Or hate him. Actually, yes, I hate him and I don’t even know him. My roommate referred me to a name today spelled as “Armond White,” having looked at the 2% of critics who said The Wrestler, one of the best movies of 2008, wasn’t worth a fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Thus, we were introduced to the silly, Willy Wonka world of Armond White, a critic for the New York Press who apparently hates all things good and loves some of the worst movies ever made (like Norbit).

I won’t go on in great detail about Armond White, as it’s clear that much of the blogosphere already knows about this elitist idiot and have shown their distaste for him (perhaps stemming from his long diatribe about how movie bloggers are ruining movie criticism). Still, I’m amazed this guy has a job… hell, I’m amazed he even watches movies.

Listen… everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but the job of a professional movie critic is not to hold grudges against directors and writers and bash perfectly good films, but to tell the public which movies are good and which ones are not. That’s why professional movie critics are paid by newspapers; newspapers want readers, and readers want to know which movies are halfway decent. If there is even one reader who doesn’t go and see films like There Will Be Blood,  Atonement and The Wrestler and instead goes to see some of the not-so-good movies he tends to like, then that’s a travesty.

Having read a few of his reviews and articles, it is clear that he doesn’t have a sense of what a good movie is. Again, he’s entitled to his opinion, but read some of his reviews for perfectly good films – films that you like – and see what he has to say about them. He insults the actual intelligence of his readers (if there are any) and seems to be making up things as he goes along.

It’s also sad that a man can work as a professional movie critic and dislike so many of the movies he sees. To go through life having so much hatred for your work is just not a life I’d want to have.

And for that, for someone to be so ignorant to their own existence and so elitist to everyone else, I hate him having become aware of him only half an hour earlier.

It was Christmas last week, though one wouldn’t know it. In Seattle, we had record, if not at least near-record snowfalls over the last week and a half, essentially crippling the roads with snow and ice that most Seattle drivers have no clue how to handle. Hell, two buses nearly slid off a 50-foot drop-off onto Interstate 5, and another one jumped the curb and landed in someone’s back yard. Some drivers are only now able to get out of their homes to do daily chores.

So, when FedEx and UPS were unable to deliver their packages for a few days, I understood, even though the biggest holiday of the year was fast approaching. I live partway up a steep hill, and needless to say not a lot of people were driving on the hill much while there was a foot of snow and ice on the roads. People were driving here and there – including myself – but FedEx and UPS have some pretty wieldly trucks that probably just barely squeeze between the parked cars on either side on a dry day. So I understand the delays.

What I don’t understand is why UPS still hasn’t f**king delivered my most expensive package that was sent from New Jersey on December 17th. On December 19th, it was sent out for delivery, but returned due to “adverse weather conditions.” That’s fine. December 19th was a nightmare. So was December 20th. December 21st… not so much. December 22nd, a little worse, but not that bad. December 23rd, almost clear. December 24th, certainly driveable. The road two blocks from me was plowed. December 25th, completely driveable, the snow all but gone. December 26th – no snow. December 27th – no snow. December 28th – no snow. December 29th – it’s f**king 45 degrees out.

So, UPS, where… the… f**k… is… my… f**king… package?

This is absurd. FedEx started delivering to us on December 23rd. USPS only missed a day or two of deliveries the entire snow storm. Yet UPS, for some reason, is unable to haul their brown vehicles anywhere near my place, when in fact there hasn’t been any snow on the ground for over four days. Yet it still says adverse weather conditions.

What’s worse… I called them on Friday orSaturday and asked how I could pick up my package. I know it’s sitting in the South Seattle UPS center, yet they tell me I am unable to retrieve it. So UPS is unwilling to deliver it and I am unable to get it… what the f**k?

As you can tell, I’m pissed off. I’m pretty sure the UPS driver assigned to my neighborhood decided he or she wanted an extra week off around the holidays. I’ve heard stories of a FedEx driver parking at the bottom of our hill and calling people, saying if they wanted their packages they could walk down and get them. That’s awesome. Yet UPS can’t drive on dry roads to deliver my big Christmas present for my dad? What the hell?

They’re doing the same thing to my parents in Redmond, though granted there is more snow over there. Still, it’s flatter and just as driveable. Do we have to pay a ransom?

UPDATE: I did, of course, receive my package  – on December 31st (and my parents’ on January 2nd). Shortly after posting this blog, however, I did receive an email from UPS public relations offering some assistance, and at the very least showing that they are out listening to customer concerns. As a marketing guy who is responsible for PR at my company (no, not FilmJabber), I give UPS props for being fast to get out on the Internet and quell mean blog posts such as mine. Here’s the response I received from UPS:

While we’re used to working in bad weather during the holidays, every storm is different. We were making the best judgment we could on when it was safe to put our drivers on certain roads. Our package volume is much greater than our competitors during the holidays, which means that delivery delays affect a larger number of people. It’s my understanding that deliveries and local services in Seattle varied by neighborhoods due to the weather and road conditions.

I also received a letter in the mail from UPS today apologizing for the delays. While it was a form letter, I still respect their marketing efforts to tackle the public relations aspect of the fiasco.

I’m a pretty diehard Seahawks fan, but with the way the season has turned out this year, I’m glad I only ended up going to three games this year. I went to their first win, against the St. Louis Rams, and then to a close loss against our arch rivals, the Arizona Cardinals. And I went to today’s game, a snow-filled event that had everything going to the Jets favor, including:

1. It’s icy and snowy. Seattle isn’t used to such weather, while the Jets – and Favre especially – are.
2. The Seahawks had nothing to play for.
3. The Jets, tied with the Pats and the Dolphins, had everything to play for.
4. The Seahawks just aren’t that good.

Who would have thought that the Hawks would have held the Jets – and more importantly, Bret Favre – to only three points? The Seahawks ended up winning 13-3 in what is easily our best game of the season – not high scoring, but a battle against the only playoff contention team that we can now say we beat.

Football aside, I’m amazed that as many people showed up to the stadium as they did. Qwest Field was relatively crowded, despite the fact that we’ve had our worst season in years and the snow has been coming down nonstop for a couple days now. And most of you in other parts of the country may not realize this, but Seattle really does not get much snow at all. So when we do, even when it’s only a couple inches, the people here freak out – or drive in a way that’s not kosher for driving on snow. On Wednesday, the day that the weathermen predicted we would be hit with a “huge snow storm,” there was no snow. Yet, the very thought of snow kept literally half of the people out of the city that day. When snow hit the next day, no one showed up. And with extremely low temperatures for the area, another element we’re not used to for prolonged periods, the Seattle area has just been a mess – and it doesn’t look like things are going to get much better over the next couple of days. I honestly can’t recall the last time I saw this much snow in Seattle, and more is coming.

With that, enjoy the week, and Happy Hannukah! I’m not Jewish, but it starts Monday.

It’s no surprise that FilmJabber supports Barack Obama in his bid for Presidency, but if you’re 18-years or older, and an American citizen, you have a right and privilege to vote and should take advantage of such. Your vote does count (well, in some states more than others), and by not voting, you’re saying, “I don’t care.” Furthermore, you have no right to complain over the next four years regardless of your political leaning.

So vote today as this is one of the biggest elections ever to occur in this country. Our election does truly affect the world – not just the United States – and you have the chance to have a say in such a thing.

Of course, Obama is better. )

My friend Jessie forwarded me this video the other day, called the Sarah Palin Song. The video is basically two (very bad) singers serenading how ridiculous Sarah Palin is, and I tend to agree. Anyone who describes the Vice President’s job as “in charge of the Senate” (and no, not just to 3rd graders) and doesn’t believe the dinosaurs existed just shouldn’t be in any office of power. I wouldn’t have nearly as much of an issue with John McCain if he had picked another running mate, but since he went with the Republican token female who refuses to do interviews (though I don’t blame her after the Katie Couric incident), I couldn’t possibly vote for him: after all, the risk of him dying and Palin becoming the most powerful person in the world is just too great.

So come on, people. Vote for Obama. You may not agree with all his policies, but few would disagree that he’s a smart guy. I know that’s not enough to warrant becoming President, but even you Republicans have to be hesitant about a McCain/Palin presidency. Anyway, here’s the Sarah Palin Song:

An adamant John McCain supporter and recruiter was attacked recently by a 6′4 black man while getting cash at an ATM. This horrible black man, supposedly upset that this girl was stupid enough to vote for John McCain, etched a “B” into her cheek with a knife and told her that she was now a Barack Obama supporter. Of all the things to do!

Of course, police became suspicious after ATM video footage didn’t confirm her story – and the fact that the “B” was etched backwards on her cheek.

And, as it turns out, the 20-year old girl made it up, and while she’s not sure why she did it, she in fact carved the “B” into her own cheek, presumably in a mirror. Because if you weren’t looking in a mirror, how could you be so stupid as to carve the “B” backwards? Dumb ass.

This is just the latest race-related item to come up in this Presidential debate, which is as disturbing as it is funny.

In lighter news, watch George W. Bush endorse Governor Palin and John McCain on Saturday Night Live:

Despite Raffaello Follieri being sentenced to 4 1/2 years of prison, Anne Hathaway has said that the former couple is looking to rekindle their relationship. OK, not really, but I wanted to point out that Hathaway, as she must have realized by this point, has really bad taste in men. Sure, the guy could have been a druggie or a girlfriend beater (normally called wife beater, but that doesn’t really apply in this case), but a scam artist responsible for duping investors out of millions of dollars is almost as bad, no?

“I dishonored my family name and embarrassed the church I love. I’ll never be able to wash away that stain, and I will have to live with it the rest of my life,” he said in an AP interview. Yes, way to embarrass the church. Because the church can’t do that well enough on their own.

When do you think Anne Hathaway figured it out? When he started buying her elaborate gifts without having a real job? Or when he told her that he was the Vatican’s chief financial officer? Or when he showed her a letter written personally by John Paul II?

Or when the cops showed up at his door one day?

It’s OK, Anne. I’m available and ready, and I’m not that bad. But then again, maybe that disqualifies me.

Oh, Beyonce, how I loathe the. I’ve never been a fan of the smiling beauty and probably never will be, despite her being ridiculously hot and slightly younger than me. I don’t know why, but there’s something about her incessant need to smile – and her attempts at an acting career (I was not tricked by Dreamgirls like so many other people were) – that just drives me up a wall. And now… Sasha Fierce.

My frustration with Sasha Fierce does not have anything to do with Beyonce; it has to do with musicians choosing foolish names. Sure, authors change their names sometimes, but I’ve never understood that in most cases, either. Branding is important – and you don’t want to confuse your readers by doing a trashy romance followed by a murder mystery – but why, if you’re creating material for the world to read, would you not want people to know your real name, the name your mother gave to you, the name your friends know you by, the name your teachers will recognize and your fans know for eternity? The music industry takes this concept to a new extreme, as it seems almost wrong to use your real name. Again, I can understand if your name is Danza Krakenpoofheisen or something, but most people’s names are not that bad.

And now, Beyonce, for her new record, is calling herself Sasha Fierce. In fact, the title of the album is “I Am… Sasha Fierce.” Jesus Christ.

“I have someone else that takes over when it’s time for me to work and when I’m on stage, this alter ego that I’ve created that kind of protects me and who I really am,” Beyonce said in a Reuters interview. “Sasha Fierce is the fun, more sensual, more aggressive, more outspoken side and more glamorous side that comes out when I’m working and when I’m on the stage.”

I’m sorry, Beyonce, do you have a split personality? Do you have a serious psychological issue that compels an alter ego to get her day in the spotlight? And you do realize that Sasha is also a guy’s name, right? Stupid, stupid move. And slightly creepy.

Legendary actor Paul Newman has died at the age of 83 after a battle with cancer. And no, to those readers who haven’t appreciated my fake articles, this is no joke.

He had most lately been attached to a project to direct Of Mice and Men in the fall, but dropped that earlier this year for “unspecified health reasons.”

I just watched Cool Hand Luke the other day (review coming soon), but Newman is known for a lot more than just that film. I have to admit that, having grown up in the 1980’s, I really haven’t seen that many Paul Newman movies for some reason, but he’s always been considered one of the classiest and most respectable actors in the world… and that guy on the salad dressing bottles.

Anyway, I won’t drag on any long emotional thoughts as that’s not my thing – but it’s a sad thing to wake up to on this Saturday morning.

What a wonderful month September has been. I say that with all the enthusiasm, exciting and sincerity I can muster.

There have been successes. At work (no, not FilmJabber, but real work), I helped launch a new product and get a partnership off the ground. But the weeks leading up to it were busy. Real busy. I’m not complaining, as I love being behind on things because by being behind, I have no excuses to waste time or tinker around on the Internet. I put my head down and that’s that. At the same time, I don’t come up for air, and I just keep pushing, pushing and pushing some more.

Thank God my home computer – the computer I source my movie reviews, movie updates and everything FilmJabber related from – decided to go whacko on me months ago. Thank you, Lord, for giving man the knowledge of the computer and Internets, because only you know what animalistic monsters we would be without them. Thank you for creating devices that can work seamlessly for years and then decide one day to roll that big fat middle finger out and give their own the big “FU.” Hell, couldn’t mine have at least lasted a year?

For the record, I’m pretty good with computers, or at least I used to be. I can install my own parts and knew more than I should have about computers growing up thanks to a short-lived obsession with video games. Since I was little, I’ve never had serious computer issues. In fact, while my friends have pulled their hair out – and subsequently forced me to do the same as they turned to me for help – as their computers coughed, sputtered and clawed their way to destruction, my computers have always worked well. My latest, purchased and assembled only last year, continued that trend… until the beginning of the summer, when Vista or the hardware or something decided that karma had to come back around.

After months of on-and-off again problems that neither I nor my techie roommate could figure out, I finally gave in and made a deal with the devil: I decided to pay to get it fixed. Specifically, I took it into a store to get the battery checked. That turned into preliminary diagnostics, and then paid diagnostics. Paid diagnostics! Money! Crap. But slow down there, partner. You pay, they at least find the problem, right? Right! Wrong, biotch!

The tech guy spends two days “attempting” to find the problem, but his testing pretty much involves running a DVD and waiting for it to crash. He doesn’t see anything wrong, he tells me. Yes, I bet you do, you snarky bastard. The guy laughs about it and makes me sound like I’m some desperate idiot, and ignores my best efforts to explain that the guy who looked at initially was able to make the computer crash repeatedly within the first few minutes of looking at. Sixty dollars later and my computer is no more fixed, I’m pissed off and…

Oh, and I’m moving! In a rash decision, my roommate and I decide to upgrade apartments and move all our crap 15 miles from Bellevue to Seattle, Washington. The moving is pretty seamless, other than it taking longer than expected and us not being able to fit everything into the truck. Once all is said and done, and our friends are sitting in our apartment waiting to have some much deserved food, my roommate and I go to take the Uhaul back. The Uhaul dude, who clearly has nothing better to do than to waste our time, tells us that our attempts to refill the gas tank to its previous level was not good enough, and he sends us back out on the road to our second gas station in ten minutes. Son of a bitch.

To make matters worse, the next day, I wake up with a big, four-inch bite across my ribs and some pain to go with it. Over the course of the day, a headache develops, then a fever. By nighttime, my body aches all over, and by the time I climb into bed to sleep it off, I’m burning up real good and shaking like a supermodel in a hurricane, only a lot less pretty. When I wake up Tuesday morning, Peter Parker transformed I am not, but my alleged spider bite has spread, so now parts of my chest are pink and hard, but not in the muscular kind of way.

The brown recluse, some coworkers suggest, even though the brown recluse isn’t much around these parts. A tick, my mommy chimes in. Lyme disease, she warns, to look out for. I know it’s neither, but I go to the doctor anyway. By end of the week, things are fading, but the doctor, who barely looks at the bite and doesn’t have much of a clue about what attacked me, throws some antibiotics at it and sends me on my way.

Now I’m here, sitting on my floor because I don’t yet have a desk, watching Cool Hand Luke on my laptop while I lean uncomfortably against my bed frame to work on this desktop computer that could crash at anytime, writing this blog post to tell everything that I’ve returned and should pick up the pace with this movie blog. You can now rejoice and hold hands and hug and send praise, because the one true blog is back in action.

That is, at least, until I go to Cancun in two weeks.