There comes a time in a man's life where he asks himself, "What the fuck am I doing?"

For me, that moment was over the last two weeks. Some of you that read this here page, and are also friends of mine via Facebook and MySpace may have noticed your friend list became a little smaller and couldn't pinpoint where or why.

It's because I had one of those moments. It's something I struggled with for a while. I'd ask myself, "What's the purpose of this shrine to myself?" And I could never come up with a reasonable explanation.

Sure, I was using Facebook as a way to promote my articles on Bleacher Report. And I had both MySpace and Facebook under the guise of being the only way I could remain in touch with old friends from high school and years past.

Then I realized there must be a reason we all stopped talking and never hang out. It's never personal—we really just don't care to, right?

It may seem very emotional of me, but I realized I wasn't making the effort to call friends and see what's up because their Facebook news feed was doing all the work a conversation would do.

No need for me to call someone and ask, "Hey, have you spoken to so&so lately?"

It's unnecessary when the Wall-to-Wall of their most recent conversation is in the middle of my page. Status updates tell me your exact mood, and new pictures tell me what you've been up to... so what the fuck do we really have to talk about?

Aside from that, I honestly felt dumb having one of those pages. I'd see the way some of my peers behaved, and I was ashamed that I knew them. Either you're too emotional with some morbid screen name on MySpace, or you're inviting me to add a ridiculous application on Facebook. No fuckin' thanks.

I kinda hate you now.

I'm also not feeling the whole "friend because of familiarity" thing. Don't know what I mean? It's that person you don't really know, but they send you a "friend" request online.

It's pretty presumptuous.

Yeah, I just saw you in the company cafeteria, and gave you the same vapid head nod, smirk, and acknowledgment I give to everyone. That doesn't make us friends. It makes me cordial, and makes you weird.

Truth is, I realized I can't trust everyone that has a little bit of familiarity with me. Who knows when one of you might try and copy and paste something I write to get me in trouble, right? Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Anyhow, at the end of the day I realized that I was too anti-social and pompous to really keep up with my friends on their own personal shrines. It's not that I don't care about them—it's that it's not really me. Not anymore.

Instead... I blog.

Holler.

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All my years of chuckling at people's misfortune with their 360 consoles have come to a dramatic end. My precious Xbox 360 is no more. Well, at least for the next 4 to 6 weeks.

It all started on Monday. I received Battlefield: Bad Company from GameFly.com and couldn't get beyond the first level. It wasn't because the game was immensely difficult, but because my console kept freezing during the cut scenes.

It was the first time my 360 had ever done anything of the sort, so I immediately blamed the game, reported a problem with GameFly, and sent it back.

But then it continued.

She was giving me problems last night when I wanted to play Madden. The game would freeze, lines would appear across my screen, and my controller would lock up. Eventually, I stood the console up vertically in an effort to provide her with more circulation.

Little did I know, that would be her last stand.

Early this afternoon, the vibrant green that once illuminated her face would leave her eyes for all eternity. And it would be replaced by nothing but Microsoft's demon red, blinking at me maliciously—taunting me, as if saying, "Love doesn't live here anymore."

After a series of about three re-boots and some miscellaneous troubleshooting tactics, I had to call the coroner at Microsoft.

My coffin will arrive in 3-to-5 business days.

What hurts most is that this 360 was purchased in January as a preemptive strike against the tyranny of faulty consoles!

I had been a proud Xbox owner since March of 2007. The first was a used system I found on eBay. And she was also a trooper.

But as 2008 approached, she seemed to be losing some steam. She would make too much noise when I turned her on. That's not supposed to be a bad thing, but in the world of technology it's an omen of death.

Since I was only the adoptive father of that 360, I figured I'd sell her to Gamestop for $150, and use that towards a replacement console. A new, and improved console. An Xbox that weighed less, and had more places to insert cables.

Damn, it's really way too easy to make this thing sound sexual.

Anyway, the new Xbox had an input to support an HDMI cable. And most importantly, a new 65nm Falcon chip that was supposed to prevent this very system failure.

Don't I feel stupid now.

Thank the Lord for my sleek, precious Playstation 3 and copy of Madden NFL 09. Sony better release Home fast if they want to make me completely forget that I own a 360.

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"Baby," I whispered to my girlfriend. "This movie is fucking boring," as she she rolled her eyes and nodded her head in agreement.

"Sorry."

What else could I do but apologize? She treated me to the movie. I had to seek her forgiveness. It was $24 terribly spent.

What's worse is that I should've known better. I fancy myself a movie buff that can normally detect when something is going to be terrible.

But with Righteous Kill, I intentionally ignored the critics beforehand. I believed they they wouldn't get it, anyway, because the critics rarely do. And then I bought into the hype from my peers with their, "This is what we've been waiting to see!" excitement.

Most importantly, I ignored my own judgment and instincts. I ignored all of the signals from the moment this movie was announced to when the first trailer appeared online. I tried to weigh the good with the bad, and ultimately, I went with what I knew would justify my decision to see this movie.

Writer is responsible for Inside Man?
Okay. I liked that movie.

Who else is in it? John Leguizamo?
Oh no.

Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson?
Fuck!

Director was also the producer for The Mighty Ducks franchise?
Now we're getting somewhere!

But it wasn't too far.

What I experienced for nearly two hours was one of the most terribly written, and poorly directed films with the most uninspired acting this side of a porno flick. Maybe that's unfair. The people involved in porno flicks at least know what they're doing.

This movie fucked us in a different way.

Righteous Kill plays as if Jon Avnet asked Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino to act out scrapped lines from their previous movies. What the hell, right? They're two of the most beloved actors of the last 50 years, so there's nothing wrong with letting them be them.

That's the line of thinking that made me look forward to seeing this. Heat was a tease. I wanted to see Al and Bobby on screen together for an entire movie, and that's exactly what Righteous Kill promised.

And now I wish it was left to my imagination.

The ending of the movie was ridiculously predictable. It's a familiar role for Pacino since we saw him do it in The Devil's Advocate and The Recruit. He plays your friend for an entire movie—until his ulterior motives unfold in the climax.

I expected better.

When I first saw the trailer, it was obvious that Pacino would be the "bad guy." But I wanted to pretend that the predictability was intentional, and I'd be thrown for a nice twist. I mean, why give it away in the trailer? The producers were trying to pull a fast one on me!

That's what I get for placing my faith in Hollywood.

What I watched was a movie that took itself too seriously, as if it were expecting to give me the suspenseful twist of all twists. Russel Gewirtz threw a nice curve ball in Inside Man, so I had some expectations. This time he let his balls hang out and tea-bagged everyone that was looking forward to something clever.

What I actually received was a few laughs with my girl as DeNiro chased Pacino through an abandoned warehouse. Seriously, these guys are pushing 70.

Was that supposed to be suspenseful? No camera trick is ever going to lead me to believe that these elderly cops were running like the wind, and swiftly jumping off 10-foot landings. In fact, no logical story would lead me to believe that two guys with over thirty years on the job, and in their mid-60's wouldn't have retired ten years prior.

Coincidentally, that's probably the last window of opportunity for a movie like this, with those two actors to have been made.

Which reminds me—the workout montage was ridiculous. Pacino and DeNiro doing their Rocky Balboa impressions in the police gym made me wish I had to go to the bathroom. Any excuse to not watch that.

You see, but it's not like DeNiro and Pacino didn't try. They really made an effort to sell their chemistry, and make us believe they were long-time friends. But they were given nothing to work with; only a one-dimensional character for DeNiro, predictability for Pacino, and horror from 50 Cent and Leguizamo.

So thank you, Jon Avnet. Thanks a million, Millenium Films.

You successfully built people's expectations up, just to kick us in the nuts and run away with the money. You decided to let your two stars drive this film, and gave us shlock in return.

You've ruined a legacy that film-lovers have held sacred for decades.

You've broken my heart.

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Steven Seagal was at the Best Buy a block and a half away from my job today. That may not mean anything to you, but this is Steven-fucking-Seagal I'm talking about.

This is the man that'll do a 90-minute action movie, and maybe get hit once. The man whose one facial expression can detail sympathy, disappointment, amusement, and homicide.

And I missed him.

I walked past Best Buy this morning on my way to work, and Best Buy workers were handing out cards and muttering something about a celebrity in-store. I wasn't listening.

It was 7:30, dammit.

Besides, it's Best Buy. I figured it'd be some cast-off from some reality show I don't watch.

My arrogance forced me to lose an opportunity to see one of my childhood heroes. While other children watched Fraggle Rock, I was watching Marked for Death.

While my peers sang the song that never ends, I quoted Steven Seagal.

I know you're a scumbag and a puke; I don't mind that. But give me what I need and I'll leave here a nice guy. If you don't—I'm gonna fuck you up.

This is a very sad day in the world of Angel Navedo. Appreciation in advance to those of you who will offer your deepest sympathies for me and my troubles.

If not, here's my keyboard. Fair game now, ok? This is your trophy! Come and get it!

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I spent a lot of time immersed in the independent Hip-Hop scene here in New York.

Over the years I met and networked with a few NYC-based rappers. Everything from casual meetings at a show, to actual time spent in their home, building on music, recording, sharing ideas, etc.

Every single person I met was incredibly cool. I walked away from every meeting thinking, "Wow! What a great guy!"

And that's how it should be. People need to be treated with decency, right?

Let me take a minute to name drop. Immortal Technique was a staple in the grimy Hip-Hop bars in lower Manhattan. When he was selling Revolutionary, Vol. 2 out of his backpack, I bought a copy off him at the Bowery Poetry Club.

We spoke for a minute, he was immensely humble, funny, cordial, and all of the pleasant et ceteras.

And then he hit the stage, and the show began.

If you've ever seen the man perform live, you already know that you'd be hard-pressed to find a more animated and intense MC on any stage. That ferocity of his is what contributed to the reputation he carries to this day. He's an angry, growling dude that's looking for a reason to unload an AK-47, right?

I don't understand why his musical approach doesn't embrace the other aspect to his personality that I witnessed. Human beings are not one-dimensional, so we shouldn't expect our artists and musicians to be as well.

I don't want someone to personify any of society's generalizations. I want to hear music from an artist that can capture the inconsistencies of the human spirit. The angry, aggressive music has it's place. But I know that it's not accurate every single day. Show me the friendly side of life.

Why they refuse to show this aspect of their personalities in their music is beyond me.

Actually, it's really not. It's the nature of the industry. I suppose I should understand it.

I can rhyme my ass off. I've had verses where I flipped the tough talk very well. It's a fun thing to do. And honestly, it's fairly easy. A lot of lines write themselves when that's the approach.

It's not like I ever lied, though. I never claimed any murders. I portrayed myself as the man that I am—a nice guy that knows what he's about if pushed unreasonably. That's not an attempt at being gangsta at all; it's an aspect of who I am.

I've recorded songs showcasing my humor and sarcasm to off-set the tough talk. I never wanted to be portrayed as one-dimensional. I mean, c'mon... I confessed my love for Mean Girls and Harry Potter books in one verse.

But what hurts is most fans of independent music found these artists because of their exhaustion with the fallacies in the mainstream. One quick glance around the independent scene and there's just as much fraudulence.

One look around message boards and you'll find fans getting excited over some independent rapper rhyming about drugs and murder. And they'll justify their love with something along the lines of, "He's clever and has better beats!"

Do you really believe that? Can you say that with a clear conscience? Can you accuse someone else of murdering Hip-Hop when the guys you claim keep it real are just as immoral?

I thought people wanted genuine Hip-Hop music. Turns out they're satisfied with cheap imitations.

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Since the revitalization of my journalistic spirit, I've spent more time examining the media and what kinds of news reaches a national platform. One can usually find the same "Top Stories" across the major news outlets, but who determines which local news stories are worthy of a more prominent profile?

I know it's a rhetorical question. I'm under the firm belief that the only guarantees for national coverage are stories that involve young, white women.

I really do hate to pull the race card, but sometimes it's the only reasonable explanation for the treatment minorities receive in the media. It bothers me that we live in a place where this would even be a relevant argument, but such is the world.

When University of North Carolina's student-body president Eve Carson was murdered in March 2008, her death made headlines all across the nation. And rightfully so.

If discussing her life and death led to the capture of her murderer, then the media's efforts weren't in vain.

My intention isn't to detract from the unfortunate events that took her life. All news reports painted a portrait of a young, intelligent woman with a kind heart and a promising future. I wouldn't dream of trying to take that away from her.

But I recently read a news article detailing the murder of Natasha Warren on August 23rd.

Natasha was a 23-year-old woman with two children and a fiance, but no one knows of her murder. According to the handful of news reports covering her murder, Natasha Warren was en route to her second job with the Post Office when she caught a flat tire. Her cell phone failed her, and she walked to a nearby Sunoco station four times to make phone calls.

A day later, her body was found inside her car along Interstate-26 with a gunshot wound to the chest. And somehow her life and death isn't valued enough by the media to be reported on beyond South Carolina's local news coverage.

In fact, David Stanton of WIS10 began his report of her murder with the words, "In other news..."

... In other news?

I honestly believe that the color of Natasha's skin is the most telling detail when comparing the media's treatment of her murder to Eve Carson's.

In my heart I fear this investigation will be abandoned, and justice won't be served. And I believe it's more than fair to place a portion of that blame on careless journalism and media coverage. It's a journalists job to make people care. That's not being done when coverage is prefaced with the words, "In other news."

In the same week as Natasha Warren's death, the only headlines on MSN.com involving a black person is a critical piece of NFL star Chad Johnson and his name-change to "Ocho Cinco." That news managed to transcend the sports section, and became a prominent bullet point on the MSN home page.

Am I not supposed to detect a bias? When the murder of a young, black, working mother gets trumped by the foolish antics of a black athlete, am I really supposed to believe that there isn't an agenda?

Did I write that right?
Question is, are you going to right that wrong?

-Reks

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As I sit here digesting the Cup o' Noodles I just had for lunch, I'm forced to remember my childhood. The good ol' days when being poor was so delicious; the times when I would be well fed on inexpensive food.

I'm talking about meals that come out of boxes that cost less than two dollars.

I'm talking about cuisines that tasted so exquisite, and cooked with so much love that I'd laugh at you if you told me it was poor people food.

You don't understand (RIP Bernie Mac).

People are so accustomed to their steaks, pot roasts, and whole chickens that they've forgotten just how good a fried egg tastes with a plate of rice.

A few weeks ago, my girlfriend recommended Pasta Roni to me. I kind of dismissed it, thinking it'd be too complicated to cook and would probably taste bad. But last night I had a bowl of Pasta Roni's fettuccine alfredo for dinner. That .89 cent box of deliciousness shocked me.

But it also reminded me of older days.

That's my great-grandmother and mother together some 25 years ago. And they're the only people I can think of while I reminisce about my inexpensive dinners.

They're the only two people I know that could take the simplest, cheapest types of food, and present it as the most elegant meal you'll ever eat.

The bacalaítos were introduced to me by my great-grandmother. She'd make a plate for me with about five of those cookie shaped codfish fritters, and I'd savor every bite as I sat on her plastic-covered furniture watching cartoons.

Some of my fondest memories of inexpensive eating come from being in her home. I'm talking about perfectly cut salchichas (or Vienna Sausages for the non-Spanish speakers) cooked into an egg omelet. She was a genius with the grilled cheese. Never to let a condiment go to waste, she used to make my grilled cheese sandwiches with some jelly in them.

There isn't a day that passes that I don't think of her. And if I could have one more conversation with her, I'd be sure to ask how she got that jelly to stay in there without squirting out all over the pan. It was that good.

My mother's specialty was what I called, "juicy chicken." It was my favorite dinner, usually accompanied with mashed potatoes fresh from the box. She would smile every time I requested it. Maybe she was overwhelmed by how much I appreciated a fairly simple meal.

Realistically, it was only broiled chicken legs, but seasoned with her special touch.

Although she's in an improved tax bracket now from when I was a kid, she still knows how to turn simple into a delicacy. She can afford to get a little fancier now, but she knows my heart is with her chicken cutlet and baked mac & cheese. Love ya, mom!

I do enjoy a good meal from time to time, though. My lady and I are approaching our one-year anniversary, and we want to go back to this fantastic eatery in Little Italy.

I would name drop the restaurant, but I don't want to let the secret out. Last year we went during the San Gennaro feast, and it wasn't as crowded as I would have feared. I'm hoping to keep it that way, so remind me to tell you after September 14th.

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Back in 2006, Qn5 Music created a limited edition fanzine to distribute at their Megashow. It was a black and white, 3x5 booklet with inside jokes for the fans, general Qn5 information, and simply, an excellent promotional piece. The problem was that Tonedeff, the label's CEO, pieced it together himself. Something with a title like "Fanzine" should be handled by fans, I'd say.

The Beginning
So nearly two months ago, I approached fans with the idea of creating an official Qn5 Fanzine. The response was overwhelming, but positive. I knew people were interested, but more people than I could manage offered interest in participating. It was tough, but I had to whittle the group down to six, including myself.

Neatfocus
Chris Rhee of Neatfocus gave us space in the client section of his site to brainstorm ideas and share our work. I found out very quickly that coming up with ideas wasn't going to be the hard part. Before I knew it, we had so many ideas that the debut issue could have been an encyclopedia. We had to establish a focus.

Was this going to be for fans that already existed, or would this be a promotional tool for new fans?

I figured, why not both?

We found a gentle balance between offering inside jokes for veteran Blue Schoolers, and providing a glimpse into Qn5 fandom for new fans.

Creating the Content
Writing the material was the easy part. We gathered all of the notable news items from the label over the last 6 months, and summarized it into one comprehensive piece. The fictional pieces fell into place effortlessly. Influenced by QN5 Music's creativity, it wasn't too difficult to develop something original from the foundation they've already established.

The brick wall we kept arriving at was with template design. It proved to be more complex than initially expected, as we discovered a few ways not to make the fanzine. Basically, there was a lot of trial and error. But when we all got on the same page regarding the look of the issue, everything fell into place quite well.

It was a learning experience for all of us. This had been my first time undertaking such a task, so the process was new to me. All I had was a vision of how I wanted things to look.

Success!
In the end, we decided to go with two styles of the QN5 Fanzine. The primary format is a flash-based layout, complete with turning pages, sound effects, and zoom controls. That can be viewed by clicking right here.

The second format is a PDF for those that prefer Adobe Reader, or would like to print out the pages. That file is available here.

We all had a lot of fun putting this together, despite the stress. With so many varying schedules and responsibilities in life, it's satisfying to see this thing completed and out there.

I'm looking forward to the fan response, and I'm hoping we did the artists of QN5 Music proud.

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I know what you're thinking. From the looks of this new, official trailer, it's difficult to imagine how something so spectacular can be sabotaged.

You might also be asking who "they" are, so I won't beat around the bush with you. They are the movie's producer, Gale Anne Hurd and Lionsgate CEO, Joe Drake.

"But, Angel, why would people who have invested time and money into a film try and sabotage it months before it's release?"

Unfortunately, the answer is as simple as any childish feud: ego. The things that are going on behind the scenes have the stench of egotistical adults trying to destroy a movie that they can't fully credit to themselves. Utilizing film sites and blogs to "leak" bad information about this movie, it appears that people behind the scenes are gearing up to make sure the film bombs.

When I first wrote about the new Punisher movie, my excitement was jumping off the screen. I had faith in Lexi Alexander's vision, and her dedication to making a strong action film that was true to the source material. Given the footage that's been made available to the public, I was right in believing in her because I think the movie looks fantastic.

Lionsgate has since decided that Alexander's contributions are no longer required, and have removed her from the decision-making process for this film. The details and reasons haven't been fully disclosed, but the truth is hidden somewhere in LGF's propaganda.

Leaked information from studio insiders, claim that Alexander's film is no better than the 1989 iteration of the Punisher. Fans didn't believe that for a second when War Zone's teaser trailer proved to be a more exciting watch than that entire film.

Then began the outright lies. LGF tried to accuse Alexander of being insubordinate on her website when she clearly stated in her messages to the fans that she had to be very careful with her words. She made it known that everything she posts on the site has to go through approval from the studio!

LGF also tried to shift the blame from the first trailer's poor fan reception to Alexander. The Internet, in all of it's message board glory, had some crude words for the film when they saw Thomas Jane was missing, and declared the film's action as unsatisfactory from the one-minute teaser trailer.

LGF did nothing to combat the misconceptions fans had, and seemed to be satisfied with letting Alexander take the blame. Their attempts are futile amongst fans that have been following the movie. Lexi Alexander was as surprised with the way the trailer was cut as the fans were. She couldn't believe that "they found enough PG content" to make the trailer!

That's just the beginning. LGF CEO, Joe Drake, seems to be making a habit of burying movies he wasn't involved with over at Lionsgate. The word is at Drake is going to bury 19 movies that received the greenlight before he was appointed as the boss. Norse_Sage over at the imdb.com forums detailed what Drake did to Clive Barker's "Midnight Meat Train."

Despite the positive reviews from critics, Drake made sure that the movie took no attention way from the film he produced, "The Strangers." Without taking too much away from the work Sage put into that topic, fans of the horror genre have been anticipating the release of that film for some time. However, only those people that have been following the film know that it was released on August 1st.

Sage wrote, "What was supposed to be a wide release, is now being dumped into the contractual minimum 100 theaters, with zero promotion. And all of the theaters are minor ones located well outside of the major money-making cites. A movie which could have been a hit for LGF is being dumped out of sheer spite and malice, courtesy of Joe Drake."

That's not even the most staggering evidence available to support this sabotage theory. The involvement of the movie's producer, Gale Anne Hurd, indicates a startling conflict of interest.

She is the wife of Jonathan Hensleigh, the writer/director of the 2004 "Punisher" film, whose sequel script was rejected in favor of Lexi Alexander's reboot! With as fickle and fragile Hollywood egos are, is it impossible to believe that she wants to see this movie fail?

Kevin Love, over at Global Punisher Army has detailed what's at risk, and provided links for what we can do to guarantee the integrity of this film.

We won't know just what LGF plans to do with this movie until it hits theaters. The fact the posters can be seen in movie theaters is still a good sign for a wide release. The current popularity of comic book films is also a positive note for this movie.

As fans, all we want is a guarantee that this movie is a priority for the studio. We want to know that they are dedicated to building upon Lexi Alexander's vision for a definitive Punisher movie. Only time will tell, but until then, fans can sign the petition, and messages can be sent to Joe Drake to let him know that the fan base for the Punisher is strong and deserving of a quality adaptation on screen.

Once again, I'd like to credit the good folks over at imdb's Punisher: War Zone boards, and Kevin Love of the Global Punisher Army.

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"Hey fuckface, you wanna get by me? There's only two things stoppin' ya - fear and common sense."

Now that I have this lovely video feature on the right, I've decided it'd be appropriate to provide an article to accompany the visual masterpieces I select. To start things off properly, I've posted Steven Seagal's bar fight scene from Out for Justice.

Anyone that knows me will tell you that I'm a Steven Seagal fan. His movies are cheesy in that good way, and he's such a bad actor that it's actually an admirable quality. Most of his work from the late 80's and early 90's are very near and dear to my heart.

Therefore, any disrespect dispensed towards the God will result in an immediate loss of respect for you.

There are a lot of beautiful things to note in this scene. Primarily, we have Steven's awful Brooklyn accent, but it's all redeemed by how much of a bad ass he is. Secondly, there's the heckler that keeps doubting Gino's toughness because of his badge and gun. Also, there's the genius of the pool cue in the towel.

And he's going to keep coming back until someone remembers seein' Richie.

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