Confessions Of A Fat Bitch

12 A.M. My journey commences at Belly Buster Burritos. Short on provisions I strike first with the “Bodacious Burrito.” For those unfamiliar, the awesomely underused adjective “Bodacious” implies that the quantity of two “Belly Buster” Burritos will be rolled into one floury mess for $9.00. Three bites later the contents have spilled onto the wrapper and I am now struggling to eat with my hands. This stop would have all been in vain were it not for the complimentary chips and salsa.

12:15 A.M. Still hungry. I take ten steps and arrive at the 24-hour McDonald’s with a “whoa new look.” Long lines, pleather chairs in front of a kerosene fireplace and an obtuse HDTV. The aroma of french fries invades my nostrils. “#1 Large, please.” Impatience creeps in as I wait a full five minutes before they hand me my bag of grease. Large coke and three tubs of ketchup from what resembles a keg tap. Three pieces of bread, two dripping beef patties, multiple toppings and secret sauce; I’m on my way to a Big Mac Heart Attack.

12:40 A.M. Satisfied, but there’s room for more. Making a slight detour on Sowers St. I aim to answer the question on the large neon sign before me: Are U Hungry? Amidst a wall menu of “Fat” sandwiches, I settle on the classic “Fat Bitch.” For $6.69 I loosen my belt for an 8-inch cheesesteak topped with chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks, mayo, ketchup, and fries. I am stalled after finishing barely half the sandwich, but I chomp along in fear of being labeled a you-know-what.

The walk down Calder Way helps settle the 2-3 pounds of undigested food in my churning stomach. It’s just after 1:00 A.M. I must keep going; I must stand-up for my brethren who are confined to sofas and plush chairs (most likely waiting for wings to be delivered).

Ascending the slight incline towards Beaver Ave, the word “dough” catches my eye and I order a “Buffer Zone,” or Buffalo Chicken calzone. While waiting for my boxed pizza alternative, I gaze at a gallery of stereotypical posters. Between a screenshot from Old School and I HEART BEER, it feels like the dorm room of John Q. Freshman, a double major in Natty and Vlady. I ponder what the letters “D.P.” might stand for. Dire Poison? Dog Poop? Double Penetration? Nevertheless, the quality and taste of this oversized ‘zone is above anything I’ve had all night.

1:30 A.M. Filled beyond capacity, yet still hungry, I take my longest break of the night and continue west towards Pugh St. It’s not enough to have one “Fat” Sandwich maker within a one mile radius; State College needs two (three if you count the second Are U Hungry?). Following a lawsuit over copyright infringement, Mr. C’s Grill Specialties has arguably become king of the “Fat” market. Offering an equal range of heart-burning sandwiches at competitive prices, Mr. C’s inches past Are U Hungry? in both size and quality. Though second to open State College, they claim to have invented the “Fat” concept at Rutgers University in 1984. But none of that matters now, as I’m inhaling a 12-inch “Fat Beach” before a crowd of invisible spectators.

That last stop changed the game. Stumbling back onto College Ave, I am disoriented and nauseous. I struggle to keep from puking in passing trashcans. My only motivation is fear – fear of getting cited by the police for underage over-consumption. I cross Allen St., holding my nose as to avoid the buttery bait of The Diner’s famous Stickies. It’s even harder to slip past the new 24/7 Dunkin’ Donuts. A Blue Loop whizzes by. I need urgent care at Mt. Nittany Medical Center, but I refrain. Those ambulance rides are expensive.

1:59 A.M. I collapse on the doorstep of Taco Bell. The interior purples and teals are as vibrant as my grandfather described on his deathbed. The smells, Oh, the smells! Crawling through the maze line like a pig, I stand and order the Fiesta Platter I’ve seen advertised so many times on T.V. They hand me a large black airline-style tray. It is probably enough food to satisfy a starving family in Africa for a day. If only they had T-Bell in the Serengeti…

For now, its time for Fourthmeal, or, in my case, sixth meal.

There Will Be Milkshakes

This clip speaks for itself. Yeah USF!

* SPOILER WARNING * There Will Be Blood

In response to Nate's previous post, which I don't really agree with, I have decided to throw in my own "appreciation" of the delightful film. Please enjoy this clip and the one above it coming shortly.

There Will Be An Underacheiver

I went into my viewing of There Will Be Blood with high expectations. Nominated for a shit-ton of Academy Awards. Score by Jonny Greenwood of Radiohead. The best film of the decade! While I knew it was going to be a dark film that forced the viewer to continue watching what they didn’t want to see, I was very disappointed in the overall power of the film. When the credits started rolling, I felt as though I was forced into a disturbing world of greed that failed to instill in me a universal feeling of anger that I almost wanted to get out of the movie. I was troubled; I wasn’t haunted. If you’re going to make a film about a mad oil-man whose love of money and superiority removes all other love from his being, you need to show it through more than random acts of spontaneous murder. I viewed Daniel Plainview more as a psycho than an example of the effects greed can have on a person, which diminished the films ability to make a social and political statement in the midst of its blatant avarice.

The pace and score of the film were not sub-par, but again not up to expectation. Like Magnolia, Paul Thomas Anderson’s slow direction and reliance on photogenic cinematography bring the film to a complete halt at times. While allowing the viewer time for reflection and thought during a film can be a valuable tool for an enthralled audience, the 158 minute runtime was no doubt excessive for a project with minimal action. Overall I felt the minimalist score suited the open scenery and lack of complexity on the screen, but at times Greenwood’s creations got simply annoying. The continual use of a high-pitched string note to create emotion was intriguing the first couple times, but deafening by the end. To its credit it did establish consistency. Other musical compositions in the film seemed to lack professionalism and utilize very abstract, unrythmic percussion parts, never allowing the listener to establish a pulse to the racket.

With my disappointments established, there are some very high points to There Will Be Blood. It is a dynamic character study, and Daniel Day Lewis’s performance is certainly Oscar Worthy. In a Bill the Butcher-like (Gangs of New York) approach, Lewis has no trouble playing a truly troubled character. He is perhaps the best actor I have ever seen at summoning anger within him self, and the authenticity of his emotions made watching him for two and a half hours manageable. Paul Dano’s portrayal of Eli, a fanatic local minister whose relationship with Plainview creates the films most memorable dialogue, is in my opinion worthy of a Best Supporting Actor nomination.

Despite a stellar cast and some genius moments of writing (final conversation with deaf son), the film could not seem to pull everything together. For sections at I time I would get a glimpse of its brilliance, but always failed to maintain it. There Will Be Blood had the potential to be a masterpiece, and managed to be a good film that was unsuccessful at becoming better than the sum of its parts.