Really? My last post was December 31?

Today is one of those rare days where I have enough time to sit down and write. A lot has been going on: between the new job and school there's hardly enough time to think.
So what are some of those things that have been going on? Well, skipping right past the new job - which is totally, totally awesome by the way - I've been drinking a lot. Not a lot specifically, but frequently. So much that I'm now at my softest. I won't say heaviest because I could gain a few, but it's all pudge. I've now gone back to drinking in the flat because it's cheaper, and there's a lot less chance of death by misadventure. Let's see... my beer catalogue now includes Radeberger, a rather un-pilsenery pilsener from Germany, Young's Double Chocolate Stout, and St. Peter's Honey Porter, both out of England, and something called Steam Beer from San Francisco.

So the Radeberger was the cheapest stuff on offer, and we had surprise guests. Bobby came over to drop off some paperwork and tell us about his new sort-of-girlfriend, which was nice. I'd buy the Radeberger again, but it loses points for not having that unique Pilsener flavour and gains them back again for being a generally good tasting beer. I knew what I was getting myself into when I bought the Young's - but the question to the brewer still remains - WHY? The St. Peter's is now officially the most expensive beer I've bought off the shelf, at $4.70 for 500mL. I should have done my research, this beer gets a C+ at www.beeradvocate.com. I admit I was intrigued by the use of the word "honey" in the name, and the swish bottle which frankly, the company concedes is a huge selling point. I also got this beer mixed up with the Young's which I thought was a chocolate porter. Small mistake, but one must persevere. I just don't get the big deal with porters. Give me Asahi Supaa Dorai any day. I also picked up some Sapporo Premium beer, which comes in a really nice heavy aluminum can, for something I'll get to in a bit. This would be, but for the St. Peter's, the most expensive beer I've ever bought at the store. But you do get 150 mL. more than my regular size beer. Strangely, it's not the most expensive in a restaurant.

As part of my non-schoolwork related activities, Randy invited me out to a new whiskey bar in Washington Heights. He tries to patronize his local retailers, and gets so gutted when they shut. It's okay Randy, it's not your fault. You can't do it all by yourself. Before we went to the whiskey bar, we went to a place that's advertising itself as an upscale English pub. Yeah... no. They weren't quite upscale and they weren't quite English. One or the other, people. I might go again. Off we went to the main event, managed by the most delightfully gay pair of fellows. I don't know if they were that delightfully gay, or if it was the absinthe. They seemed pretty annoyed by me by the time we left. Randy started with a hot toddy because he was fighting a cold. Then he had the charcuterie plate, and a selection of three whiskeys. He ended the night with a Sidecar and apparently an espresso because I got charged for one. I had a house cocktail called My New Boyfriend, then a French 75, and here's where it got stupid - a Death in the Afternoon which is equal parts champagne and absinthe. I followed it with a Red Stripe, and a port and an Anchor Steam Beer - just because I'd never heard of it. We shared it with the bar tender who gave it to us for free. As you can imagine, I spent the next day with a nice little hangover. Water and a banana. I took them separately which might have been my mistake because the banana nearly knocked me out. I almost passed out, but thought nothing of it because I've heard of potassium spikes before. I just laid on the floor and waited for the cold sweats to subside.

It was a nice place, and I might even take Mr. K there on his next visit. Yup, that's my big news - my father-in-law has decided that he will arrive in New York with his usual retinue on my anniversary. That's why I picked up the Sapporo. It's good and it's bad at the same time. I like him, and it will be good to see him again. We will also see Genya and his new wife. Genya has been strangely, though thankfully absent from our lives since he got married. He spent a lot of time in Japan, but now he's back, and he's just waiting to slap me around if Mr. K says so.
But the bad is that he's coming on our anniversary and will probably have some very directed questions for me to answer. The good is that he'll be leaving less than a week later, and he'll be taking my wife with him. The bad is that he's also taking Foxy - for seven weeks. The good is that I'll be able to get some quiet time in for exam prep. The bad is that Foxy is not going to recognize me when she comes back.

This used to be a blog about movies. Since my last post about movies, I've watched Sixteen Candles a few times, some of Pretty in Pink but I hate watching John Cryer ever since he got that sitcom. Also watched Fight Club. It's a shame I have that rule about any movie with Bradd Pitt in it, because this movie was really, really awesome. I might even read the book one day. I also saw some really good Cantonese movies, but I can't remember what they were called. I watched La Lingerie, or at least I tried because it seemed to be one of those nexus films where like, five really good actors from five different films come together to make one really good film, except it wasn't that good. I turned it off after fifteen minutes. The premise was just too stupid in my opinion - even for an HK romance drama. I think I may have converted somebody at work over to Park Chan-uk, and I'm quite proud of that.

Avoiding Homework

It's the end of the month, so that can mean only one thing - cram as many photos as possible onto Flickr before they take away my free bandwidth. It doesn't roll over so I should probably do that today. It's amazing actually what I will do to avoid homework.

Of course, it's also the end of the year so Happy New Year and all that. Personally, I'd like to close the book on 2008 and just forget it. There were some highlights: Foxy - she's come a long way, and a second trip to Japan to give Mr. K his annual progress report. It was the first one for us, so I think he was lenient. Next year, maybe not so much. Lowlights: Pretty much everything else in between. Just slogging away, trying to get a little further ahead.

Bob came by yesterday with the gifts we didn't get a Christmas. We kinda knew what we were getting, and I'm pleased with the gift. We got some vases, with a bit of an Indian design to them. They are too narrow to have around the house with a toddler. Bob knows we have a kid, right? Just checking. We've had to put them away until she gets bigger. Foxy got lots of toys, and until I could find the off switch we all sang the ABC song about 50 times.

Got some more chocolate from Randy and Kat, and some coffee beans. That gave me a reason to go out and buy a coffee grinder. On the same trip, I popped by my favourite liquor store - union staff but without union hours - and picked up that bottle of Louis Roederer. The clerk was surprised when I asked him about the blackout the other day. He didn't recognize me because I wasn't wearing my fancy interviewing clothes. I was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Anyway, he's a nice guy and any time I want something I just have to call ahead and he'll put it aside for me. What a guy! He also told me that Roederer is the same company that makes Cristal. Apparently, I'm the last person to learn this. We got some Brut Premier, but that Cristal trivia made me wonder if I would ever by from Roederer again. We'll see how this bottle tastes and then decide.

For some reason, Ali got it in her head that that bottle of Clicquot we drank on Christmas Eve while we ate KFC cost $200.00. Who would pay $200.00 for a bottle of champagne just to waste it on KFC? A Japanese guy would do it, according to Ali. Okay, I might have said the bottle cost $200.00 because you can buy a $200.00 bottle of Veuve Clicquot if you really must, but I'm pretty sure I told her the truth as soon as we sat down to dinner. I have no idea why she still had that number in her head five days later.

I went down to the local last night to relax after a rather difficult assignment, expecting it to be very quiet. I would be able to share recipes with the waitress, and other neat stuff. The place was stacked to the rafters, and that particular waitress was too busy mixing drinks to look people in the face. I ended up taking my two pints to the overflow area. The bar has a restaurant section that operates under a different name, and they close early so when the bar gets crazy the patrons seeking solitude can sneak into the restaurant. I ended up sitting too near a group. My lethal ears - you know, the ones that nearly got me shanked a few years ago - overheard some really juicy tidbits. There was some guy blabbing to his associates and anybody else who would listen about something, and he was quite obviously lying to impress them. Listening to this guy made me a little angry. It wasn't just a few drinks with friends, he was bucking for a job, and lying about his past experiences isn't very nice. I wanted to ask him some questions to embarrass him in front of his potential clients, but I thought better of it. I ordered a third pint, and tried to drown out his lies. I suppose I could have just moved to another part of the bar.

The walk home was fun. A lot of drug dealers asked me if I wanted rock, whatever that is. Even the drug dealer who couldn't speak English. "Hey, amigo. ¿Estás buscando rrrrrrrock?" I thought it was funny how he rolled his r. But then I started to think about the very first book I read without pictures. Night of the Werewolf, by Frank W. Dixon. A Hardy Boys mystery. I don't know why boys read those books. They are poorly written.

I came home and watched part of Blame it on Río. I used to get Joseph Bologna and Alex Rocco mixed up a lot when I was a kid. Then I saw The Godfather and I never confused the two again.

Christmas Waffles

How was your Christmas? Let me tell you about mine. I have this rule, and it goes something like this: To be fair to all members of my rather dispersed family, I should accept the first invitation to Christmas that is offered. That way, I don't become one of those invitation shoppers who holds out until a better one comes along. That's not nice, and it's not really fair either. Of course it also skews the odds in favour of the (seemingly) more organized members of the family. Bob is always the first to invite. He begins his Christmas plans on April 16th, the day after Tax Day. Though every Christmas with Bob, save one is like an extremely painful back massage, I always accept the invite because if I didn't, no one would. Is that a pity RSVP? Not really, there's also a measure of family duty involved. It's like, only one of two times a year that I visit, so I kind of feel that it's unavoidable.

That one Christmas, that really rocked was the year that Bob decided to stop observing Hanukkah, and get with the cool people. He managed to find a restaurant that was open on Christmas. It was the nicest restaurant I'd ever been to up to that time. It was really classy - The waiter brought the turkey to the table first, and then sliced it. All the kids were there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And the turkey was the best one ever not cooked by anyone in my family.

It's different now, all the kids are grown up and jaded by adult responsibility. But we're not the only ones. I'm just saying because it's different now. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but Bob has a way of changing everything at the last minute after everyone else has committed to the original plan. It's his way of maintaining control. He'll do it even when it's someone else's party. I've learned to accept it, and this year was going quite nicely until about a week before Christmas, Bob called and said that things MIGHT be cancelled. The kid brother had mono or something, but we didn't want to tell Bob something he didn't want to know. "It's just whooping cough, nothing a little bit of chicken soup won't fix". But Bob was right to alert me because Foxy hasn't had all of her Pertussis shots yet. She's got one to go. Technically, I think she'd be okay but it's not worth the risk, especially since the kid brother didn't actually have whooping cough, rather something worse.

But then Bob called to say that dinner was back on. This, after I had already wormed my way into Christmas dinner with Sissy and Enzo, and a big delicious plate of Osso Bucco. So now Bob is Waffling, and I'm Waffling by association. I really hate Waffling. Alright, it's settled. I'll just cancel plans with Sissy and hope against everything that Pepper, my front-wheel drive Volkswagen can make it to Bob's without snow tyres.

So after a harrowing week of not having a job, then maybe having a job, then probably not having a job, and then all of a sudden having an awesome job, and the blackout at the liquor store, and the chirpy reporter who ended up printing his story without my comments (whew!), Bob called on December 24th to leave it up to me to decide whether I should attempt the journey the following day. Oh snap! Did he just...? Yes, he did. Bob played the Passive Waffle. And it had extra syrup on it. Whatever, we were committed to going to Bob's place, and we were going to do it. I'm not a Waffler, dammit! I let the indignation dissolve with a bottle of champagne and a big bucket of KFC. Now Christmas Eve can have all the usual fun and excitement, but you can be drunk and oily at the same time too! It's a Japanese thing.

And then on Christmas morning, the coup de grâce. The kid brother called up at half seven and said that there was a blackout at Bob's place, and that dinner was cancelled... I guess. I guess?? Now the kid's a Waffler, too but I didn't take it out on him because he's only Waffling by association, and he's only the messenger. I had to put a stop to it though, so I ignored the "I guess" shit and said that it's cancelled. I waited until a civilized hour to call Sissy and beg for a spot at her Christmas. Luckily, there was still room however we were going to have to transfer vehicles at some point. Don't sweat the small stuff. Just as we were about to leave, the phone rang and Bob apologized for everything and said that dinner was back on. The blackout wasn't his fault, so I told him not to apologize but we had in fact made other plans. We had actually invited ourselves twice to someone else's dinner, and it would be really bad form to cancel now. I kinda felt bad for Bob. I know he only wanted to see his favourite granddaughter. I said we'd try to catch him in 2009 and off we went for some Osso Bucco.

Christmas turned out to be very nice and quaint. Bobby managed to start an argument, even though he was awake for a maximum of three hours during our visit. Christmas night, Foxy came bounding into the living room with my gift. A nice 50 unit size box of Nestlé minis with a coupon for Crayola crayons, and a really nice tie from DKNY that I managed to fray in 5 seconds. The poor chocolate minis didn't survive three days. Ali has requested a deferred gift plan for 2008, so I don't have to worry about that until January.

Boxing Day, we all went to Randy and Kat's place where everyone is a karaoke star. As a little treat for our wives, Randy and I did a duet of Ebony and Ivory. As usual, Ali didn't appreciate it but Kat and Foxy thought it was the funniest thing ever. Randy did his usual Journey tributes, and I did some Scorpions. Ali did some Japanese thingy and some Beatles and Kat did some Pat Benatar and The Jackson Five.

The rest of the Christmas break so far has been focused on homework for me, and Billy's Bootcamp for Ali. I'm trying to figure out something to do for New Year's. Thanks to Yongfook and his suggestion of Louis Roederer, my plan is already half finished.

Best Christmas Present Ever

So yeah, maybe that sounds a little melodramatic, and I know I said that I would not discuss work on this blog but I am gainfully employed once again. I have the world's best recruiter. You know how I work with several different ones, right? Well, the recruiter who landed me this job knocked my socks off. When I first met her, she was in a bit of a panic and was vetting my credentials for another job. I didn't feel comfortable working with her at the time, but a contact is a contact so I kept her card and made sure that I kept her updated. I didn't get the job she had met me for and I kinda figured that would be the last I heard from her. A few weeks go by and I take a look at her website. Hey, what do you know? There's a couple of positions listed right there that would be perfect for me. I called her and let her know that I was interested. I don't know what happened on those jobs, but a week after that she called me and said that I had a job interview the next day with a high profile firm. And she wanted me to get the job. I mean, she called me and prepped me, and prepped me some more. She wanted to make sure I was ready for this company. Oh, and I have the best references too.

The first interview was a piece of cake. The second interview was tricky because its always difficult to schedule around the holidays. By the time the second interview happened, my recruiter was sunning on a deck chair at some timeshare on Maui. But that doesn't mean I wasn't going into this interview cold. She called me the night before from Los Angeles to prep me some more. I've heard of some recruiters who never stop working, but this was ridiculous. It was Christmas and she was travelling. She could have taken a break. I'm reasonable, I would understand. After the second interview, the client made an offer, and that's that. No more talk about work.

Last week, we went to the best first-birthday party I can remember. Enzo J's first was pretty good, but this party had Santa Claus. And Foxy won first prize in a baby foot race. Of course it helped that she was the oldest of all the babies there, and that she could actually run. There were activities for the parents too, which I thought was pretty nice of the host to plan. By the time we arrived at the party, Ali and I were pretty mad at each other. Me because Ali can't ask for proper directions (i.e. proper street names and building numbers) if her life depended on it; and Ali because I kept reminding her of how many times I'd asked her to please get directions before. We lightened up pretty quick though. The birthday girl was subjected to the Trial of Mochi. At least that's what I'm calling it. Apparently, it is a tradition in Hokkaido to see how far kids can schlep four pounds of mochi on their backs on their first birthday. This birthday girl couldn't stand up with it, let alone walk. How embarassing!

Foxy now calls me Daddy, which is better than Mommy and just tonight she started saying her name. She's learning fast, but just when you think she can't get any faster, she does. She now copies me and Ali almost immediately. So now I have to watch what I say.

Pornos on the 6th Floor, Yayu, and a Shiner for Christmas

It's been some time, but I have been fighting a cold for like a month now. What? At least I thought I was. I now believe that I was fighting a cold for a week, and then fell victim to incredibly dry air. That's right. I'm now so old that my physical condition is controlled by my head holes. I mean, I've heard tourists say that we have dry air here, but I've never felt it myself. Not until this year. Nothing like waking up every morning with a sore throat and having it for half the day.

There's also nothing like going out on job interviews with a head cold. People were pretty understanding though. One of my recruiters, the one I was relying on to find me work since August while I did a half-ass search myself has nothing. Literally, they have nothing on their website. No problem, because I have another recruiter that has higher calibre clients. Well, a little problem. That recruiter thought I'd found work on my own so she wasn't looking for me. I don't even need to call her myself to tell her. She's that good. She knows already. I was ready to put my fist down the phone, but since that call she has been pretty aware of what I'm up to. She came across a job for me, but declined it because it was a little shady and not really a position for growth. So that was nice of her.

I networked a little more and have had some progress on a couple of leads. A new recruiter who came to me - Wow that's a first - has put my name in to a law firm. If I get that one, then there will be no further talk of work on this blog. Unless they screw me. The thing is, I met someone a few years ago who works at this firm and I think I might be replacing them. I don't think they could be promoted to be my boss at this point. Awkward. Let's hope they don't remember that we used to be classmates.

I spent most of the time after the initial cold studying for my exam. I think I did pretty well. I could have studied more, but I'm not looking for a gold medal. I just started a new course, and already I'm running into problems. It's a course I've taken before, so I'm not too worried, but Ali sure can be difficult. She wants to go to a Christmas party on the same night I have class. It's not at a gay bar this time. My class is three hours long and it's pretty important because the goyim will be taking a two week break for Christmas and New Year. Okay, so we push the course back two weeks. If only it were that simple, young Hallman. Nobody calls me that anymore. Pity. Back when Bobby and I were in the same classes at school, our teacher used to call us Hallman, and young Hallman but only when we were in trouble, or when our teacher was incredibly annoyed. My name got called more, but that's because Bobby was never there. So Ali wants to go to this party, but nobody's good enough to babysit Foxy. So Ali says that if she can't take Foxy to the party at a hotel bar, then she just won't go. I hate this. There's no reason why Ali shouldn't go to the party on her own. We have a lot of friends who are willing to baby sit, but Ali can't let go. I think I'll be babysitting and missing class.

Randy and Kat came over for Thanksgiving. I served, but I didn't make a turkey. I made ribs again. I'm getting pretty sick of ribs, but I recently overheard a recipe at the local that I might want to try. Yes, I've gone back to my old local. I stopped going to that other place because the waitress tried to take away my tequila. It's okay, she was new. I went down there expressly to sample their tequila which they were very proud of, and while I was there I had a doppelbock, by Celebrator. Not since those heady days in Oklahoma have I tasted such a beer. Oklahoma - the only place I know where Orange Peel can be mistaken for Native American. Yeah, she's brown but so if more than half the world. But she doesn't have a funny accent, so I guess it was an honest mistake - I guess. Down there, it was a six pack of some Texan brewery bock, possibly Shiner by Spoetzl. See, Oklahoma isn't stinking hot in the late spring, early summer. It's Holy Fuck, kill me now hot. And it's humid. That's the worst part. Except for the part where all my relatives from Arizona were there saying stuff like, "This ain't nothing. When we left Phoenix, it was 114 in the shade." So I decided that even though I'm travelling with my tea totalling elders and their apnea machines, I was a grown ass man and I wanted a nice cold beer. Sound good doesn't it? Except bock isn't a nice cold beer. Bock is a nice cold meal. After three - they were weak - I was full. It is the first and only beer to which I said I could not eat another bite. I felt like I was back in that Amish cafeteria in Chouteau, only not as full. The only reason I tried it is because Bobby said Bock is good. Little did I know, but Bobby had never had bock. He was just saying it was good because one of his friends told him it was good.

So fast forward to 2008, and there I am with a doppelbock because hey, if the bock was bad, then a doppelbock should be twice as bad, right? It wasn't. It was actually nice. Then again, I wasn't sick with heat stroke so maybe under the right circumstances I might have liked the Bock. And as I was cleansing my palate for the tequila, the waitress came over and tried to clear the table. What what what? I'm just sipping water, not leaving! That tequila was nice too, but the place has a two drink maximum unless I buy food, so they're kind of saying "Your money isn't good enough, go get your drink on some place else". The next time I went out, I had the cold, and wanted to see if what they say about Guinness is true. So there I was back at my old local with a pint of Kilkenny in one hand and a pint of Guinness in the other. Kilkenny is my new favourite, and as soon as I had cleansed my palate for the Guinness I realized why that one never was my favourite. It definitely has a taste. I had either heard somewhere or had tricked myself into thinking that Guinness could cure a cold, or at least help. I mentioned this to the bartender, and he shook his head and said that whiskey was the answer. The waitress started me off with a peaty, sweet whiskey but I was not satisfied. I asked to see a list so that I knew how to spell what she had given me. Hmmm, I noticed that they had Johnny Walker Green Label. Funny, the week prior another bartender told me that they only had Red and Black. Technically true, but they had a whole bunch more whiskeys that they served in their other bar and not in the beer bar where he was working. This time I asked if I could have Green. The waitress went around to the whiskey bar and brought some back just for me. Why Green? Because that's our drink - my father in law and me. Except he uses it to make gurepufurutu sauwa or grapefruit sours and I never notice the taste because we usually have it after beer. Well, I have to say that Johnny Walker Green is a very nice whiskey. I wouldn't have said that three weeks ago. But the best part was when I went back to the bar a week later and this chick at the bar asked me how my cold was. It was the waitress, having a drink after her shift. We talked about the dry air and she agreed. Her friend, the bartender from whiskey night shared his recipe for ribs, and the waitress gave me a great recipe for corn bread. She told me to come back for the full recipe, but I haven't had time to make the trip. So I polished off my two pints and waited for the music to end. Bronski Beat was playing. Right when it was getting good, the bar manager cut the music and put on some heavy metal. I was the last one in the bar, and made a little fuss because we're all friends. The manager apologized and admitted that he's too young to remember Bronski Beat. Fuck I'm old.

No more bar talk. I came home the other day and the lift opened on the sixth floor because somebody was getting out there. There were a bunch of camera cases stacked on carts in the hallway. Nobody was moving in or out, there were no moving vans near the main entrance. The first thing that came to mind was that there was a film crew making a porno on 6. It's happened before. I also thought about recent problems we've been having with some tenants, but that was a different group. The camera cases were gone the next day. Oh yeah, I've also been preoccupied with the condo association. Not since the 1997 annual general meeting at Nanna's condo in Boca Raton have I experienced such excitement. Some of the owners want new lobby and hallway decor, and they want the rest of us to pay for it. The first vote was defeated. The condo vice president called another meeting a month later, and again the vote was defeated. Well, say what you will about this guy but he sure is plucky. A month after that, he called a new meeting and finally the vote was passed. There's been a lot of negativity created because of this, but I guess the positive is that we're getting a new lobby.

Okay, so the movie part of this post is about The Bank Job starring Jason Statham, the always incredible David Suchet. I don't really remember much about this film, except a lot of naked ladies, and a bank being robbed. I did remember how hot chicks were in the 1970s. That was something I'd forgotten as I grew older. It was a good film, it's just been such a long time since I saw it that I'm low on details. I think the one detractor of the film is that they try to tie a sex scandal allegedly involving Princess Margaret into the plot. Who knows? Maybe it really was the reason that the bank was robbed, but it added an extra storyline that I don't think was entirely necessary. I rented this one because I wanted to see something with Statham in it. That guy never does a bad movie. That said, I've never seen any of The Transporter series. But I just might go see the third one, because it has Statham but it also has Robert Knepper. Who? You might know him better as Teabag or Theodore Bagwell from Prison Break. Sure, he plays a really bad guy, but the important thing is that he plays it well. Ali is totally confused with what's happening on Prison Break this season. She still hasn't booked her ticket to Tokyo. She's waiting for prices to drop a little more. Oh yeah, Mick Jagger is in The Bank Job. See if you can spot him. I admit, I had to rewind (do we say that anymore) and take a good look, but it's him for sure.

I'm not sure how this happened, but Foxy somehow gets Yayu out of her first name. One morning she was sitting in front of the hall closet looking at the mirror and screaming "Yayu, Yayu, Yayu!" repeatedly. I figured she was screaming "Lion, Lion, Lion!" her way which comes out of her mouth as "Yayo..." But this was slightly different. Ali confirmed it, Foxy believes her name is pronounced Yayu. She also believes that Grandma and Grandpa from Tokyo live in my filing cabinet, and that my name is Mommy. She's getting there though, growing up real fast. She got that shiner above her eye after a fight with a laundry basket. You can't take your eye off this kid for one second. Even though she knows she's not supposed to, she likes to climb in the empty basket and try to walk. Off course, the basket tips and her face meets the corner of my maple dresser. Silly girl.

Whiskey is the New Vodka

Thought I'd pop out and see Rocknrolla tonight. Have I seen this movie before? Indeed, I have, only it was called Layer Cake, and instead of being directed by Matthew Vaughn, it was directed by his close friend Guy Ritchie. Ritchie even had the cheek to film part of his movie at Stoke Park House, one of the same places that Layer Cake was filmed at. These two movies have a lot of other similarities too, like dishonest accountants and stuff. Don't get me wrong, this was a good movie. This is a story than can be told over and over again and it never gets old.

Of course the cast helped. Starring Gerard Butler as One Two, Thandie Newton as Stella, Jimi Mistry as the Councillor, and Tom Hardy as Handsome Bob. Hardy, by the way, also starred in Layer Cake. Newton plays the role of a 30 year old accountant. Really? Not even the best makeup artist in the world could make her look 30. Jeremy Piven and Ludacris feature in the film as two talent managers. There's just so many awesome actors in this movie, I wouldn't know where to end - Idris Elba as Mumbles, Toby Kebbell as Johnny Quid the Rocknrolla, Karel Roden as Uri, Mark Strong as Archie, and Tom Wilkinson as Lenny. Toby Kebbell looks exactly like Bobby did ten yers ago, except Bobby's beard is a little thicker. I had to give my head a shake a few times. Thanks to Toby, or at least the fight co-ordinator, I will never look at a pencil in the same way again. Karel Roden, you may remember was first introduced to this blog when I reviewed Running Scared. He played the John Wayne loving Russian immigrant. Mark Strong pulls off a good, clean tough. He was also in Revolver, another one of Guy Ritchie's films. Haven't seen that one. Tom Wilkinson makes any movie good. I think he may have done a better job than Sir Michael Gambon did in Layer Cake. Would somebody please give Idris Elba a starring role in a movie already? A good one, too. I would pay to see it, and bet that a lot of other people would too. There was another guy who didn't get credit, and I don't really believe his character because I'm pretty sure Kevlar vests aren't designed to take rapid fire from a machine gun, but anyway he was good, too. I heard it through the grapevine that his name is Alex Kovas. It's strange that he wouldn't get credit because he did have a speaking part. Although his lines weren't in English. That shouldn't make a difference.

So I made it to the theatre while they were still running the previews. I see that one of my old clients has a new movie due out next year. I probably won't see it, and I'm guessing not a lot of people will. Too bad, but knowing him he's probably got a few more films in the can already. I also see that Michael Bay has been very busy since Transformers. He's got The Unborn scheduled soon, and a Friday the 13th thingy coming out on Friday, February 13, 2009. Maybe it won't suck, but a lot of the audience were already not impressed. Why doesn't Jason just die already?

So what can I say about Rocknrolla? Good music, including a little General Public and The Clash. Gerard Butler sports a little Scottish accent. I'm not sure if that was a put on or if its his real accent. I didn't see 300. The story, like any other Guy Ritchie movie that I know of, has a plot and then it has a sub-plot. The two plots come together to some degree. In this one, I'm not sure the two plots met flush. They met, but not at the climax of the film. Get me?

Okay, so these two guys, Mumbles and One Two buy a piece of land for like 10 million pounds, but since they have criminal records they can't get a bank loan for it. Instead, they get it from Lenny, a loan shark among other things. The guys can't get zoning permission for the lot, so they're left with a pile of bricks. Lenny isn't very happy about this and takes over the lot and adds another 2 million in juice to the deal. It was actually Lenny who screwed Mumbles and One Two on the deal in the first place. He bribed the Councillor to deny the permit, and then took over the land.

I'm not sure if it's related, but Lenny gets involved with a wealthy Russian, loosely modelled after Roman Abramovich, owner of Chelsea Football Club. Or perhaps another billionaire football club owner who hung around F1 for awhile, Alex Schnaider. Either way, this Russian wants a permit to build a new football stadium and he needs Lenny's skills. He makes a deal for 7 million Euros, and offers to lend a beautiful painting to Lenny. He only lends it because the painting, which we never see by the way, is also lucky.

Not long after, the painting is stolen and the race is on to find out who stole it. Lenny threatens a few guys with nasty crayfish, and they tell him that Johnny Quid is the one who offered the painting to them for sale. What? Johnny Quid is dead, according to an article in the Daily Mail or some other newspaper. It doesn't suit Lenny that these two punks are having him on. Anyway, the hunt is now on for Johnny Quid.

Off we go to see an unconvincingly young, but still hot Thandie Newton as Stella arrange to rip off the couriers who are handling the 7 mil. She's the Russian's accountant, and she needs a little excitement in her life because her husband is gay. She calls her boyfriend and tells him about the rip and wants twenty percent. Her boyfriend is One Two and he needs the money to pay back Lenny. See? Classic Ritchie. Mumbles and One Two grab the dosh and off they go. Now the Russian is getting upset. He doesn't have his lucky painting anymore and he thinks that is the reason he lost his money.

At this time, there is an opportunity to find out who has been feeding information to the police about all these guys who meet at a particular club. Stella's gay husband is a lawyer, and he's having a gay party and Stella wants One Two to send his gay friends, if he has any, over. A party is a party and One Two shows up with a few of his buddies and sees one of his gay friends there. I won't say which, you'll have to see it to find out. At the party, One Two convinces his gay friend to chat up the lawyer husband and make a deal for witness papers that will show who the confidential informant is. Eventually, they get it but its a pseudonym so they're still fucked.

Johnny Quid isn't dead, he just wants to get high in peace. Lenny tracks down the two talent managers and puts a bit of a squeeze on them. He threatens to close their club unless they help him find Johnny. They think he's dead, but Lenny convinces them to try harder. Archie, Lenny's second in command is out following leads on the painting as well. One Two pays off the 2 million that he owes to Lenny and gets another call from Stella about a second delivery. The Russian still owes Lenny 7 million, and this time he's not sending a couple of accountants to handle the money. He's got some really hard Chechnyans to handle it. This time, Mumbles and One Two get the third man of their gang, Handsome Bob in on the job. They get the money, but not before they are clearly identified by the Chechnyans, and get the shit kicked out of them.

One Two pays Stella her twenty percent, but now the Russian is really mad. He takes Lenny out to Stoke Park and knee caps him with a sand wedge. I knew it was coming, but I was surprised it was the knee cap. I thought it would be the head. Lenny never did get planning permission for the site, the Councillor couldn't get it approved possibly because his cut of the 7 mil didn't show. Meanwhile, remember that painting? Johnny Quid's got it. See? He's actually Lenny's stepson and has an extra set of keys to the house. He really hates Lenny, so he nicked the painting when no one was looking. His friend discovers that people are looking for the painting and tries to cash in. Johnny doesn't approve and gives a soliloquy relating cigarettes to life. Then his friend invites two drug addict thieves around to the squat where he lives and once again, Johnny is not impressed. While he takes his friend into another room to tell him that he doesn't want people to know where he is, the two thieves take off with the painting. They take it back to a club where Cookie, played by Matt King, buys it no questions asked. I'm not sure why, but Cookie gives the painting to One Two as a gift to his girlfriend Stella.

Archie finds out that One Two and Mumbles are the ones behind the courier robberies, and he goes around to One Two's place to bring him to an appointment with Lenny. He interrupts the two Chechnyans who are about to slice up One Two. Four shots. A few moments later, Mumbles and Handsome Bob show up with the court papers and get taken around to see Lenny as well. The two talent managers find Johnny Quid and bring him to the warehouse where Lenny keeps his menacing crayfish. All accounted for, everybody who's not dead is at the warehouse. Johnny Quid lets rip about how his stepfather is the police informant. He sent all of his people down to teach them a lesson I guess. Because of him, One Two and Mumbles couldn't get the bank loan to buy the building. Hmmm, this guy does his preparation. He even sent his most loyal employee down for four years. Lenny, in a wheelchair, shoots Quid in the stomach, and tells his junior thug to take him and the two music dudes out of the place. Back to them in a minute.

The Russian visits Stella, and wants her to run away with him. His assistant is suspicious of Stella because she is the only other person who knew the details of both couriers. The Russian doesn't want to hear it. Of course, Stella spurns him and as he turns to leave, he sees the painting. He calls his assistant who is waiting outside and that's the last we see of them. Back in the lift, the junior man and another are escorting Johnny and the two music guys out to a car. Johnny explains to the music guys what is about to happen, and warns them about what to do. They shoot both of the bad dudes, and Johnny dispatches two more waiting outside the lift. That's the last we see of a badly injured Johnny and the other two. Or is it?

Back in the warehouse, Handsome Bob gives up the court papers to Archie who reads them and immediately recognizes the pseudonym as a name he saw in Lenny's files years earlier. Judging by Lenny's reaction at the time, Archie figures that Lenny is the snitch. One Two, Mumbles and Handsome Bob are now out of the warehouse and Archie wraps Lenny's wheelchair to a winch and lowers him into a great big yucky jambalaya of crayfish and other Thames goodness.

So now Archie is on top of the Layer Cake, oh sorry, wrong movie. Anyway, he's at the top of the heap and he awaits the arrival of a newly-sober Johnny Quid. They embrace, and Johnny steals Archie's gun. For a quick moment, I was expecting an ending like Layer Cake, but it was not to be. Johnny playfully handles the gun as Archie presents him with a welcome home gift. Johnny announces that he wants to follow in his stepfather's, and Archie's footsteps. So the moral of the story here kids, is that no matter how much a son hates his father and tries to do everything differently from his father, the son is destined to become the father. Not really, but that's just a little something I took away from it. There is no real moral, so don't go looking for one. Just sit back in your high-backed reclining seats with extra legroom in the large screen cinema and enjoy the movie.

The end credits suggest that Johhny and/or Archie and the boys will be back in Rocknrolla 2. I'm pretty sure that's not meant to be serious.

Hamilton Does It, and a Movie of Course

Okay... So just in case you missed it, and slept in like I did - here are the results. Closer than I would have imagined. And on the final lap, would you believe?

F1 News > Hamilton is World Champion!

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On a tenuously related note, I happened to watch a movie filmed in Macau last night. See, Macau hosts, or hosted I'm not sure which, a junior formula race which holds a lot of prestige and had been the race to watch for the future of F1. I think Michael Schumacher was the last racer of note to win it. But anyway the movie is not about racing and follows a pretty formulaic set up for Cantonese films, as follows:

1) Find a Cantopop singer who hasn't made too many films before, if any.

2) Write a script which gives the singer ample opportunity to showcase their singing talents. To make the movie really score with audiences, make the plot about a singer in some way. Note that this plot is not necessary.

3) Title the movie after the singer. This will put bums in seats. Even after the singer's star has faded, the movie will serve to generate new fans as younger audiences age.

And so it was. Yi sa bui lai or Isabella if you try to sound it out using Spanish phonemes, stars Isabella Leong the requisite Cantopop singer and Chapman To the actual talent. I just want to say that I hope this film is in no way autobiographical for Leong. Otherwise, ouch. This wasn't her first film, and she seems to have an acting ability, but I say that To is the actual talent because that's his career.

I'm not going to do a chronology of this film. Instead, just broad strokes to illustrate the plot. Apparently, Macau was rife with gangsters and smugglers before the handover in 1999, but that might just be Central Committee propaganda for all I know. To plays an ex-cop who becomes a smuggler to make a decent living and still live the high life. Leong plays a teenager who has just lost her mother, never knowing her father, and who is prone to embellishing stories. She ends up with To, and somehow realizes that he is her long lost father, or so she is lead to believe. To, for his part, believes it at first too but when he discovers that he is not, he goes along with it anyway to protect the real father who is also his boss. The film focuses on the growth of the relationship between To and Leong, and the dialogue is not really important. I actually liked the pauses because it allowed the soundtrack to take over. A close imitation, you might even say rip-off of Vladimir Cosma's Sentimental Walk is repeatedly heard throughout. Or at least the opening riff.

To realizes that he is going to prison, and must somehow explain to Leong that they are not going to run away together which is what she believes. He nonchalantly explains to her, over a bowl of noodles that he is not her father and that he's got to go down on the charges. Leong is crushed, but she gets over it pretty quickly I guess because she decides to wait for To to be released from prison. The film doesn't go that far, but at the end of it Leong is no longer a girl trying to find her identity. She has become comfortable with who she is. Anyway, I liked the music and the scenery around Macau.