“Dirty Pretty Things” was a great film. Easily the best art house movie I’ve seen this year. That’s unless you count “Talk to Her,” which came out last year but which I saw on DVD last month; or “Old School,” which is quite simply what all art house films should aspire to become.
While walking to the movie theater, my girlfriend found a shopping cart on the sidewalk, got inside, and begged me to push her the rest of the way.
Pushing that cart down the block like some hobo or genetically-engineered man mule, I had this “Jackass” flashback and wondered if she’d get pissed if I suddenly started sprinting and maybe pushed the cart into a giant bush or something. Sure looked zany on TV. Then I had this other flashback, about some article I read on the Internet where a man woke up one morning and found his girlfriend in the kitchen, cooking his severed penis.
The girlfriend was cool about it, though. After the movie she was the one pushing me back home while I sat in the shopping cart. We passed by a balcony packed with soused partiers, who waved and cheered as if I was beer in human form. I waved back like a parade queen as my girlfriend carted me off into the darkness.
Rina was hanging with us at my place, watching “Slingblade” on HBO. The last time I saw it was when the film was in the theaters, but Rina had never seen it before.
“Why does he talk like that?” she asked in regards to Billy Bob Thornton’s mentally handicapped character Karl, who spoke in this strained grunt throughout the movie.
“Retarded,” I replied. It then occurred to me that back in ’96 or ’97, when “Slingblade” came out, Rina had no idea why the hell we were talking like that. Because for a good solid three months, Rog, Tiger and I wouldn’t stop talking like Karl. At parties, clubs, dinners ...
”I love you boyyy,” we’d grunt. Or ”Some folks call it a kaiser blade, I call it a sling blade. Um-HMMM.”
One time Tiger did an entire booty call while talking like Karl. But you see, guys find talking like movie characters funny and clever, bordering on genius. "Swingers" was one of my all-time favorites, but there are times I wish it was never made every time I hear someone scream, "Vegas, baby! Vegas!"
Kinda makes me wonder why women ever fornicate with men at all.
“You guys were so stupid,” Rina said, clearly impressed. And, as if on cue, her cell rang. It was Rick Yune, that Korean-American actor guy, who used to be a client of Rina’s a couple of years ago.
“Oh hi Rick,” she said. “What am I doing? I’m watching “Slingblade” with some friends.”
At this point I could hear him from where I was sitting…
”Some folks call it a kaiser blade...”