My New Year's Resolutions...

OK, OK. I know. No one cares about my New Year's resolutions. And I don't really care, either. I know I'll just break them in about a week's time, anyway.

So what I'll do instead is express the horrible taste in my mouth still there after over 12 hours--all from watching the Hitchcock 'classic', The Birds. Or maybe it's a bad taste burned onto my retinas. Let me tell you something, if neutrinos have the uncanny ability to explode your eyeballs like Mr. Carlstrom says they do, then I need to get my hands on some in case I am ever forced to watch that piece of dog-filth movie ever again. And, I mean, that's saying something coming from me. I tend to see the good in my movies, which is why Mrs. Doubtfire graces the "favorite movies" section above, even though, Pierce Brosnan, you could have done much better. After seeing the movie, I realize what a good thing it is that Alfred Hitchcock is already sinking into the inky blackness of bad movie history, that he's most remembered now not for his psychological thrillers or insane animal trainers but only for being incredibly fat. Just in case you're even considering seeing the movie, let me tell you that it's worse than Christmas with the Kranks, which, given its corniness, should indeed have been entitled 'Kristmas with the Kranks,' in order to give it even the initial appearance of wittiness. Or maybe 'Boyumblog,' but now, that wouldn't have made much sense, now would it have? I mean, a catchy title gets you almost the whole way there. I mean, with a title like "Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events," you don't even need actors that can act like normal children not on an overdose of painkillers, a coherent plotline, or a non-mentally-challenged star. I bet they could have netted at least another $4 million with a title like "Kristmas" with the Kranks, with Tim Allen running around the house with his beer gut hanging over his yellow speedo screaming about the "Krist" child being born on "Kristmas" day. And of course he would be spelling the words as he said them so that everyone would know what a witty, witty man writer John Grisham is. He should have stuck to writing about lawyers. People like laughing about lawyers. People like laughing about Kristmas, too, but unfortunately he doesn't give any movie-goer that opportunity...

Anyway, The Birds is a terrible movie, but it fools you into believing that it's a good movie until the very end. So don't get roped in like I did, li'l buddy. I had to wait until some British pop music show (badly impersonating TRL) came on before I really accepted that it was over. It's not that the movie has a BAD ending, it's that it has NO ending at all.

And that's all I have to say about that.

NOTE: This isn't a MOOP review. They will be much better. This is just... a crap review. Full of crappiness.

Oh man, only the bees can save this post now.