Clive Owen, Isla Fischer, and Jason be damned.

Current mood: drained I know I have few worthwhile qualities, but film criticism seems to be one of them. Add unemployment to the mix, my oxygen consumption should be considered felonious if I do not use the only thing I have going for me right now. As my fate seemingly dictates (according to the Jet Li classic "Tai Chi Master"), it is not currently an act to partake in. February has usually been an off month, and this year follows in that trend. Yes, I have not seen "The Wrestler" or "The Reader", but it is quite difficult to find a place within reasonable proximity to Peoria to catch a 2'ish showing of either one. Happy hour is reserved for the Stat Boy Hour on ESPN. Perhaps the date is truly unlucky because film criticism is proving quite difficult since nothing worthwhile is opening. My "Friday the 13th" blog from last week would be considered hypocritical if I was to see the film. "The International" attacks my almost religious faith in hoping for the return of responsible capitalism, and "Shopaholic" is an emasculating scare. So how can one find a cheap replacement for the emotionally bankrupt offerings from ***Southern California this week? And be clever about it? ***May this statement not reflect poorly on the adult film industry. That Aurora Snow has heart. With some of her scenes, I can swear that I've literally seen it. Hopefully you followed my public service announcement last week, and resisted going to see the new "Jason". Now I hope I can provide you with some encouraging of the abuse of fine British thespians. Read the rest of this blog and other stories at Main Event of the Dead.com and determine if this thought process can be translated into a B-movie comedy about pro-wrestling zombies.