So I finally saw Predators . . . .

. . . . my BFF Matthew was kind enough to go with me to see Predators, perhaps hoping (rather foolishly) that seeing Walton Goggins as a death-row rapist in a prison jumpsuit would somehow cure me of my love for him.

He could not have been more wrong if he tried.

I've been in Maine for just over a week, and I cannot cannot CANNOT stop thinking about Walton Goggins.  Maybe it's because one of the guys in my writing program looks like him.  Maybe I'm obsessed and need mental help.  But more than likely, it's because I miss watching The Shield with my boyfriend, Ian.  So when I think "Walton Goggins," I'm really thinking "Ian."  We saw AvP 2 on our 2-year anniversery, so it's always held kind of a special place in our relationship.

But anyway, back to Walton Goggins.  Predators was a collossal failure on all levels except the "Walton Goggins saying things that are awesome."  More than once during a faculty reading one has leaned over to the other and whispered, "when this residency is done, I am going to do so much cocaine," leaving the other one snorting and trying not to laugh out loud.

And once Walton Goggins met his inevitable fate, well, the movie may as well have been over for me.  And yet, I found myself wanting to watch it over and over again, like some sort of security blanket.  I go through these sorts of movie phases--when my ex-best-friend Catch was in London. I watched the "Big Fat Kill" section of Sin City over and over and over and over.  When I was living in Brooklyn and was lonely and miserable, I watched Sideways and thought of Mike.  When I was in Brewster pining for Ian behind my then-boyfriend's back, I watched the daffodil scene in Big Fish.  I don't know what it was about Predators that made me so actively long for another viewing.

But don't let my sentimentality and my love of Walton Goggins distract you from the fact that this movie sucked.

. . . . but even a WG-free screen had more redeeming value than the trailer for Scott Pilgram vs. The World

This is going to be simultaniously the best and the worst movie ever made in the history of anything.  It's a checklist of nerd fantasies in which the nerd gets to be the hero.  We have:
1) Michael Cera
2) Moderatly hot indie chick
3) Michael Cera plays in a band (sure he does)
4) Video Game sound effects
5) "Evil" ex-boyfriends
6) Matrix-style camera work
7) Jason Schwartzman

On the other hand, it also has Michael Cera getting punched in the face.

Michael Cera needs to stop.  He just needs to go to college and become a vet or do something other than play the exact same rube over and over.  It's sort of like that episode of Arrested Development where he takes the "Bring Your Daughter to Work Day" joke too far.  I'm sick of George-Michael and I'm sick of this generation that think that some mopey-eyed dope is what a girl wants in a guy.  I don't want to date some overgrown manchild who thinks that I will be impressed when he plays "Message in a Bottle" for me on Guitar Hero.  Amd I'm utterly disgusted by this need to "save" a girl from her "evil" ex-boyfriends.  I've dated plenty of jerks.  Mail me some pizza rolls and I'll give you their names and addresses.  But I'm not wowed by some desparate John Cusack wanna-be, and I certainly don't want to pay ten bucks to see one one the screen.

What all women want, what we really want is Walton Goggins yelling "Die, space faggot, die!"