I’d Rather Call It “Some Kid Commits A Bunch Of Crimes 2” [Friday Thoughts With TeeCoZee]
Hello. My name is Coze. You can call me Coze. It’s Friday, November 29, Two Thousand and Thirteen. The weather in Brooklyn is 37˚ & sunny and somewhere out there, a man is pacing back and forth, rehearsing a speech that explains Santa Claus’ non-existence, just in case the situation arises where he has kids and has to explain something of that nature, because why not. Meanwhile, I have a few things on my mind:
– Some days, it’s really hard to get out of bed. I feel awake, the sun is piercing through my eye sockets and I might even have a good idea with what I want to do with my morning. But no. Getting out of bed dictates too much responsibility. Suddenly, I’ll be susceptible to the evils of the world. Maybe I’ll look at see that my clock is wrong and I’m already late. Maybe I’ll stand up only to feel congested and realize that I have a cold. Maybe I’ll check my phone and find out that all of my co-workers are going on strike because our boss is an evil/illegal alien hell-bent on bending hell. There’s too many bad things that could happen, so I just lay there. That’s when I need my pick-me-up. After 10 minutes of reluctantly laying, a voice told me that shit mattered. Everything I do today will affect the rest of my life. I saw it in that documentary, The Butterfly Effect! And to top it all off, Lit is standing at the foot of my bed, performing their #1 hit, “My Own Worst Enemy” for an audience of me. That’s how cool I am in my imagination! Everybody should have a rando 90’s alternative song mentally cued up. It helps make the day start.
– Top 5 Things You Don’t Want Your Friends To Suddenly Become
– I’m not giving up on my iPhone charger and screw you for judging me. It’s actually not even an iPhone charger, it’s an iPod charger. Nano 2 to be exact. The wire itself is caked in dirt, the front faceplate is broken off and I now have to bend the wire in a precarious way in order for it to do anything. But if I resist from touching my phone for 5 hours, that shit’ll charge. And it’s not like I don’t have perfectly good chargers to use. I’m just that stubborn.
– I don’t understand how [even as a kid] Home Alone 2 is supposed to be a believable movie. There are so many things done that are logistically, geographically and physically impossible, especially in a post-9/11 world. It’s a given that the entire movie would not be possible at all if the year wasn’t 1992. Guiliani would’ve never had allowed any of this bullshit to happen. Let’s run down my list of grievances:
* The airport shuttle comes and the entire house is asleep. In the real world, the drivers would’ve said “Whatever, fuck you, miss your flight!”. But the vans wait, for what would seem like hours considering that the entire family is fully dressed and bathed.
* Obviously, nobody would just allow a random kid onto an airplane without confirming that his family is on it. How are these adults so trustworthy? So when Kevin points out, “That’s my Dad, right there!”, the stewardess should’ve went up to the guy to confirm instead of simply stating “Okay, go find an empty seat!”. FIND AN EMPTY SEAT?!? IS THIS AN AIRPLANE OR A BUS?!?!? [To be fair, it’s probably an Airbus]
* When Kevin lands in “New York”, the plane physically lands in JFK. But then when he looks out the terminal window, he’s looking from the vantage point of Northern Queens, not Southeast Queens. But he’s not in LaGuardia, because the view is a lot more south than that. So he must be at New York’s 3rd airport, located in Long Island City. Or…they were just too cheap with too much money and decided to build a fake terminal inside of Silvercup Studios. Whatever.
* When the McAllisters wake up, it is clearly daylight out in early winter, so I would deduce that their flights left at around 10AM. So that would mean Kevin would land at around 11:30. In that time, he was somehow able to ride a cab into Manhattan, hang around Midtown, go downtown, buy some fireworks in Chinatown, GO TO THE TOP OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTER, check out the seaport and then end up back in Central Park with full daylight. He essentially had 4 hours to do all of these things. Mind you, he’s a kid, so he probably walks slow. If he took a cab, he would’ve spent all of his cash on that. And even if he did do all of this in one day, he only would’ve had the time to do each thing for 10 seconds and then move on. He was living out his own montage.
* The whole hotel setup is so obviously flawed that I don’t even have to explain it.
* Duncan might be giving away all of his toy store money to the children’s hospital, but even in the 90’s, he still would’ve kept that money in some sort of safe. Which leads me to my next point is that this version of New York either has old men as security guards or no security guards at all. If some kid was in a hotel room with a guy shooting a tommy gun, that shit would be neutralized in 30 seconds flat and be all over the news. Same applies for when Kevin attacks Marv and Harry with bricks. They are on 95th and Columbus, not the suburbs of Chicago. If some commotion like that was going on, lord knows the cops would’ve arrived tout de suite. This movie just portrays New York as an unsafe free-for-all, where kids can get lost and start wars with old people.
* Every single “prank” that Kevin thwarts the baddies with could’ve easily killed them 500 times over. If this were real, it’d be the grisliest murder scene that New York had ever seen and it would make us question our opinions on self-defense and child endangerment. It would change parenting forever. Kevin McAllister is one sick fuck and he gets away with it because it’s a big-budget family movie. I call bullshit. That guy’s gonna be a terrifying serial killer when he grows up.
* After it was all said and done, the time would have to be 3AM at the earliest. And yet, he somehow teleports from 95th and Columbus to Rockefeller Center, miles away. On Christmas Morning. Safe and sound, no struggle at all. Fucking magic, amirite?!?
-I have the weekend off, but it’s stupid because everyone else still has a longer weekend than me. So by the time I don’t have to work, you will all be sick of your weekend, dead and determined to binge-marathon some crappy cop drama that I’ve never heard of because I’m not “domesticated”.
Weekends are bogus. Have a bogus weekend.
Your money or your life! “My wife! My wife!!”