It’s not often that a chance to see a film that is not on general release till the following week comes up, but courtesy of a random email arriving along with another set of mails asking if I pay too much for car insurance, the opportunity did indeed arise late on Friday night, ahead of the Halloween naughty that was to follow the next day.

It’s kind of like having an additional piece of knowledge which you can use against people and feel smug about, though only in the forums known as “pub quizzes” and also handy for writing occasional film reviews on a lowly blog site.

I’d better get onto the main subject of today’s review before it goes past its Due Date (see what I did there, har har har etc…..I live alone.)

There are two main characters we pretend to care about in this story of woe across the wonderful Disneyland of America, Robert Downey baby, who has enjoyed a great deal of deserved success since his comeback from being on the single female lawyer show, Ally Mcbeal, and a bloke with accompanying beard called Zach Galifianakis, who we last saw as a bloke with accompanying beard in the film The Hangover, in which various drunks tried to replay what happened during a night out in Vegas after loosing the groom.

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Tonight, I find myself staying in away from the depths of society, in favour of more blowing up of digital make believe people and then watching hard core erotic episodes of “Location, Location, Location”. The only reason is that this weekend falls one of the most pointless events of the year, Halloween. Now before I’m condemned as being a witch and burned at the stake, let me explain.

Halloween is yet another one of those wonderful events where the various enterprises of the world can make some extra money out of something which doesn’t even really matter, like Valentine’s Day or No Pants Day, a holiday I celebrate every day in the privacy of my local supermarket. What is surprising is that there are a lot of people more than happy to indulge in such things.

For most Halloween is an excuse to “trick or treat” (the trick being your house being egged), wearing costumes (bin liners) and attending some “well to do” tw*t’s party in said attire where you basically do the same thing as you would any other day of the week. Well perhaps with the exception of apple bobbing, in which case you find out which of the drunk women are what we call “gifted.”

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Regretfully this is not really a reference to the film that came out earlier in the year, though perhaps after reading this, you would find a zombie outbreak to come as a welcome relief. We humans (and semi-related species) are social animals, and slowly we wait for the weekend, working in various offices or call centers, clock-watching so that we can hit the streets, the booze and then afterwards, hit each other.

Oh, and also attractive people drink so they can do naughty due to being scared of letting themselves go while sober. Ugly people drink to forget that they can’t do naughty with attractive people.

One of the most popular locations to achieve the above list is something called a nightclub. Many places around the world often have a variety of nightclubs, all with wonderful names such as Yates, Sound, Plate, Andrex, Spam, Tampon and Ball Sack to name a few of the famous ones. Read the rest of this entry »

After some conversation with random people tonight out in town, you may begin to wonder if Facebook really was a good thing after all. After all, what started out in 2004 as someone’s idea of connecting with people has pretty much become the global standard when it comes to writing crap about what you’ve wiped out of your ass, if you’ve eaten recently or play endless amounts of games or “time sponges” designed to keep you from doing anything else on this earth.

Hell, the damn things got a movie out about it all now, called the “Social Network” staring the bloke from Zombieland, trying to sound tough, but all the while coming across as “please mister, don’t take my lunch money and break my ribs.”

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I suppose that it’s been a while since I created what is known in the blogging business as a “filler post”, a post where you just link to some god awful piece of crap that someone said would be funny, but they neglected to say “funny only if you’re brain damaged.”

Given the fact that Ooh Sometimes has seen more than it’s fair share of activity recently with new words of woe, it didn’t seem right that just some last minute thing was thrown together with the intent of just filling space. If I wanted to fill empty space, I’d just eat more until the inevitable stomach clamping operation.

However dear friends, on this dark and deadly Wednesday evening, having established by simply walking outside that winter has finally made its way into our souls, goats and long coats, something light and airy was required.

Today, while pondering why my socially awkward doctor called for the 18th time stating that he needs to perform a rectal examination on me, a fellow human being pointed me in the direction of some new music. Well I say new, it’s in fact a different musical slant on established favourites, such as Ace of Spades, Walk this way and probably at some point, “the wheels on the bus goes round and round”, which will end up in your head all day long.

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I have always been a PC man. Not a politically correct man, my views on clubbing baby seals and using the Japanese as toothpicks are well documented, as the pending lawsuits from the RSPCA and Japan will attest to.

The Personal Computer as it stands is a cornerstone in my daily life, from stalking ladies on Facebook without their knowledge, to shooting 10 year olds in the non-face with make believe weapons.

When not pondering why I’ve had sh*ts bigger than what supermarket’s idea of food portions for one person seem to be, I’ve tried before to get into the whole game console thing with the loan of an Xbox 360 “Arcade” (which still is wallowing in my sub-basement of solitude as a footrest) and the whole social scene, playing Call of pew-pew and seeing what ways I could waste precious life seconds with.

All the while I was scuppered by paying 5 British wing-wangs a month for the Xbox Live Gold service in order to play against others at all, no hard drive which meant I could download very little content out of the box and practically everything which might be a fun feature, required payment or a lung, whichever was cheaper. What was worse there was no “cancel subscription” button anywhere so the time I spent on the phone to Microsoft in order to cancel my Live subscription on the phone was another indication of how hard things were made for no real reason. Why?

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During a lull in the daily celebrations by the masses of all that is related to the Lord of Leisure, I wandered over to the local Starbucks for a latte and an ogle at the local student population that happens to pass by. Set aside the fact that there are Starbucks outlets every 300 metres so now you can actually use the phrase “local Starbucks” and it would be sadly accurate.

To begin with, the reason why was that pretty much most of the day had been spent up to that point wallowing in my own filth, discovering Doritos left under the toilet and fighting with mice for control of the last pair of clean underpants. I had to get out back into society, if only to restore some semblance of higher brain activity.

After I wandered like a hob selling the Big Issue and ordered my coffee suppository, I had noticed something peculiar about today’s inhabitants of the coffee slaughterhouse.

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Ignorance is a state of being uninformed, as the nice dictionary way would put it across, what it really means is that you don’t know about something and because of that you are thick.

At least that’s how I feel most of the time with conversations about reality TV shows such as the Apprentice where some people want a highly paid job and jump through hoops for our amusement while Sir Alan’s sugar is sniffed from a table close by.

Just by listening to people talk about such matters, I feel I don’t have to even watch, which given my full timetable of eating toenail clippings and drive-by floggings, is only a good thing. I can only imagine the horrors behind shows like “Britain’s got carrots”, or “I’m a poor bloke, pay me money to stay in a jungle”, and yet all the while there is the stench that’s rising due to the public appetite for such lies, treachery and deceit.

It’s only a matter of time before our own lives are broadcast for all to see, on the new SKY ULTRA SUPER HD 1,000,000,000 channel system. For now, that’s just done on Facebook.

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There are certain things in life which are awkward. Asking a girl out for the first time, discussing the birds and the bees with the folks, explaining why the cat exploded and so on. And then there’s going to the Apple Store.

Ok, it’s not anything that in the grand scheme of things really gets to the nub of human experiences, the truth behind why we are here and what have you, but given the fact that people are talking about vapid things such as X faxing, who is sleeping with whom and how much dribble they’ve wiped from their mouths, I guess this is still one level over.

The old IPod I owned which was about 5 years old finally developed one fault too far, the headphone socket had come loose somehow, which meant the sound only came from the left headphone. Oh dear god, think of the children stuff, you”ll all agree.

But there was the off chance it could be repaired and therefore save a fair bit of the green which makes the world go round, and therefore the decision was made to make my way to the temple of Steve Jobs to prey for forgiveness and hope the lord found it within his heart to not overcharge for a fix.

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