The Pursuit of Happyness (sic) is out on DVD this week. I saw this movie at the theater fourteen times. It was that awesome. Here's my review and summary:

Review: Awesome.

Summary: Will Smith plays a black man who needs a job and a shave. He is wicked smart, as he can figure out puzzles that white men with mad cash cannot figure out. How 'bout them apples?! Smith is believable as a black guy, and I imagine (know) there's quite a bit of Oscar talk because of it. Smith is followed around throughout this movie by a black Vern Troyer; this was really funny as it reminded me of Austin Powers 3 or Octovagina or whatever that great movie was called. The midget shadow is the foil for all of Smith's wild antics. One time, in a bathroom, Smith pretends he's poor and homeless, and the midget just sits there sulking like he's affected by the predicament in some sort of way. You can almost hear Smith chuckling to himself: sucka! You could definitely hear me chuckling if you happened to catch this film (and that's really what it is: a film) at the Regal Cinemas out in Mt. Pleasant during the month of January (the matinee, of course). Anywho, Smith has offers to be a Major League Baseball player and an NFL wide receiver, but he declines in what becomes one of this films' pivotal, Oscar-buzzy moments. The scene:

Int. Rich White Man's office, cigar smoke billowing about, Rich White Man talks through his teeth like a country club president, cigar in mouth.

RWM: So whaddya say, boy? A starting pitcher for the Hoboken Zephyrs and - I said and - a wide receiver for the Poughkeepsie Pigskinners? Hmmm? Hmmm?

Smith: I got dreams, sir. And a midget. Don't take this the wrong way, but not in a bugazillion years! And, by the way, I'd sell that Hoboken team while the selling's hot.

RWM: What was that, son?

Smith: A midget?

RWM: No, after that.

Smith: Bugazillion years?

RWM: No, after that.

Smith: Hotdogs?

RWM: No! You never even said that. The other thing!

Smith: You should sell the -

RWM: Sell the Poughkeepsie Pigskinners! Exactly!

Smith: Really?

RWM: Yeah, and that gives me an idea . . . to sell the Poughkeepsie Pigskinners!

Smith touching his fingers together like an evil Montgomery Burns before he says something like "Egggggselent".

Smith: Innnnnteresting.

You can pretty much hand Will Smith the Oscar for that scene. It's like when Tommie Smith and John Carlos gave the fist to the Olympics. Like when Rosa Parks wouldn't give up her seat. Like when Coca-Cola made that ad talking about moments like these.

After that scene, Will Smith returns to his Hooverville lean-to to let his sidekick hear the bad news. When he gets there, however, the sidekick is meeting with Big Wigs from a huge banking conglomerate. The papers were already signed. A loan. A mansion. A corner office. A golden parachute. Cut to Bernie Mack skimming Will Smith's pool. Will Smith sips on a lemonade under an umbrella. The midget is beside him on the same chaise, and with eyes closed, head pointed to the sun, the midget says, "We got it all now, Pops." Pregnant pause . . . and Will Smith says, "Easy Street never met a black man it didn't like." Tears roll down Bernie Mack's face. Fade to Oscars.

In other words, buy this DVD. And then live this DVD.

Other news: What's up with this Bisketball Tourney? Go Hoyas! (Talk about your Pulitzers!)

I was just forwarded an article from The Times about an ascetic, if not ridiculous, couple. They are trying to produce no trash for a year. They eat nothing that comes from outside a 250-mile radius. They are not using elevators, cars, trains or airplanes. They are not using a dishwasher or microwave. And, most notably, they are not using toilet paper. But are they using their brains? I don't know, but I imagine the people who sit next to them at work may have an answer. And I imagine the skids in their undies might have an answer, as well. Here's that article. And here is the guy's blog. Of course he has a book deal, silly!

Let me just add a little something to that. Couples like this give a bad name to eco-friendly living. They'll become fodder for people like Jerry Falwell who believe Global Warming is a myth created by kooks. The same kooks who wipe their asses with their hands. We are smart enough, and resourceful enough, to devise a way of living that resembles the 21st century more than it does the 17th. The answer is not in throwing out our microwaves, the answer is creating a better microwave. The same can be said for the car. I'm not saying we shouldn't walk more, or ride our bikes more, I'm just saying that the ideas behind some of our "technological advances" aren't bad ideas. They just haven't been updated. And updating doesn't mean unplugging.

Green building is a step in the right direction. And that's all we can ask right now - a step. It'll be much easier to get the building sector to conform to new standards, standards that in the end benefit homeowners, than to get the masses to walk around with crusty asses. People don't want to sacrifice; people are lazy. That's why, where you can, you make the sacrifices for them. Most people will never know their bamboo floors are rapidly renewable. Most people will never know their walls are made of recycled content. That's the point. And it won't matter anyway. In the near future, it will be the only thing available to them (or at least it should be). The point is we can't trust an uneducated populace to make educated decisions. No Impact Man isn't the problem - and anyone who might be influenced by him isn't the problem. They'll get it sooner or later. The problem is with everyone else. God, I just sounded like a blowhard. Somebody get me Jello shot.

Speaking of the uneducated: the legislature in SC has been using its lottery money, which many thought would go to scholarships to keep bright kids in our state schools thereby improving our state schools, to repair the oldest fleet of school buses in the nation. Why? Because in SC we don't include education in our budget. This is where you could insert your joke about how we can't do the math or something. But the truth, at least a large part of it, is because the people coming up with the budget can afford to send their kids to private schools. And they can certainly afford to give their kids an SUV to drive to school. So why should we care about pouring money into our education system? We're on a golden road to success. And we're certainly not the butt of anyone's joke.

In other school-related news, Rameses, the UNC mascot, dies along with The Heels' dreams of another championship. R.I.P.

I'm sure you've seen the Duke rap by now, but it bears another play. It's really well done. Pro. And the line about them even sucking at rape is hilarious. Here ya go, again: Dook Sucks!

Apparently there's an article in some New York puplication covering the nation's hatred for all things Duke, but I can't locate it. Instead, here are some teams in this year's Madness, including Duke, that are easy to hate: Booo Devils!

Go Hoyas! You're my only chance at winning the pool.

A side note: What's up with John Edwards' wife always getting the cancer while he's campaigning? I'm not saying . . . I'm just saying . . .

And I smell a wonderful vehicle for Samuel L. Jackson, Cuba Gooding, Jr. and Michelle Pfeiffer. Can't wait for the Tupac soundtrack!

And a mix to take you into the weekend . . . a little early.

So this jerkoff friend of mine in (this is where you dust off your Pace Picante Sauce accent) New York City sent me a great link about the best bus monitor ever. The title of the piece is, brace yourself, Mointor Used Fists of Fury to Punish Children. I needn't say more, but I have to attach this from the piece just in case you're tool lazy to click the link. They saved the best for last, though I also love #5 . . .

New York City Department of Education records of 2006 and 2005 investigations show dozens of substantiated cases of rude, nasty and careless behavior by school bus drivers and monitors:

1. Monitor sits on elementary schoolkids when they misbehave
2. Driver urinates on the sidewalk in front of a bus full of children
3. Driver calls one student a "retarded Jamaican," another a "retarded Puerto Rican," makes fun of third student's weight, telling him he has "the biggest forehead and double chin in the world"
4. Driver gets lost for five hours on way to the Bronx Zoo, leading to cancellation of the outing
5. Driver falls asleep, then tests positive for cocaine
6. Driver tries to steal student's coat during field trip
7. Driver and monitor take photos of children showing their underwear
8. Driver oversleeps, so he picks up his students with his own car, until the bus company brings him his bus
9. Driver screams epithets into a cell phone while driving
10. Driver leaves idling bus full of children unattended, allowing an elementary schoolboy to rev the engine
11. Driver offers elementary school kids cigarettes
12. Monitor punches, pins to the floor and curses at elementary school student, then tells him: "I will murder you."

I pretty much spent the weekend driving to a bachelor party in Chapel Hill only to pass out after being there for a mere nine hours. Yeah, I got mad skills. When I was awake, I did catch some basketball, enough of it to see my brackets limp into the Sweet 16. Congrats to Vandy. And damn you, Xavier. It was in your hands.

I woke up to my roommate throwing up. More than likely, a mixture of Jager Bombs and semen. He didn't deserve that. Bri, if you're out there, you didn't deserve that, dude.

Even though I'm hanging out in 80 degree weather, I feel like I'm still driving back to Charleston. That drive blew. The other big thing that happened this weekend is that I became single again for the tenth time in as many years. And you wonder where all my Keller's Kards inspiration comes from. It all started with a fight, and as you can imagine, I handled it like the mature guy I am. Anyway, we've said our "sorrys" (mostly mine) and we're limping, like my brackets, into the unknown. Where we end up is anyone's guess, though I do have an opinion on the matter. The one thing that's already changed is that I've finally started running again. By the way, six months off does not hook your lungs up. So here ya go, guys: my heartbreaking work of stammering idiocy . . .

Update!! First, pitchfork dry humps James Murphy to death. Second, that missing Boy Scout was found half a mile from his campsite. So did the search and rescue team not think about using the ole "call out his name" technique? Seriously, this is like an episode of that terrible show, Without a Trace. They send choppers all over the place, and CNN rolls in asking the question that's on everyone's lips, "Where could the Boy Scout be?" Turns out, he was taking a leak or something. Hey, I'll be in the library tomorrow for a few hours . . . you guys don't go searching for me now. Ugh.

Now back to that heartbreaking work . . .

What can you do?

So I was one for three with my idol predictions. Those other two are next in line, though. It'll come down to the black women, as I said last week. Anyway, I'm going to see my biography tonight, so I'll give you a review on Monday - filled with spoilers. I thought it only appropriate to start today's playlist off with a little movie magic . . .

Say goodbye to Antonella and Haley, or whatever Simon calls her. Vinit, the Michael Jackson stunt double, will probably be heading home too.

There's really no other news here folks. But you can check out the latest website I'm involved with: One Cool Blow.

If you're into green building and green living . . . and you live in the greater Charleston area, this place is for you. It's only a mile from the Charleston Rifle Club, which is a huge selling point (as if the building itself weren't enough).

It really makes you think about all of those Phase Umpteen developments out there. They are truly ruining the way we live. Suburbia. Damn you. You've heard of snow jobs, well, what those behemoths on the outskirts of town give you is a mulch job. They blow the stuff over all of their imperfections, hoping you won't notice that their building will crumble in ten years. That you can punch a hole into your neighbor's living room. That you have two operable windows. It's cheap. All of it. Except for the granite countertops. They suckered you in with that. And the mulch beds. Sucker.

Update!! How did I miss this: Blog Against Sexism Day! Y'all, I am so against being sexy. Being sexy is just asking for trouble. One time I was being sexy and my Cub Scout leader gagged me with my bandana and had his way with me. This was before the proliferation of digital recorders, so it wasn't documented, per se. My pictures of the event remain crystal clear. I built a birdfeeder out of a pine cone and sauntered all sexy-like up to the front of the cabin to show off my craftsmanship. That's when our troop leader asked me to show him how I did it, but he didn't want anyone else stealing my ideas, so he suggested I show him in the closet. When I followed him in there, he wasn't at all interested in my pine-cone-to-bird-feeder methods; he was interested in my sexy ways. He said, "You're so sexy. And your bottom is so pure." I cried a bit at first, but that stopped when he told me I'd earn that elusive knot-tying badge if I held back the tears. Who doesn't want that badge?! Anyway, the blue and gold bandana stopped me from yelling, and the promise of the badge dried my eyes. Turns out I never got that badge. Something about "it wouldn't be fair to the boys who know how to tie knots". At that point, being sexy didn't seem like something I wanted to be anymore, so I stopped being sexy. Today, I am a non-sexy manchild who doesn't know how to tie a bowline knot, and I am loving every minute of it. I am so against sexism. And I am here to blog about it.

If you ever get the chance to join the Charleston Rifle Club, jump on it. That place is a portal into 1948. Plus, the bowling lanes are in mint condition. Honestly, it would make for a fabulous documentary. I bowl in a league every Tuesday night with a bunch of men who bitch and moan about AARP. I'd say three hips are broken, on average, every season. Chain smoking Pall Malls isn't mandatory, but it cetainly helps your chances of being accepted. And for you ladies out there, you're free to join the Women's Auxiliary so long as your husband or father is a member of the club. I'll have to take a digital camera next week to share the magic with you.

Captain America, R.I.P. The symbolism is blinding.

Two Corvette dealerships are loving it right about now. I want one in cherry red glitter with a whale tail that shoots out oil like in Spy Hunter.

Are American women too tired for sex? I don't know, but American preteens are definitely not.

If you haven't noticed, I'm all about this playlist thing. I'll settle down to one per week in the future. Maybe some sort of theme. Until that day, enjoy the tunes . . .

This IMEEM thing is pretty sweet. I'm sure it can violate some copyright laws, but until then enjoy some more tunes while you check your email. That means you, Chad. Did you write that Verizon Wireless radio spot with the surfer dudes? It had me in stitches! Seriously, I slit my throat and needed 78 stitches. What the fuck is going on there? Still haven't fired anyone, I guess. Oh well.

Does anyone know when the women's bball tourney starts? I can't wait!

Even with an 8.1 from pitchfork, Amon Tobin could certainly be more fortunate. Why? He's on there today with Arcade Fire (their new album, Neon Bible, got an 8.4). In other words, his album and pretty much everything else will be buried. I mean, it's Arcade Fire, people. Does anything else matter? Did you read the article in the Times magazine yesterday? They smoke a bit of the pole, too. All aboard.

So, here, Amon. We haven't forgotten about you. Who are you again?

Anyway, there are other bands out there right now. And even a few songs worth 99 cents! That Hot Chip remix of "In the Morning" is sick with a "ph". If you get a chance to download it, do so. Til then, here are a few songs to keep your cubicle crankincle.

Latah, Keller