Funniest mindless movie of the last few years. McLovin is the best, and the other guys grew on me. 
In his job he needs to undervalue the suffering of others in order to make more money. Then there’s the smell, the ass and the eye. The degree of objectification of desire is in direct proportion to the self-debasement of the indulger. By degrading the other, he nullifies himself. The very indifference to the overjealous ones, the suppressed recalcitrant losers of the world, is what causes their victims to exist. Great disturbing movie.
A lost science fiction PBS movie with Taoist undertones is a real find, right? A guy discovers his dreams change reality—when he wakes up he finds himself in a world where the content of his dreams have actually happened. He of course gets scared after a couple of nightmares, seeks relief in drugs, and then, because of them, is lead to a psychiatrist. 
Here's for all the sissy Apple lovers out there... This is the ultimate design for my old Duron, which faithfully downloaded well over one terabyte (mostly movies, 1300+) always on 24/7/365 over the last four years. It also runs Apache and is a file and printer server, as well as a router for my home network (with four, also damn old and beautiful computers). Sometimes I dust it off with a vacuum cleaner.
I really enjoyed 
I have read the article on 
In imdb a user commented: "Annoying little transition into some sort of regurgitated independent film values finds this shallow project from Brad Silberling offering little and providing less in this embarrassingly exploitive work." I agree, yet it is still watchable — even more so if you understand how clichê is the fabricated spontaneity in it. It is as if independent movie has aquired its own hollywood-like formulaicism. So it kind of becomes an interestingly consumated aesthetic portrail of so many cult-status fabricated stylishness examples we see around. Many people liked 
2006.10.26 • 03:54 • 0 com
I have few beliefs, and sometimes I really do sound a lot nihilistic. Buddhism itself runs away from this accusation because so much of it is about breaking down unrealistic expectations. And there are much more of them than what we are usually led to believe.
When I was young — even before I watched Annie Hall and stole Allen's childhood, I knew everything was futile. When I pacified my fear of nuclear war, I heard the sun was soon going to consume the earth, in just 5 billion years. So why go to school?
Yeah, my friends have heard this a gazillion times. I'm such a bore.
Also, I don't believe in doctors. Be they zany alternative hippies, be they old recognized world renowned cardiologists, I just think – "well, they may get it right sometimes, but not all the time – and by the way, it just depends on how bad the person they are treating is".
This way I get to be a little enervating for those around. Maybe sometimes I'm a little bit more on the pessimistic side, but that's an accident, I'm deeply realist – I work with the idea that sometimes things do get right by themselves, even if this is the rarer case. There are plenty mistakes, but few correct answers – that's what experience dictates.
Anyway, when somebody looks at me with the scared face of a heated, overworked, ill desperation, and asks "please, tell me the airplane isn't breaking down into pieces" I can't laugh. Yes, I can't laugh.
Rinpoche said a sword lies over our heads, and even thinking I know world and country crisis since I was a little boy, I can't help but notice things getting worse.
Particularly the minds of people, chasing their own tails in work-party anesthesia, do look sad and weary. I have no choice but say, yes, most airplanes land safely. Yet, we never know.
This airplane in particular, this body of ours, is each day becoming more food than eater. Inevitably, it will go down. We have no chance other than find meaning in these seconds we have before we're crushed. In zen they say we need concentrate on how good the air feels while we fall. This is correct, and even the irony of death can be a bit refreshing.
Depression is a symptom of a close mind, but why it won't open? Because it seems it is good to feel enclosed in a uterus, tight in our nest of despair. Yet this feeling is a little misleading, it is like fearing death – for one will fear death till he dies, unless he faces death all the time with no regrets. Death is not good. I don't actually know what it is, but I really try to live as a dying being, with a little sense of curiosity.
Particularly, when I feel I'm wasting time I wonder "why this is so" — how can I know I'm being vain? Isn't the stopping to focus on labeling futility vain in itself? But I know why people need to know about the airplane – it is so real and so scaring. No problem. We can piss ourselves before we die in hopeless fear, yet the warm flow of urine is so damn real just before everything ends. Nevertheless, we are not sure. I'm sure: I must get some sleep now.
When I was young — even before I watched Annie Hall and stole Allen's childhood, I knew everything was futile. When I pacified my fear of nuclear war, I heard the sun was soon going to consume the earth, in just 5 billion years. So why go to school?
Yeah, my friends have heard this a gazillion times. I'm such a bore.
Also, I don't believe in doctors. Be they zany alternative hippies, be they old recognized world renowned cardiologists, I just think – "well, they may get it right sometimes, but not all the time – and by the way, it just depends on how bad the person they are treating is".
This way I get to be a little enervating for those around. Maybe sometimes I'm a little bit more on the pessimistic side, but that's an accident, I'm deeply realist – I work with the idea that sometimes things do get right by themselves, even if this is the rarer case. There are plenty mistakes, but few correct answers – that's what experience dictates.
Anyway, when somebody looks at me with the scared face of a heated, overworked, ill desperation, and asks "please, tell me the airplane isn't breaking down into pieces" I can't laugh. Yes, I can't laugh.
Rinpoche said a sword lies over our heads, and even thinking I know world and country crisis since I was a little boy, I can't help but notice things getting worse.
Particularly the minds of people, chasing their own tails in work-party anesthesia, do look sad and weary. I have no choice but say, yes, most airplanes land safely. Yet, we never know.
This airplane in particular, this body of ours, is each day becoming more food than eater. Inevitably, it will go down. We have no chance other than find meaning in these seconds we have before we're crushed. In zen they say we need concentrate on how good the air feels while we fall. This is correct, and even the irony of death can be a bit refreshing.
Depression is a symptom of a close mind, but why it won't open? Because it seems it is good to feel enclosed in a uterus, tight in our nest of despair. Yet this feeling is a little misleading, it is like fearing death – for one will fear death till he dies, unless he faces death all the time with no regrets. Death is not good. I don't actually know what it is, but I really try to live as a dying being, with a little sense of curiosity.
Particularly, when I feel I'm wasting time I wonder "why this is so" — how can I know I'm being vain? Isn't the stopping to focus on labeling futility vain in itself? But I know why people need to know about the airplane – it is so real and so scaring. No problem. We can piss ourselves before we die in hopeless fear, yet the warm flow of urine is so damn real just before everything ends. Nevertheless, we are not sure. I'm sure: I must get some sleep now.
Shares tags with: Scoop • Ludic (Woody Allen); Brazil (airplane crash); Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche • Buono, il brutto, il cattivo, Il • Hwal • Lama John's Videogallery (Chagdud Tulku Rinpoche); Little Autumn Roar • Cheating Death, Who Laughs Last? (death);
