by Casey Rea
L.A. Weekly: In defense of '70s radio-pop. No, I wasn't named after Casey Kasem. But I'd be flattered to have been.
We saw the latter. The Robert Rodriguez half was far superior to Quentin Tarantino's. Apparently, Mr. Rez Dawg thinks paying homage to schlock cinema is the perfect opportunity to write boring, self-referential dialog that goes nowhere slowly. The worst part? He didn't even make a grindhouse picture — he made a shitty Tarrantino one.
The fake trailers were by far the best part of the film, surprise, surprise.
False 45th have it out for Lindsay Buckingham and the Burlington Free Press. Who will they attack next — Zombie Jesus? (For more info on ZJ, check your local repository of all things Undead).
Had an illuminating conversation with Mr. Greg Davis on Sunday. Then it was back to Casa Del Casey for another round of "Veronica Mars." Well, there was an hour break to catch the first of the last episodes of "The Sopranos."