Bond, Katmandu, and more.

This is my second post for the day, but since I saw Casino Royale last night, I have decided to try my hand at that tried and true favored blogger pastime of weighing in with unsolicited opinions on Bond movies and James Bonds.

Two important facts about 007 and me before we begin:
1.) I've seen all Bond movies except for Moonraker and On Her Majesty's Secret Service. So I can't offer any feelings on George Lazenby.
2.) Although I enjoy the movies and own most of the DVDs (from when I was younger), I am definitely not a Bond-geek or -nut or -fanatic. I am, in fact, a fan, but being a a Bond fan is a prerequisite to being a movie fan or being an American the same way that an individual must like the Rolling Stones to like music.

Anyway, without further ado, my dramatically uncontroversial list of favorite James Bonds.

5. Pierce Brosnan - the only one who has left me feeling like I could, potentially, be James Bond if I wanted to (minus the beginning of Goldeneye)

4. Sir Roger Moore - God bless the guy, but Roger Moore James Bond lived in an alternate universe... not that the rest of them don't, but there is no stranger sex scene in all of Bond-dom than 60+ Moore-Bond and the Amazonian femme fatale from A View to a Kill

3. Timothy Dalton - now we're getting into the warm water... just as intense as Moore is goofy, he delivers for two films

2. Daniel Craig - the reason I don't talk ish about unorthodox casting choices (like Heath Ledger as the Joker in 2008's The Dark Knight) is because I assume that somebody knows something I don't... which is absolutely the case with Craig who brought down the house in Casino Royale as a young, cruel 007.

1. Sir Sean Connery - What can I say? He was and pretty much still is James Bond. The charm, the wit, the icy cunning... booyah kasha

Now onto my six favorite Bond movies in alphabetical order

Casino Royale - just as good as (better than?) everyone has been hoping

Diamonds Are Forever - I don't know why I like it so much more than Dr. No or You Only Live Twice... At least it's not Thunderball. I hated Thunderball.

From Russia With Love - only one that really seems like a Cold War spy film... better than Goldfinger

Goldeneye - might partially be a sentimental choice based on my junior high days playing the game on Nintendo 64

License to Kill - possibly my favorite Bond film of all time

Live and Let Die - a good mix of goofy and coo... no, I really have no good reason for this

By the way, if anyone is still with me, my least favorite Bond film of all time is The World Is Not Enough.

And if you're still reading, I will now share with you an anecdote from Utrecht. After seeing The Departed, Eliot, Nathalie, Kate, and I went to a bar in Kate's travel guide called Woohoo Mooshoo or something like that... whatever the Dutch is for "Fraternity Way."

As soon as we got there, we were approached by a well-sloshed Dutch college student named Peter who invited us up to the VIP room aptly named Katmandu because it exists at the top of an immense staircase.

Katmandu turned out to be the most disgusting room/bar I have ever been to, and keep in mind I've been to my fair share of parties at the former ADG house.

You could not possibly have found a worse group of people to run a bar.

This was the asylum not only being run by the inmates but by the inmates who are usually chained down. There were about 10-12 Dutch frat-boy types up there (no girls other than Nat and Kate), and they were all belligerent when we arrived). It was never clear to me just who worked there and who was just there visiting as there was a constant parade behind the bar. They gave us a nice little discount of all the beer the four of us could drink for 10 euros.

In large patches, the floor was covered in a layer of liquid that I assumed was spilled beer until ten minutes after arriving up there, our new friend Peter casually peed on the wall, a few feet from the bathroom door.

The Katmandu soundtrack consisted of a strange blend of Dutch pop music and the occasional Paris Hilton single to which all of a sudden there were three or four of the guys dancing on the bar. And then they took off there pants.

Then our old unsanitary friend Peter pulled a red car seat from his hat, and started throwing it as hard as he could... at the wall, at the floor, everywhere--throwing and kicking. Then all of the Dutchies, now riled up, started taking turns maniacally beating the crap out of this chair. Eliot, who had had a few beers at this point, joined in kicking the chair Office Space-style, but unfortunately slipped in the thin layer of liquid on the ground and splashed down hard on his back.

Peter finally picked up the chair and heaved it at the wall and with a crash of thunder, a large speaker hanging from the ceiling fell to the ground. At this point, I put my arm around Kate and said, "This is our cue to go." My last memory of Katmandu before going down to dance in Wooloo Mooloo below was hearing the red chair, temporarily forgotten as the obviously defunct speaker was reattached to the ceiling, crash against the wall.

Keep in mind this was a Wednesday night.

Keep it funky fresh, Junior Woodchucks.