Runcible Blog

I think the main reason why Hotel Rwanda received such rave reviews is that it's hard to give a bad review to a movie that deals with real-life genocide that happened only 10 years ago. I mean, how insensitive can you be?

Don't get me wrong, I learned a lot from the movie. I just disliked the stinky acting and heavy-handed writing. Aside from Don Cheadle's decent performance as Paul Rusesabagina, everyone else either overacted, didn't know how to act, or were drunk (I'm looking at you, Nick Nolte). Cheadle pulled off a conflicted sadness convincingly without having to sob in EVERY SINGLE SCENE, unlike his wife, Tatiana (Sophie Okonedo). Don't even get me started on Nolte's slurring portrayal of a Canadian blue-helmet with a Scotch habit. Keith Richards would've sounded more coherent.

I can't say much about the plot's accuracy because I'm a stupid American, ignorant of genocide across the globe, but several plot devices were about as subtle as a hammer to the nose. A crate of machetes breaks open, revealing the evil tools of genocide to a still-disbelieving Paul and foreshadowing for us lazy movie consumers. Later, an American journalist asks about the difference between Hutus and Tutsis, thus conveniently explaining the arbitrary ethnic conflict for the audience. In real life, don't you think a journalist would've researched something that basic before stepping into a potential war zone? No, I guess real seasoned pros do all the leg work at the bar in the hotel lobby just before going out to document a genocide.

Some characters, like the journalists and the one Red Cross worker in Rwanda, were so underdeveloped that they might as well have been stick figures on a blue screen. I wondered whether there was an extra half-hour of footage dealing with Paul and the Red Cross worker's steamy affair-turned-friendship — how else can we justify their inexplicable relationship?

Maybe it's nit-picking, but the special effects were lousy, too. Lose the digital smoke and explosions, please. And the machetes weren't even sharpened! Even I could tell.

Aside from those minor gripes, I think Hotel Rwanda is a great, serious movie that every American should see so that we can learn from history yadda yadda yadda.....

April is off to a jolly start, with pranks on the 1^st; Barnes and Noble loitering and much people watching/ridiculing with lee lee on the 2^nd; and Davis Square cafe squatting, burrito eating, and movie watching on the 3^rd. Oh, and I tried Red Stripe. (Yay, beer...but isn't it supposed to taste good? maybe I missed something)

Inching toward my 22^nd year on the planet, I figure this one might as well be the best one yet. Of course, I'll probably jinx myself and owe you all a Coke, but I'm glad to have as a birthday present someone who digs me as I dig her. I hope the simultaneous, giddy digging continues well into the year — 2005, the year of our lord, George Bush...

To all aspiring documentarians out there: If you're going to make a documentary, find someone with a decent voice to narrate it.

Too many times I've seen otherwise compelling documentaries make me want to tear my ears off because the narrator (usually the filmmaker in independent documentaries) sounds like a little kid. For added effect, maybe he or she will have a lisp. Such irritating voices can really drag down a good documentary. Imagine Steve Urkel narrating a film on the final days of a cancer patient, or Carrot Top speaking about the plight of the Native Americans. Well, some documentaries aren't much better. At least if I knew Urkel narrated, I could appreciate the quirky — if inappropriate — choice.

I mean, I'd like to make a documentary about something, but I think if my voice narrated such a thing, it would lead to the largest mass-suicide in theaters and homes across the country after viewers endured 2 hours of my nasal whining. (Seriously. I'm not exaggerating at all.) Instead, I'd go for someone with a comforting voice, like Isaac Hayes or Gilbert Gottfried.

Earlier I heard the faint sound of banging -- literally, not pejoratively. Since I was home alone, I don't know what that could've been.

For supper I had another staple of my diet: a can of creamed corn, minus the cream. So, just mashed corn. I figure if I tag along to Kansas (who knows? it could happen...), I'll be prepared for months of simple, and cheap, living.

It's looking like a Japan trip next month with the broham is out for me. I mean, I don't have a passport and probably wouldn't be able to get one in time. If I did, there's still the lack-of-time-to-plan problem and the fact that spending almost 2 weeks in Japan probably isn't cheap. As much as I'd like to go, I don't want to blow $1000 going to Tokyo to peruse their various Internet cafes.

There is, however, a slightly better chance that I could go to Ireland in November with my smelly friend (no, wait...I'm the smelly one). I guess we'd have to buy tickets in July. It might be risky, but I figure if we make it to May, July is no problem, and if we make it to July, November is a breeze. Of course it goes without saying that if we make it to November and a trip to Ireland, the next decade is all set. Kansas, Japan, Antarctica...you name it.

While helping my aforementioned non-smelly friend move into a new, cozy apartment, I was thinking about what it would take for me to move someplace. any place. I wouldn't need to bring much with me and don't really have any furniture. Technically, I could move anywhere, whenever I want. There's nothing keeping me at home except my own reluctance (and the feeling that if I move, somehow I'd be stuck in my current job). So, why don't I?

With Spring well on its way, what a lovely time it is for falling into capital L.

umph. my chest hurts. should've laid off those chips.

i'm going for a walk.

if i have a heart attack and turn into a vegetable, please remove my feeding tube. unless they're feeding me pizza.

thanks