'm not entirely sure whether this stigma against guys going out by themselves is widespread or particular to urban areas. It is very possible that in Small Town, USA ol' Frank can go down to The Tavern and hang about unjudged. But here, in this city filled with a multitude of types, it is just not possible.

Nevermind my personal theories about how women respond to a person like me (read: geek). I firmly believe I could be like Brad Pitt and only do marginally better. Simply because people in places of social gatherings follow a golden rule: safety in numbers. Hardly ever will you see a person in a bar or club on their own. If they are, it usually means their friends just left or haven't arrived yet. Yes, there is the possiblity of a singular person drinking at the bar being either an alcoholic or otherwise brooding, but these people usually stick to certain areas and bars. Go to any thriving social hotspot, and the phrase "table for one" is nonexistent.

It can be very easy to walk around New York during the day and believe yourself to be on equal footing with most other people there, but this is an illusion. Come dusk, most everyone in the city splits into groups, literal and figurative. You have your wall street agents, your corporate drones, your (working) actors and celebrities, musicians, models, college students, hipsters, Central Park West-ers, Lower East Side-ers, etc. etc. And if you don't really belong to any of those groups, you fall into the catch-all "other" group, the ones who are trying to make it in this big ol' city. And that's okay...but it means you absolutely need to play the safety in numbers game too.

What do I mean by "safety in numbers"? Well quite literally, I mean going to a bar or club with 1 to 30 other people. Metaphorically, I'm referring to the fact that people in this city (and most likely in other urban areas) are always on their guard about meeting and talking to strangers. As well they should be...this is, after all, a city where anyone can come up to you at any time and speak to you like they're your friend (quite literally...there is a reason panhandlers overuse the term "buddy"). And you have no way of knowing whether these people are merely despondent and disturbed or crazy and armed. Naturally, women are doubly on their guard...they already have their defenses up against men in general, now they have to deal with men who may actually be axe-murderers. I'm slightly exaggerating, of course, but I'm positive the thought is not very far from any single womans mind.

Recently my roommate and I went to a very nice club in the Meatpacking District, and it was a wholly depressing experience. We went with a friend of his, but since I hardly knew them I split off from them during the night and tried to talk to girls by myself. It would have been one thing to have struck up conversations and struck out, but I could barely say 3 words to anyone without getting an instant look of disapproval before the girl turned her attention elsewhere. Now there are probably many factors to this, including appearance, mannerisms, and the like. But I got the distinct impression that there were shield walls around these women, and I believe those walls stayed up due to the fact that I was seemingly all by myself.

You know something's wrong when there are tons of singles events advertised everywhere you look. You know something is REALLY wrong when those events are geared more towards women. If you're a guy, it's assumed either you have a girlfriend or you've at least got something in the works. If you're single and obviously so, you're branded a loser...so why would any girl want to talk to a loser? The safety in numbers masks the fact that you are single...you could just be hanging out with your friends, you could have a girlfriend elsewhere...a number of possiblities. If you're sitting at a table drinking alone, you're busted.

Obviously my theory requires a bit more experience to prove it. Which I am to get. Tomorrow night, come hell or high water, I am going to a bar (perhaps a few) and seeing what happens. It is a remote possiblity that one or a couple friends of mine might join me, but it is highly unlikely. Thus I will be alone, and obviously so. I plan on going to the East Village/Lower East Side area, a part of town where I've (holy shit!) struck up actual CONVERSATIONS with women whom I've never met. Depending on what happens, I'll post the results here tomorrow night.

People have long referred to dating/being single/relationships as a game. And it's true, it is a game. But here, in the city, that's true no longer. This is a fucking WAR. Guess that means it's time to man up.

The best movie trailer of the year

"Coming Attractions". Everybody loves 'em. Everybody loves talking about them. But when was the last time you saw a really good movie trailer?

The art of the movie trailer (and yes, it can be an art) is sadly rarely seen. Most trailers are simply sneak peeks, exciting or entertaining mostly for the footage involved and not the editing or presentation of the trailer itself. Numerous trailers end up falling into one of two categories: "Wow that looks good" or "Wow that looks terrible". And neither of these categories have anything to do with the trailer...they have everything to do with the selection of footage from the film.

Let's face it, movie trailers are nothing more than glorified advertisements for upcoming feature films (hence the term "coming attraction"). Hollywood has and has always had a formula for trailers, which is incredibly simple: choose the footage that will get asses in seats. The criteria is slightly different depending on each genre, of course, which is roughly as follows:

Drama-Stirring, emotional music scoring the most powerful close-ups of the actor's faces, using snippets of scenes to showcase a heated emotional argument or an impassioned inspiring speech. A special sub-category is the Oscarbait trailer, which does all of the above only with much more shmaltz and the words "Academy Award Winning" used all over the place.

Horror-Quick fast cuts accompanied by either screeching strings or grungy techno/metal, involving the most footage of violence the editors can get away with. Usually involves fake jump scares through poor editing (along with the presence of a quick loud scream sound, so people know that watching this movie will involve screaming).

Comedy-A briskly cut montage of the funniest scenes and lines from the movie set to whatever songs are on the Top 40 chart that year.

Action-A slickly cut (think Michael Bay) selection of the best action sequences from the film, giving away the best stunts.

Those are the four big trailer categories, every other genre usually being molded to fit one of the four. By far the worst offenders where trailers are concerned is The Trailer That Gives Away Everything. These trailers are usually for films that the studio is really worried about selling, so their solution is to give away the entire damn movie so people aren't confused or worried ("Oh, so that movie has a happy ending! I guess I'll go see it now"). Of course what the execs fail to realize is that this technique makes more people angry than intrigued, which backfires on their whole purpose. And if you're an old fuddy-duddy who thinks that this practice was only started in recent years, think again. Hollywood has been pulling that shit for ages...just look at the trailer for Stanley Kubrick's "The Killing" (which gives away the LAST SHOT OF THE MOVIE) or the trailer for just about any screwball comedy of the 40s (which usually use a climactic kiss from the two leads...sure it's expected, but it's still giving it away).

As I said, most trailers work only because the footage is good or the film advertised is one you already want to see; either your favorite actor is in it, or your favorite director made it, or it's an adaptation of a comic book or something.

But when was the last time you saw an honest-to-God GOOD trailer?

I firmly believe "Alien" was the best ad campaign for a movie of all time. Who hasn't heard of "In space, no one can hear you scream"? That's not to say that there haven't been other great ad campaigns and trailers...it's just that film's ads that I use as a benchmark of quality. The methodical editing of that first teaser trailer...a long shot of stars whizzing by...then close ups of an object that wasn't easily identifiable...finally revealing itself to be a giant egg which then suddenly and violently cracks open with an eerie glow coming from inside...all this while the title of the film slowly spells itself out on the top of the screen, finishing with the final title and that tagline...bloody brilliant. Even when the longer Theatrical Trailer was released it still said everything and nothing about the film it advertised...it told you what you were in for, but in reality you had no idea.

Friends, I have just come across a new trailer that gave me that very same feeling.

The trailer in question is for a film called "Trade", a movie being released this year starring Kevin Kline and directed by Marco Kreuzpaintner, a relatively new German director. The film is about the sex traffiking industry...and that's all I know. I could find articles about the film and find out lots more about the plot, including details and whether the film is any good or not...but right now I don't want to. Not when I still have the beauty, sadness and misery of this trailer still filling my head with possiblities. This movie might be good...or it might suck. In the end, it doesn't matter, because I am sold on seeing it. Nothing short of a thousand horrible zero star reviews would deter me from checking this film out. Go ahead, see what I'm talking about:

http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1809420398/trailer

Okay...so just click on that link and then click on "theatrical trailer" so you can HOPEFULLY see it.
I apologize for the crappy quality of it but (big surprise!) this is the ONLY copy of the version of the trailer I saw in theaters.

A little explanation: I saw "The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters" over the weekend (which is great, by the way) and this trailer played before it, almost moving me to tears, it was that good. So I go searching for it on the internet, only to find that Lionsgate (an American studio known mostly for horror film distribution) has taken the trailer from Roadside Attractions (a more independent studio) and Oscarbaited up the trailer. Fuck. Whatever you do, do NOT watch the Trade trailer on Youtube or iTunes or Apple. Or better yet, watch them both, for a perfectly good object lesson on what makes a bad trailer versus what makes a good one. The Oscarbaited Lionsgate version has a bunch of "important" statistics at the beginning (who wants to see a film about statistics, they MEAN NOTHING) followed up by a bunch of weak-ass catchphrases (How do you save a VICTIM...when they can't be FOUND) to really drive the themes of the film into our skulls with a sledgehammer. What's more, the trailer's final shot is of the two captive girls hugging, subtly implying that all will be okay and everyone's gonna come out smiling at the end. Go see the movie kids! Now who's up for popcorn?!

Now look at the Roadside version of the trailer. Every cut and shot used serves the ambiguity of the film...is it a tragedy? An uplifting weepie? A horror film? A detective film? An expose? Numerous questions are posed, but none are answered. Instead of mindless statistics, the trailer tells us that the film is based on true events via a short but sweet note at the beginning that it is based on a New York Times article. From then on it's pure cinema, all spectacular visuals (note the broken doll lying in the grass) and great snippets of dialogue coupled with images (Kevin Kline telling the boy to bid on his sister at the last possible second--cut to a shot of one of the girls jumping through the air, soaring). I have to say at this point that the music does so much for this trailer...it is "Agnus Dei" by Rufus Wainright off his album Want Two. Go buy the song right now, it's worth it.

And what's the final shot of the Roadside trailer? One of the girls saying "you paid for this" and then: BOOM. The title. "Trade". Think about all the implications that come out of that one simple cut. Sure, the title refers to the literal sex trade, as well as the idea of trading a human life for money. But what about other kinds of trades? Emotional trades (which sex certainly is), personal trades. What if one of the girls was "traded" for another...one goes free while another has to stay. This simple cut says so much and so little, causing your mind to burst with questions. All the final shot of the Lionsgate trailer tells you is that this is yet another boring statistic drama with lots of weepy bitches moaning and hugging all the time, looking at the camera and saying "please nominate us".

Arrgggh, it makes me so mad to find out there's a tarted-up trailer for this movie. Regardless, I hope the Roadside trailer is closer to what the film actually is, and I plan on seeing it upon release.

Thoughts? Agree or disagree? Please leave some comments below...(I wonder if anyone reads this thing yet)

And now for our feature presentation...

Welcome one and all to the inaugural posting of Big Nose Blog, a title so good I just had to use it.

If you're reading this, there's a good chance you know who I am. There's also a good chance that you know I'm about 5 years late to the blog party. Who knows, maybe I can think of some podcast idea to do at some point. But in any case, I feel like I should be writing more in order to keep my skills sharp...hence, this blog. I don't know how long this will last, but I'm gonna give it a shot.

Be forewarned...the reason I am choosing not to reveal my real name here (yet) is that I am very interested in having other people visit this blog in the future. I am also interested in writing about any subject I wish, unedited. I see no point in writing opinion pieces that are neutered in order to spare someone's feelings. Thus I am only telling you, my very good friends and family, about this blog right now since I feel I have nothing to hide from you. I may have things I want to hide from other people though, hence the secrecy. And really, isn't secrecy fun?

Also be warned (and this goes to my family more than anyone else): I shall most likely be using copious amounts of harsh language in my articles. Life is more interesting with a little spice, eh? It's the internet...deal with it!

What do I plan to put on here? Whatever I can think of...movie reviews, funny videos, music, thoughts. I don't plan on using this as a public journal...I've never been interested in keeping a journal (a boyish word for "diary"), let alone one others can see. So no day to day updates about "today I went to the store, and then worked for a while, and then watched this movie". If I've got something I wanna write about, I'll do my damndest to make it interesting.

With all that said, let's see what happens, shall we?

And now for a little trivia: when MTV lauched on August 1st 1981, what was the first video they played?