After months of enduring "Have you seen "Sideways" yet? A wine guy
like you REALLY ought to see it!", I finally caved and dropped down
my eight bucks. Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks Paul
Giamatti is just a slightly less icky Chris Elliot. That was 123
minutes of mostly torture (the exceptions being when Virginia Madsen
was on screen).

Having seen the movie just a few days after Hunter S. Thompson's
self-expiration, maybe I was expecting too much. But in my perfect
universe, Miles Raymond drains the last drop of his '61 Cheval Blanc,
then either chokes to death on his greasy hamburger or blows his
brains out, accidentally confusing a real .38 with a toy gun. That's
the only way a real anti-hero goes out on top. You're either Mama Cass
or you're HST.

I could have better spent my eight dollars on four bottles of Two Buck
Chuck. The result would have been essentially the same, but at least
I'd have had something to show for it...even if it was just a
headache.

JJ