Eat. The. Boy.                                

Night fell and draped its curtain on the mountainside with jagged tendrils that stained darkness on all it touched. The moon was hanged like an empty frame. Pale light kissed all but the darkest parts of the ridge. Two hunters made their way towards the end of a flashing beam, now a spotlight on some wretched and rotten earth. There was a shooting star in the distance. A glow of flame and shadow arced shadows and made them dance through the wood.

"What was it? Did you see...?" The tall figure gasped for air as his scratchy voice fell to a low moan. 

"I didn't see, but the tail end, looked like a falling star grandpa," an excited voice cracked.

The brush was thick enough to reach out at their legs. Blotchy molds of grass not taken by the winter's fresh breath and mud from the melting snow rendered their legs useless without hands clawing at the ground for balance. The hillside was steep as the two figured panted and gasped for air. 

The night air bit at the old man's uncovered throat. It numbed his throat at first and then began to burn as only cold can do. As he walked he was overcome with a hunger that evicted his good sense. The chill in the air was almost too much. He reached in a coat pocket and pulled out a bag of jerky. It was no nourishment. The texture and taste of leather lingered in his mouth. The hunger was not sated. 

"Grandpa," a young voice struggled in the dark. "I don't think I can walk much further. I'm hungry grandpa."

The old man, annoyed and relieved, accepted that he would soon be on his own.

"It's okay. I just wanna see what hit. You just wait here, now. Stay here for me." The old man handed the boy the last of the bagged jerky 

An hour before, something shrieked across the sky like a dying bird and drew their interest. Its molten shell crackled like a pistol. It hit hard enough to be heard from a mile. The old man and the boy had turned down for the evening by a fire when the monochromatic glow drew their attention. A spectacle in its dark and deep glow, a curiosity deemed worthy. They were enticed from their camp. The curiosity was tingling and they were hungering to know just what hit up there on that ridge. 

The boy, still gasping, leaned against an old log and brushed the snow from his knees. The cold snow was wet on his ankles and had bled through to the socks below. His boots were soggy now and his feet were rubbing the soles. He took a sip from the canteen and gave up the trek. 

Ahead of him, an old man trudged forward, grabbing thin trees and dead roots pulling himself upward. He could make out the glow less than a hundred feet ahead of him. He felt as if it were growing closer to him with ever step he took toward it. He was hypnotized by its faintness. An ungodly spark in pale darkness captivated him. His attentions were solely on the marks now. 

A trail soot and mud marked an imprinted coma that he now followed. As he came to a plateau the glow appeared to him. He was there. It felt like miles had been bridged in seconds and he stood worshiping with his gaze. His face was now numb. His chin now tingled with a twinge. He reached a hand forward and stumbled. 

The glow became dimmer then brighter, then dimmer again. It took him more than five minutes to realized that the elliptical shape wasn't touching the ground. It hovered there above an impact crater no smaller than a tractor tire. It pulsed at him and he was drawn forward. He became hungry. His stomach knotted and growled. Sharp pains permeated his spine and then settled in his kidneys. He reached towards the elliptical and stumbled again. Something was reaching back. 

His nose began bleeding and he pulled himself up. His trance lifted and he saw a figured in the light. A red eye stared at him from the elliptical. The old man realized that there was no flame in the hill, only the glowing red eye. He felt it looking through him, through his bones and the two cancer scars. It looked through his soul, through the brush and down the mountain to the boy. 

"Eat. The. Boy."He thought he heard. The elliptical pulsated again. The dimness grew and the woods became darker. 

The old man was hit by another pang that crippled his legs. Drool formed on his lips and saliva dripped from the tongue. Cracks formed in his teeth and they splintered inside the jaw tearing at the outer skin. His ears, already cracking from the altitude began to slip from their place and patches of his hair were being molted from his body. He began a trek towards the boy. The woods that were once shade were lit by the red glow. The shadows parted in fear as he stepped heavily on the sooty ground. The mud was less and less of a problem as the skin on his legs became jello-like. His knee caps splintered and his legs split from sockets. The muscles tensed and expelled fish hook like squares on the tendril his legs now formed. Amazed at his knew appendage, he embraced the ravenous. His dark evolution was a quiet death and patches of land lay dead in his wake. The silhouette of the boy on the log drew closer as his hunger grew ravenous. His jaw was now a vice grip with splintered and needle like teeth. The hands were molded together and had mouths of their own snapping towards the red illumination that was once darkness. 

The boy was taken by surprise. He struggled at first. As his arms were snapped backwards and his jaw torn from his skull, his consciousness waned. He did not recognize the figure nor had he any time to. He was already being eaten when he came to. There was no pain at first. As the adrenaline wore from his body terrible throes set upon him. He caught a glimpse of a familiar face. 

The eyes and the nose were family. That much he was sure. But there was something living there now, some passenger wearing the skin. The face drooped and red eyes were staring at him. The boy lay choking in his own blood but he kept staring at these red eyes that would not relinquish their hold on him. He died slow and unnatural. 

The old man was no longer. Here was the elliptical, old and hungry. Lights gleamed in the distance, bright enough that their hue diminished the stars in the sky. Bewilderment existed in those red eyes. The fear of the unknown lights in the distance soon began to fade, replaced with the immortal pangs of hunger.

"Eat. Them All." He thought he heard. The elliptical pulsated again. The dimness grew and the skies became darker. There was a shooting star in the distance. 

I miss Christopher Reeve as Superman. I miss Donner at the helm. Don't get me wrong, I think Superman Returns is an ok film for the most part. About 35-40 minutes of it is Superman at his finest, as a hero, as a symbol of hope. However, the latter half of that movie is abysmal shit from the bowels of hell. Shitty writing ruined Superman Returns. Mediocre direction didn't help matters. Superman returns was made up of a solid cast, solid writers, and a paramount of financial backing that all accumulated in Superman lifting an island. Meh.

I remember Superman (1978); Marlon Brando scared the shit out of me. I used to have nightmares about his odd reverberation in his voice. He was caring and menacing, perhaps the only actor to ever be able to pull that off. At three and four years old, I believed that a man could fly. I remember being taken with Christopher Reeve as both Clark Kent and Superman. There was a playful quality that Clark Kent had, a quality that exists in most of us wannabe heroes. Except Clark Kent is a hero. He is superman. I never bought the speech at the end of Kill Bill Vol II about Superman. Superman doesn't see us as weak, he doesn't see us as bumbling. He sees us as strangers.  We are mere figures that he's not only afraid to relate to, but in doing so could jeopardize his entire existence as well as ours. Kal-El refuses to see us as weak, he sees hope for us. There is something inside Clark Kent that invites us to be his equal, it does not diminish out potential but forces us forward to reach it. Superman deserved better than the shitty followups. So, needless to say, I wasn't excited  when I heard Zach Snyder, director of SuckerPunch, was going to helm this film. A small part of me died. Even as a fan of Nolan's Batman films, I felt somewhat indifferent to his "guiding hand" position. But after all the bad feelings, I'm here to say I was wrong.

Man of Steel is a solid film. Henry Cavill is fucking grand as Superman. What I think works in this film is that there's no distinction between Clark Kent and Superman. In a way, Superman doesn't exist. There is this alien side to Clark, a side that can leap tall buildings in a single bound, that pulls on Clark. He knows he's different. Childhood, adolescence, adulthood, Clark Kent is forced to show restraint. He can't get mad and hit a bully, he can't save the people he loves, he can't be who he really is because the world isn't ready. Superman is nothing to Clark. His life is simply one lie after another as he struggles to find his place in the world.

Clark doesn't get close to anyone because he cant. His sole connection to our world is from Pa and Ma Kent, played well, but sparingly, by Kevin Costner and Diane Lane. They love him. And he's all the better for it. Kevin Costner does incredibly well with what he is given though it isn't much. I feel Snyder really skimped here. I understand that Superman's origin has been told countless times, but it really is Ma and Pa Kent who made the difference. Superman's existence simply boils down to good parenting. ON the other side of that coin is Russell Crowe's Jor-El. Jor-El is fantastic. He is the part of Clark that fulfills his life. It's strange to say, but Crowe's performance stuck with me after the film, something that hasn't happened since Gladiator. I like his version of Jor-El--the intellect, the rebel, and we see those qualities in Clark. His audacity of defying Zod gave me chills.

I've said it before and I'll continue my argument for it, but a hero is worth half as much without a good nemesis. Part of the reason Superman has had such little success on the big screen as of late is the lack of a truly interesting villain. That is now a thing of the past as Micheal Shannon delivers as Zod. Terrance Stamp will always be my favorite Zod. He was simply powerful. He was a presence. Shannon is somewhat different. Zod is brilliant but conniving, ambitious but a zealot for his cause. His Zod is a war monger. Zod's story loses some steam as it becomes less about revenge and more about holocaust. The General's story was much stronger in Superman II and without the revenge angle, it seemed like Snyder and Goyer did Shannon a disservice. For the most part, Shannon handles the role well but they never really let him run with the part until the very end which is a shame. As for the rest of gallery, Antje Traue is simply fantastic as Faora. In her own way, she steals the show. I'm going to call this now, she's going to be big one day. Every scene is dominated by her amazing presence and I simply can't help but root for her in my own sick and twisted way.

Amy Adams as Lois Lane is quite a nice departure from  Margot Kidder's version. Adams does rather nicely and rounds up a great supporting cast in Meloni and Fishburne, but for the most part all of the secondary characters feel like stand ins. Perhaps they'll be better utilized in future sequels (as it seems to be hinting at) because I feel Snyder is wasting potential here.

Another minor issue I had with the film is that his childhood is told through a series of flashbacks. It's fairly jarring which may be the one serious issue that some movie goers might have with the film. Some of the flashbacks seem to detract from the overall arch or seem out of place completely. I understand that some of them lead to plot points later in the film, but they come across as forced and unnecessary scenes that run on for a minute too long subtracting from the tone of the film. Another minor issue I had was that in some parts the FX work looked cheap. That seems like a pointless complaint considering a third and fourth act where shit just starts blowing up like crazy, but it's a fairly annoying problem with Snyder's films.

Overall, I enjoyed the hell out of Man of Steel. I left the theater feeling hopeful for future installments. Snyder has clearly created a world of DC characters. They all exist in this world where anything is possible. This is superman done right, not an invincible tank of a being-- but a delicate soul looking for his place in the world and fighting for what he believes is right. That's hope right there, ladies and gentleman.

8.5 out of 10.

Diablo II was released on June 29, 2000. I purchased it about a week or so after that at a Sams Club. It has been almost twelve years since I popped that bad boy in my PC and took off on an adventure that I still play to this day. For years, I've raided Uber-Tristram, killed countless Baal's, Mephisto's and Diablo's and probably a billion of their minions. I love Diablo II. Though it's not without faults, it's one of the few games that has captivated gamers like myself in such a way that Pac-Man and Mario did before it. And after 12 years of longing for a sequel, 12 long years of theory-crafting and being baited at every sequel post on forums and game sites, Diablo III is here.

Diablo III plays drastically different than its predecessor and the first notable mechanic revealed to the player is that of how smoothe and fluid the combat system is. It is not without its polish. There are countless abilities and thousands of skill/rune combinations to play around with. All of the classes feel unique and powerful in their own ways and play off of the group dynamic well. The horde of evil you set off against is vast and imposing. Diablo III's successes stem from its presentation. It's a well polished game that feels fluid straight down to every framerate (when the game isn't lagging due to server issues). So, the inevitable question is "Is Diablo III a worth successor?

No. It is not.

Could it be? Maybe.

Diablo III is not a bad game. Far from it. It is a great game. But it's not Diablo. Not really. It's a polished up action RPG in the same vein and it is a prime example of what greed does to corporations. Gamers should be used to getting screwed. Activision releases the same shooter every year, EA fucked up Mass Effect's ending so bad it's humorous, and now Blizzard has taken what made Diablo and Diablo II so fun and threw that out the window. It's a sad trend in video games lately and it will continue. Narrative is replaced with instant gratification and flashy carrots on sticks to entice the gaming populous and lead them down the dark path of consumerism.

One of the most disappointing things that hit me about the time I finished Act 2 is realizing how bad the story was. The story is shit. It is dumbed down and repetitive. Such intelligent dialogue as "The LORD OF LIES would never betray me!" and repetitive "Hey, I'm Azmodan, I am gonna kill you harder than the time I previously told you that I was going to kill you so yeah that's pretty hard!" Bad guys are forced down your throat, the twists you can see coming a mile away, and all of the villains are simple cookie cutter monsters. Belial is supposed to be "THE LORD OF LIES," yet he's so very bad at it. It's humorous how even your followers are like "Hey, you're lying!" Azmodan, the great strategist that he is portrayed as, simply uses a frontal assault to take out a well fortified castle. It's insulting to my intelligence. Diablo II had a foreboding sense of danger around every turn. Diablo III says "fuck it," and throws every cliche ever written straight in. The story doesn't completely fall flat; the three followers that you gain are a lively bunch, as well as old favorites like Tyreal, Cain, and Adria. The Scoundrel says things that literally make me laugh out loud and the Enchantress adds a lot of mystique to the lore. However, all of these characters can't make up for a half-assed story that falls flat on its face with mundane dialogue and poor antagonists.

The most glaring problem with Diablo III is it's difficulty curve. Normal, Nightmare, and Hell are all pretty easy. The Bossfights are a joke, and the only trouble anyone usually has are with elites and rare monsters with pre-fixes. Those pre-fixes are sometimes really stupid and occasionally make the game un-fun. It sucks to be farming out a random dungeon and come across a fire-chain-invulnerable-vortex-molten or something dumb like that. Named mobs are incredibly easy even though on latter difficulties they have a bajillion hitpoints. The difficulty spikes are sometimes unforgiving. Especially on Inferno. I find my character, after being able to solo an entire dungeon, being one shotted by some random rare that just happens upon me. The spikes in the curve are terrible. Inferno is hard for the sake of being hard, not for the sake of challenge and that takes away from the game quite a bit.

In Diablo II you had all of the tools you needed at your disposal to take down anything at anytime. The difficulty in Diablo III forces you in to builds and play styles that are a must to survive. It's not a game where you can play how you want. You are forced to use invincibility skills, or stuns, or buffs, you don't have the options to use them. You are limited to the spells on your action bar and that's ultimately where combat falls apart. The limiting of those strategic choices make the game boring and empty. It can be frustrating at times to know that you can't beat a certain mob without picking a certain ability. Blizzard's development team have insisted that this is the way the game is intended to be played and that is unfortunate.

Speaking of development problems, itemization is broken. It's really annoying finding a rare barbarian only belt with .07 spirit regen  (monk only passive). I understand what they were going for with the extreme randomization of stats but they failed to see the point. We want loot we can use. It's as simple as that. We want to pick up a badass legendary item that owns bosses in a few shots. It's a reward for our time, it's bragging rights, it's a "LOOK AT ME!" kind of thing. There's something about being a character with a really unique sword or armor that is rewarding to me.

All in All, Diablo III is a shadow of what it should be. I know Diablo II had its problems, and it took a long time to fix those problems, but the core gameplay mechanics were sound. Diablo III doesn't have this going for it. I don't think it can survive the wait. Drastic changes need to come in order for Diablo III to stand up beside its predecessor, it just doesn't seem like Blizzard is taking that seriously. It really isn't a bad game, but I fear that it will be a wasted opportunity for Blizzard, a wasted chance in place of something wonderful.

7 out of 10.

yes. we're dumb.

We are a distracted people. Humanity has finally overcome the little things with more and more little things. When I think about how much I rely on technology, it kind of scares me. For instance, how often do I check my phone daily? 15-20 times? How often do we log onto Facebook just to see if someone has replied to our posts or liked our status? People are craving more and more social recognition online than in person and I believe that may be the moral decay of our society. Indoctrination to the vast world that we know little about.

Everyone knows I can talk about anything. I talk too much.  Sometimes people give me odd looks like I'm super smart and they just don't get it or that I'm super dumb and they just don't get it. I think I'm interesting. I think part of that comes by taking advantage of humanity's weakness: face-to-face interaction. I have a loud, obnoxious personality sometimes but other times, I can be very engaging. I know my social weaknesses, but I still have a great strength in language that most people lack. People can say anything they want in written form, I used to be that way too. I only wrote what I felt and let my pen do the talking... I have since learned to make my words poignant and visceral. I get a lot of odd looks when I say what's on my mind, partially because I'm weird and partially because people are not used to forwardness in conventional conversation.

Social Networking is a bastardization of media, consumerism, and Psychology. On twitter, news of the London Riots reached 1.6 million people in less than four minutes, 28 minutes before any news organization had the story on air. Facebook games are a billion dollar industry, literally thousands of people pay money to buy things for an imaginary game world like farmville. Can you imagine if our efforts were dedicated collectively towards a real farm?

The positive aspects of the internet can be seen as well, I won't deny what a great source of information the internet is and the positive influence it has had over my own life. I spend a lot of time discovering things I do not know or have never heard. I'm able to study cultures I'd never even known about, learn about quantum mechanics on a basic level, get help with my math homework, and find out about local and national news in seconds. We take in so much information daily but unfortunately we use and apply very little of that information. We have a great social tool, we have a sociological melting pot and panacea at our disposal, yet we treat it as a great nepenthe, a parasite feeding off our distraction.

Instead of talking to someone, we text. Why? Because it's easier? No, more than likely it's because we are becoming more antisocial. People are getting dumber. Take a look at american politics or our media and their reliance on conservative or liberal one liners and twitter to see that happening before your eyes. We use lol, lmfao, and idk to form full thoughts and sentences. We have disregarded all of the benefits that come with going out and having a beer with friends, we can't even hold a conversation without checking our phones. I'm as guilty as anyone. No one truly writes anymore, they blog. No one talks, they texts or message each other. How well do we know our friends outside of their technological lives? At what point do we consider ourselves part of this mass machine as we lose our individuality? I can't say for certain what the future holds, but I do believe that as our communication becomes crippled, so will our world. If we were asked about the defining moment in history two hundred years from now, what would that be? For me, it would be the day everyone stopped paying attention.

Relationships.

When I think back to the girls I have been in love with, I realize they have all moved on with assholes, cheaters, morons and imbeciles. It's ironic that I felt I was not good enough or that I lacked something. I know that I have my flaws, and when you are trying to date someone, sometimes the flaws are all they try and see. But as long as I have felt that I was the problem, seeing the outcome, perhaps it wasn't me after all. They've surely had people they've compared me to let them down and cheat and lie to them. So, the question is, what, exactly, was I being compared to?  

It's easy to look at the situation they are in and revel in it. To some degree I do, but I don't feel any better about the bad things that have happened to them. And the ones that I have "loved," I think the same is true for anyone: I carry little pieces inside of me that cut like knives (I know what you were talking about, Bryan Adams!) when I see them or hear them. I tend to avoid them for that reason. I'm not sure that I'm really out of love or in love. But there is something that bothers me about my past, still.

It's difficult for me to love. It has to do with how things turned out, or the things that were said that eventually got back to me, or the harsh realities that were set in, or finding out that I was just kept around as a backup plan. My love life has been a terrible mark on my past. I've never been able to hold a relationship long or impress someone enough during a date. As a result, I have an emotional disconnect from humanity, which makes it even harder to do anything more than go through the motions. Complicated by the fact that I purposely stay busy to avoid such decisions or impulses, I think I wont ever get it figured out.

Now, it may sound like I blame the women I dated or tried to date. I don't. The blame is in the mirror. There are a lot of things that I would do differently but that boils down to the fact that I am different. I still keep my imagination, I still hold on to child-like qualities. I have no intention of ever being deemed an outstanding member of society. I enjoy the mischief I occasionally get into. I don't fit into the molds women have set for me. I'm not handsome, I'm not a cowboy, and I'm not James Dean. But like James Dean, I am a rebel, someone that sees things for what they are and I have a brutal case of honesty. This is all a result of my past and my failures that have made me who I am. I am a decent guy who just happens to be devoid of a lot of societal bullshit.

I've spent a lot of my time in life observing people. There are a few reasons for this: I don't trust them, I don't like them, and I am just that curious. What makes me most curious about their lives is how they conduct their own relationships. I see intelligent, mature women fall into the same pitfalls as a young, naive girls for little reason other than they just want to be told that they're beautiful. And I see guys taking advantage of this...because...well, it's easy to do. Tell them what they want to hear, it's the oldest trick in the book. You can be in bed with anyone in as little as 3 months. Tried and true.

This is all because people have made their relationships into a game they play. Scores are tallied both positive and negative. And few people are willing to wake up. Time doesn't make things better. I see a lot of women who hold off dating someone for months if not years because the last relationship didn't work out, only to end up going down the same road. Guys have this "warrior" culture when it comes to sex. Peer pressure and stupidity seems to have a huge influence over today's young men. Our pop culture doesn't make it any better.

I don't wish ill on the women I loved. I do wish them the best, despite how I was made to feel or what was said. I won't lie and say I'm happy with how things ended up...but I am happy with other things in my life. I'm not prince charming, I'm the first to admit that and a couple of you wouldn't let me forget it. Attraction plays a huge role in the beginnings of a relationship and that's a part that I do tend to fail...yet, I have no desire to play the game as you would have expect me to play it. If you want honesty, just ask for it and hold yourself to a higher standard, albeit a rationally thought out one.

As I said, I'm no Prince Charming.... but I am King Arthur. I have my kingdom, that's more than some of you can say. This is all more than I wanted to say.

All Heart.

It wasn't easy for her to care: In fact, it just didn't come natural. Her hair slipped behind her sunglasses and made her eye twitch. She saw that she was doing 80, but it didn't feel a bit over 55; a firm believer in driving fast with he windows down and it was a great day for a drive.

There were no cars on the road. Small town life is easier lived than thought of, or so it seems. The radio was playing some old Tom Petty song and her fingers reacted accordingly on the steering wheel. She kept thinking how warm it was tonight and that in a mere hour she'd be clubbing it up with her girls. The thought of the binge nudged her curiosity. Where would she end up tonight? Oh, the possibilities.

The tire wobbled before it blew out and sent her car into the guard rail. The windshield cracked as the car spun around seemingly from nothing. The steering wheel pulled a hard left against her hard right and her wrist snapped. The spinning car gained speed before settling comfortably over an embankment and her mouth smacked the steering wheel as a conclusive kiss upon arriving to her surprising destination. She tasted blood and couldn't move her arm. The door opened and she rolled out.

Her thoughts first wandered to "I'm gonna be late to the club," before finally setting upon "Holy Fuck." She felt her teeth: All there. Her wrist wasn't so lucky. The bone etched its way through the skin. She clutched her forearm with her left hand and held the wrist in air. Blood trickled down her arm. She threw up on herself and worked her way from her knees to her feet.

The Mustang was busted. Candle Apple paint littered the side of the bank as she made her back up to toward the road. In an act of conceit, she brushed the dust from her jeans and shirt while sacrificing her comfort to a sharp pain emanating from her wrist. There was dust in the wound and it felt like a thousand small fires.

Two directions presented themselves to her as new found options: "The way I came or The way I'm heading."

Given her trip toward her destination wasn't really working out, she headed back towards town. It wasn't long before some kind stranger pulled up and offered her a ride to the hospital. She smiled then collapsed onto the ground.

She woke up surrounded by doctors. It seemed as if all was a split second dream that made no sense. Like any newly woke person, those few precious seconds that blend our dreams with reality felt so wonderful. And then of course, throbbing agonizing pain. Words were tossed around above her in the confusion: scalpal, parents, awake, hear, parents again. She was finally able to pick something coherent out of the barrage being hurled to her.

"Everything will be OK."

She was overcome by sleep immediately. She had no dreams, it was a state of black. If she was aware, then it was surely death to her. She awoke, not long it had seemed, to the news that she'd been asleep for days hailing from the mouth of a young nurse. A Doctor who smelled of cigarettes and stetson entered not long after to ask her some questions.

"Any family?"

None.

"friends?"

Not really. None that would care enough to come out.

"Boyfriend? Someone that could stay with you?"

No.

Three questions made her feel like the loneliest person in the world and it almost brought her to tears.

"Anyone that you could call?"

Maybe.

"We had to amputate your hand."

And the world stopped. She cried and screamed and struggled. The bed did not give, nor did the straps. She was now a freak and made to feel like one. A beautiful twenty something that had the world in her....well...."hands."

She'd been called superficial before. She brushed it off as being chatter from some jealous bitch out to steal her thunder. When she spoke, people listened. It's what being young and beautiful meant. She abused every second of it.

The usual questions came to mind in the moments after: Why me? Does god hate me? What did I do to deserve this?

"You're gonna be here for a little while, we need someone we can call to let em' know you're here. I promise, I'll take good care of you." He said, smiled, then left the room as if he'd delivered the line that would make everything ok.

She always thought doctors were smug but now she had her proof.

The next few days were difficult to say the least. The lacerations that were inscribed on her face were bothersome. She couldn't put her make up on. Her "girls" wanted pics, probably to discuss and pity among their clicks she thought. It was hard enough putting her makeup on. At least she still had her teeth.

Eating breakfast in her room, she noticed the wheelchairs and beds going down the hall. It helped pass the time, that and Oprah. Sometimes people would come to chat, she shooed them away in disgust. These were the lonely days. The best was yet to come.

I'll finish this later. I just had to write something.

Super 8 Review

When I was a kid, I used to watch a lot of horror movies. To some extent, I still do. However, the movies I watched and loved like "The Monster Squad," and "My Science Project" all had a team thing going on. They were kids uniting and fighting a greater threat but also sharing a bond, having that story to tell when we were older. After I moved back from Delaware, I didn't have a whole lot of friends to hang out with. I dove into those movies of that nature to fill the void of living in an excluded area.

"Super 8" is one of those movies that reminds me a lot of my childhood. They come around every so often, but given the nature of studios pumping out crap and torture porn in the Horror genre, you don't really get to see camaraderie all that much in film. A lot of people have tossed around examples of "Jaws" and "Close Encounters" as inspirations to the film. I honestly never got that vibe at any point in the film. Super 8 is much more "Monster Squad" and "Stand by Me" than anything. The story is more about the relationships of the kids than something sinister going after townspeople. While "Super 8" does have a neat looking monster and a nice twist on its sentience, it is not solely focused on that part of the story.

"Super 8" throws a lot of surprises in with a unique perspective on the lives of children. The story begins with a young boy named Joe on a swing set who has just lost his mother in an accident. You immediately get a sense of wonder about the child and understand his loneliness. His father, played by Kyle Chandler, seems a harsh and angry man due to the nature of his wife's death. After this point, you eventually meet Joe's friends who happen to be his one saving grace. All of his friends are characters in themselves, Charlie and Cary especially.

Charlie is my favorite. He's a wannabe film director and writer who was inspired by the classics such as "Night of the Living Dead" and "Halloween" much like myself. He really reminds me of me at times and his dialogue with Cary is a treasure. The scene at the table in the restaurant is classic and literally made me laugh out loud.

Then there's Alice. Elle Fanning, Dakota's very talented sister. I gotta say, the acting in the film was great, especially Alice's character. I thought all the kids were great but she really stood out. Dakota fanning has quite the reputation and is quite the accomplished actress herself but Elle looks to surpass her in many ways. She can carry a scene by herself, even at such a young age. It was quite amazing.

The turning point in the story involves a massive train wreck in which many of the previews have already given away. Yes, there's something on the train and it escapes. The creature itself is very unique. It has been abused by humans doesn't like them very much, its sole reason to survive is to get off this rock. It also uses the populous as the occasional snack. Although, I really do like the creature and effects, he's not the biggest part of the story. There's some disappointment there because you never really get the full "Alien vs. Army" vibe, although the creature does lay the smack down on some soldiers in a severely harsh way.

"Super 8" is a film that may not live up to the hype surrounding it. But that's not to say it's not a great film. I loved every second of it, but it really was made for a guy like me. It reminded me of all the times I spent fantasizing about being one of the characters fighting evil with my friends. Nostalgia is a very potent drug. I do recommend the film if you like Spielberg or Abrams, or want that "Stand by Me" feeling. Movies aren't made for that audience anymore, which is a shame, but those movies are persistent enough to remain a part of those that love them for many years. It helps pass the time until something like "Super 8" comes along.

8 of 10.