A few years ago I believed that Andrew Niccol would be one of the saviors of modern cinema. After seeing Gattaca, I thought he was a writer/director to be reckoned with. He followed that up with writing The Truman Show; a script so good even Jim Carrey couldn't ruin it. Now Niccol is back writing and directing S1m0ne. While not quite the equal of his other two outings, S1m0ne is damn good film-- full of barbs and jokes at the expense of Hollywood actors and studios.

The mechanism inside your player lifts the disc from it’s plate. The CD whirs, then spins, and the laser squeakily reads away. Three seconds later, the silence is broken by a militant thunder of drums. One guitar chimes in. Then, another. And just as the instruments have gotten acquainted with each other, a fearsome and staggered duotone wail of vocals comes down on you like a gail-force hail. That’s “One Beat”, the opening/title song for Sleater-Kinney’s amazing sixth release.

Tuck Everlasting is a new Disney film targeted toward Fred Durst and other teenage girls, as made obvious by the soft-lit poster featuring Jonathan Jackson (the Teen Beat hunk) and Alexis Bledel. The story itself is not bad. A typical girl (Bledel) raised in a wealthy family rebels against what her parents want her to become-- a proper rich girl. She is chastised by her mother for wanting to do such “savage” acts as playing baseball and lying in a field! She runs away to explore the forest by her house, where she comes across Jessie Tuck (Jackson) drinking from a spring.

Batten down the hatches and shiver your timbers! Rye Coalition is about to plunder your high seas with their latest release, On Top (Tiger Style Records). This album Leaping Crane techniques its way through ten tracks of eye-spitting, elbow-snapping, white-boy-stomping action, Daniel Russo-style! The Coalition gets their crunchy guitar rock on, with tracks like “Switchblade Sister: One Tough Nun” and “Honky, Please”. You’ll be reeking havoc aplenty with the crowd-rousing, chant-insisting chorus of “Hot Strikes”.

Remember the Sonic Youth album Dirty? You liked it, didn't you? Yeah, it was nasty-nice, and sounded so good that it made you feel like going straight outside and doing a Slappy Grind on the nearest parking block. That album was both gritty and smooth, the way a cheap stripper looks in the black light of a dingy full-nude bar. And you enthusiastically fork over your $20 for a few minutes alone with her in a "private" booth.

I'll be honest, I was a fan of the Power Company comic book before the series even started. Even before the Powersurge one-shots came out. Or even JLA #61. I was a fan when I first discovered that a new team was joining the DC Universe, and when I learned the series would be written by one of my favorite writers (Kurt Busiek) and drawn by another favorite (Tom Grummett). I was a fan when I heard of the concept of the series: superheroes for hire.

There are few priceless moments in life, regardless of what MasterCard commercials tell you. One of those is the look on a “new” Peter Jackson fan's face when they pop the cleverly repackaged Bad Taste into their DVD player. Some of you may recognize the face if you've been in the presence of a "new" Sam Raimi fan during a viewing of Evil Dead. Long before he blew your fragile little minds with Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Peter Jackson wrote, directed, starred in and spent four grueling years making Bad Taste.

Camping sounded fun. So, like most hip, young adults would, we piled into the minivan at 6:00 AM and headed for the mountains. Seven hours later, Debbie, Wayne, Realtoon, one Mr. Matty, and I found ourselves in The Smoky Mountains. Our plans included three days of hiking, fire-making, eating, frolicking, swearing, swimming, singing, sewing, and occasional sleeping. All went like a John-Denver-Sweet-Rocky-Mountain dream. All, that is, except for the lack of dreams. Try zipping five full-grown adults into one 8'x8' tent. Common sense be damned!

There wasn't a toy closet in the ‘80s that didn't have one of these guys. His strapping blue muscular body, defiant purple hood and frightening bony visage-- of course, I am talking about that devilish sorcerer Skeletor! Look out! He's back, and so are the rest of the He-Man characters in a newly-sculpted line. Each figure has been revamped and redesigned to cater to the elite collectors of 2000, while adhering to the same basic designs from the original ‘80s action figures. What does that mean, exactly? Skeletor is still the fucking man.

Serving Sara really breaks ground and explores new ways to completely suck the life force out of every poor soul who is duped into watching this pitiful pile of bovine excrement. Wow, it sucks! It sucks long and hard. Hey, everybody! Want to go to a comedy that won't make you laugh at all? Not in the slightest. I mean, seriously. You will sit in the theater and start counting the follicles of hair on the guy in front of you. You will sit and review the impact of aloe-coated tissues to the cold relief industry. Wow, this movie suu--uucked!